A/N: Since I'm no medical expert, the descriptions of first aid in this chapter are based on research and what little knowledge I have about the subject. Apologies if I got anything wrong.

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Chapter 2

"Claire."

The voice from the shadows was raspy, unfamiliar, and it startled Claire into a rigid standstill. Her hands curled instinctively around the bottle of pepper spray in her pocket as she turned towards the figure hidden in the darkness under the scaffolding, eyes narrowing as she tried to make out who was talking to her. If it was a stalker that had followed her from hospital or – god forbid – another lowlife connected to Fisk, she'd make sure this was the last time he tried to get close to her.

"Who's there?"

She didn't want to sound as scared as she felt but the slight tremble in her voice betrayed her. Since the night she had been abducted by the Russians, she had become apprehensive, a feeling that had never really passed. It was worse when she was alone, and some freak ambushing her in the middle of the night was more than enough to push all her panic buttons. The small metal bottle felt reassuring in her hand and she pulled it out, pointing it at the stranger.

"Claire, it's me."

Movement in the shadows, the glimpse of red and black clothing. Ragged breathing, a barely contained moan. Whoever this was had a hard time standing, clumsily falling down again when he was halfway up. He didn't pose an immediate threat, that was obvious, and Claire took a step forward, eyes widening when she realized who she was looking at.

"Holy shit, Matt." She mumbled, sudden worry constricting her throat. Slipping off her woolen gloves, she moved to kneel beside him and reached up to his face. His skin was ice-cold touch under her fingers, his suit soaking wet. "What happened to you? Did you fall into the Hudson or something?"

He slumped against the wall, momentarily giving up his attempts to push onto his feet.

"Into the harbor," he clarified hoarsely.

"Why the hell didn't you go home to warm yourself up? Or call me for that matter? I thought that's what the burner was for."

"Burner's dead," he rasped, grimacing as he tried to get to his feet again and Claire helpfully shifted her shoulder under his arm, taking most of his weight as she helped him up.

"So you decided to wait here in the alley, freezing to death? Smart move."

She started to lead him toward the entrance of her apartment building, catching him when his legs gave out, stiff and weak from the cold. God, the man was heavy.

"How long have you been waiting here?"

"Not so long," Matt tried to placate her. She could feel him panting as he leaned against her, the tremors that shook him clearly perceptible even through her coat. "I could hear you coming. You were," he paused, coughing weakly, "just a block away."

"What, you identified me by my footsteps? They're that distinctive?"

Matt leaned against the wall while Claire fumbled for her keys. Warm air enveloped them when she opened the front door, a welcome change to the night chill.

"Combined with your heartbeat, yes."

She huffed a laugh despite the worry throbbing in her chest and moved his arm around her shoulder again, gripping him around the waist with the other hand as she steered him inside. He almost stumbled over the threshold and her hands tightened around him lest he fall down.

"Careful," she admonished, "Let's go slow. You think you can make it up the stairs?"

"I'll give my best," he promised, gripping the banister with a shaky hand.

They went slowly, one step at a time, resting whenever he felt the need, and Claire listened nervously for footsteps or any doors opening. The way he titled his head, attention focused on something she could not hear, told her that he shared her concerns. It was a situation he didn't want to get caught in. To her relief, they made it to her floor without being seen. By the time they finally reached her door, he was reeling and once they were inside, he simply collapsed on the couch, completely spent, burrowing his face in the cushions.

Claire shrugged out of her coat, headed for the bedroom first to grab a blanket, then made an intermediate stop in the kitchen to set some water on to boil. When she finally returned with her medical bag, she found Matt in the same position she had left him. He stirred when she squatted beside him.

"Can you sit up?" she asked gently touching his arm.

He nodded, starting to push himself up, and she took hold of his shoulders to assist him, felt him shaking beneath her hands as she did. Her fingers found the seam of the mask and eased it off his face. She almost gasped when the damage beneath it was revealed.

