A/N: Well, that's all folks. The final part of this fic series. Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed, it really made my day whenever I'd log on and see someone had left me feedback. Officially, this fic is done, but seeing as Rosario Dawson has signed on for season two, this little nugget might come back to life in a year if we get more Clairedevil. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing, Jon Snow.

There was a moment when she hesitated. She had just closed the door behind her, and for a fraction of a second, she wanted to go back in. To hell with her plans. Inside was the man that had become as much a part of her life as her job at the hospital. A broken, lonely soul that she felt was a kindred spirit to her own.

When Foggy called, she was ready to say no, to not break her vow of not seeking him out until Matt himself initiated contact. But the tinge of panic in Foggy's voice was too much to ignore, and once she got there, she understood exactly why. She had to bite back a sob at the sight of him on the floor, more broken than she had ever seen him before. All through the night she worked to stabilize him, every now and then barking orders at his friend. Her heart skipped a beat every time Matt's breathing would hitch, only to feel a wave of relief when he finally let out a wheezy breath.

Walking out was the hardest thing she's had to do. Foggy begged her to stay, but she steadfastly said no, saying she had to go to work to save patients who actually realized they needed to go to a hospital. Only when she promised to come back later to check on Matt's wounds and that Foggy could call her if anything changed did he relent.

She had decided days ago to leave town. After everything that had happened (and not happened), she needed some time away, needed a change of scenery. Santino's mother, as much as she liked Claire, was getting more than a little irritated with her staying there. Perhaps she feared that Claire was cursed with bad luck. Either way, she had overstayed her welcome. She wanted a place of her own again. A cousin upstate was going on an extended vacation, and had been more than happy when Claire offered to house sit. Six months in a quiet, well-kept neighborhood, far from the battle-ravaged neighborhood of Hell's Kitchen. Not a snowball's chance in hell of finding a stranger half-dead in a dumpster. It was the perfect solution. Her boss reluctantly signed the papers for her leave application, saying that she would need to notify them within three months if she intended to return to work at the end of her leave. She had nodded, figuring she could easily slip out of the city and not think about anything NYC-related for three glorious months.

Lunch rolls around and she spends it redoing some of his sutures, wondering if fate was trying to tell her something.

Man falls into her dumpster. Man saves her from violent Russians. Man keeps fighting and she keeps sewing up his wounds. They kiss, they fight, they don't talk. Claire hopes that she will be able to laugh at this some day, because right now she can barely bring herself to smile at him. She tries to sound neutral about leaving, when all she wants to do is scream at him, tell him how she wants to love him, wants to know every part of him, wants to coax smiles from his troubled features, wants to feel his fingers dance across her back again.

It hurts even more that he implies he wants her to stay, the way his face lights up with the possibility only to fade when she brings up their last meeting. There are still so many unresolved questions and loose ends between them. They never talked about the last time, and this… this is not the time.

"I didn't think I was ever gonna see you again. Not alive, not after that last call, the night half the city blew up."

I left you a message… when it was over, I-

"Yeah, you left a message."

They're like a broken record, going over the same thing without moving forward. He has his convictions, like she has her own. As much as it hurts, she needs to go figure out what she has turned into, what her life has turned into. Maybe he can do the same. She has seen what kind of man he is, underneath the hood and the violence that follows him like a shadow. She sees it in the soft brown of his eyes as he apologizes to her.

"I'll always be there, when you really need me, to patch you up. Beyond that…"

Her heart breaks with every step she takes towards the door. This city turned him into this; a man without fear, without any regard for himself. It's equal parts noble and idiotic, and she fears for what will happen to him when she's gone. He didn't have to proclaim himself a savior, not to her. She saw it in him from the beginning.

Back at the hospital, Claire quickly finishes up her rounds, filling out patient journals for whoever will be called in as her replacement. When she's done, she gathers her things, clearing out her locker and turns in her ID. She's almost at the exit, when she passes the hospital chapel. The door is ajar, and something in her pulls her inside. The dusky room is empty, with a couple of spotlights shedding dim light on the pews. The altar is adorned with a painting made of stained glass, depicting light flooding down from a pale sky. It's a peaceful place, and even though she's alone, she quietly pads up the aisle, taking a seat in the middle.

She rarely prays, but now she bows her head and signs the cross before bringing her hands together in prayer. She asks for guidance, for herself and for the man she forced herself away from. She asks that the Lord and every angel and every saint guide him, allowing her fear for his very being to bleed into her plea. She hardly notices when the first tear hits her clasped hands. Sniffling, Claire looks up. The room is still empty, but the air is somehow heavier, as if something or someone is there, listening.

"Please, keep him safe," she whispers. "Keep him safe until I get back."

Later, as she waits for the train to take her north, her heart still feels heavy. Her bags are all packed, filled with what she has been able to salvage from two break-ins. Two small cabin bags. Somehow, she imagined that her life here would have amounted to more, and something gnaws at her, like she's leaving something important behind.

On a whim, she calls him. As soon as she hears the dial tone, she panics. She's not that girl! She does not pine and call boys like this. Then, his voice crackles through, and her heart rushes. It takes her a couple of seconds to realize it's his voice mail. The short message is over before she can decide whether to hang up or not, and she's left with silence.

—

Matt doesn't notice the message until much later. He always switches his phone to silent mode when he goes to church, and after the talk with father Lantom he completely forgot about it. It's on a whim that he remembers, finding the apartment too quiet. Part of him is hoping Foggy will call him, even though he knows his friend is probably still furious with him. When he switches back from silent mode, the phone immediately proclaims, "Voicemail", and his hope soars. He is more than a little surprised when Claire's muted voice fills the room.

"Matt, I'm sorry, I just… Sorry. I'm gonna stop apologizing now." He hears her let out a shaky breath. "I really don't want to leave. I have to, but I don't want to. I worry about you. I know I promised I'd be there, but I'm going to be a hell of a lot further away from you for a while, and I am scared. Please, don't do anything stupid. Please, go to the hospital every now and then. And if you get a concussion, ask Foggy to call you every half hour for the first day, even if it's annoying."

Her voice cracks as she shoots off more medical advise, and Matt can almost feel his heart slowly break. Of all the people who could have found him in that dumpster, she had to be the one. He doesn't want her to leave, either, but for all the pain and trouble he has caused her, it's a wonder she hasn't left before now. In some ways, going through this fight alone was easier. No need to worry about anyone getting hurt but him. Now Claire has left and Foggy is not talking to him. Two of the most important people in his life are no longer there.

"Matt… Please, be there when I get back."

Through the choppy line, he can hear a train coming in, and the message cuts after that. It's over. Claire's gone, for however long that may be. There could have been something between them, something to keep the both of them strong, and he blew it. He listens to the message again, his breath catching in time with the her voice breaking up. He wishes she would never have found him, never would have gotten tangled in his mess. He wishes for her back, for her challenging questions and nimble fingers and soft lips. He wishes he could rid the city of evil so she could come back and he wouldn't have to disappoint her or anyone else.

He meditates, trying to clear his mind, manage the pain. The rain outside provides a nice, white noise to drown out the outside world, but he can't seem to focus. Flashes of blood and violence and everything he has battled against fills his mind's eye. His stitches itch, as if missing the skilled touch of the person who put him back together again. He has to do something. Claire is right, there will always be a bad guy, someone who wreaks havoc on the city he has sworn to protect. But if he does nothing, there will never be the opportunity for prosperity, for peace. If he does nothing she might not ever return to him.

The box with his black outfit seems to emanate some ominous energy when he opens the closet doors. The boots feel heavier, the shirt almost constricting. He needs to find whoever made the armor for Fisk. Matt quickly changes clothes, listening one final time to Claire's message before heading out. He has a promise to keep.

Please, be there when I get back.

A/N: Review to make a hobbit happy!