"Oh my god," Claire muttered under her breath, gingerly turning his face towards her. "What happened to you?"

In the light of her apartment he looked half-dead, lips almost blue, eyes bloodshot and swollen. Some kind of rash ran down from his eyes to his chin, and there was the same redness around his nose.

His mouth twitched into the resemblance of a sad smile. "That bad, huh?"

She raised her eyebrows in confirmation. "Yeah. It almost looks like... some kind of burn. You got chemicals flashed into your face?"

"Toxic gas." He coughed again, wetly, and grimaced when it caused him pain. "Inhaled some of it too."

"Is that why your voice sounds so bad?"

Another nod.

"You got an idea what kind of gas?"

He shook his head, teeth clattering when another tremor got hold of him. He looked like he was about to pass out, but was keeping himself upright by sheer amount of will. Claire kneaded her lip, thinking, eyes drifting to her phone. Toxic gas was bad. It could easily take a couple of hours before the whole extent of damage became apparent, as the substance might continue to do its work. By the time serious symptoms developed, it might be too late to call an ambulance.

"No hospital," he pleaded softly before she could voice her concern. It was creepy how he could tell what he was thinking, even more so as he didn't appear to be as alert as usual. "There's been another victim. They'll connect me with the incident easily."

"This is no joke, Matt," Claire argued, trying to talk some sense into him. "You're hypothermic and there's no telling how bad your lungs are damaged. You could get pneumonia from the chemicals alone. That is, if your lungs don't give out before that."

"It's not that bad."

An understatement at least, judging by the way he looked.

"You can't know that, Matt."

Matt set his jaw stubbornly, meeting her glance as best as he could with his unfocused eyes. He was exhausted beyond limits, shaking like a leaf, but there was no way he was going to hospital. Not when he had a say in it.

Claire sighed, shaking her head in defeat. It was ill-advised, completely irresponsible, she knew that. In the back of her mind, the voice of reason raised a hue and cry, chiming in with the professional nurse who wanted to drag him to an ER at once, rating the physical well-being of her patient above any special requests he might have. But it was more complicated than that and she had to admit that he had a point. She just hoped she wouldn't regret her decision by the end of the day.

"Fine," she conceded, sounding every bit unhappy about this as she felt. "No hospital."

She ran a hand down her face, considering her options. There was not an awful lot she could do for him here, especially with regard to internal injuries, so she'd just have to focus on the rest.

"Let's start by getting you out of those wet clothes and warm you up. You need some help getting out of that suit?"

He shook his head wearily. "No, I can do it."

"Okay, I'll be right back."

She watched his clumsy hands feel for the zipper and left him to the task, heading for the kitchen once more. There had to be some herb tea somewhere, something she'd bought the last time she'd got a cold. Ideally, she would start with active core rewarming now, put him on an IV with warmed fluids in addition to a heating blanket, but she didn't have that option right now. Common means would have to do. Searching her shelves, she finally found what she was looking for and opened a packet of sage tea, measured the loose leaves into a tea pot and poured boiling water over them. The hot water bottle was under the counter and she wrapped it in a dishtowel after filling it, so he wouldn't burn himself. Leaving the tea to steep, she returned to the living room to find Matt struggling with his boots.

Her mood softened when she saw the futility of his attempts.

"Here, let me help."

She knelt next to him and together they managed to work off the wet footwear that clung to his skin. They came off with a wet smack and she took the opportunity to inspect his toes for frostbite, relieved when they looked fine. His drenched suit was next and it landed in a heap on the floor, joining his gloves and mask. When she handed him the hot-water bottle, he accepted it appreciatively, pulling it close.

"Careful, it's hot," she warned.

He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the warmth, and Claire reached to wrap the blanket around his shivering frame. She noticed the bruises on his torso, dark against the pallor of his skin, most of them old. Following an instinct, she laid her hands against the side of his chest, feeling for broken ribs and didn't find any, then ran her fingers across his skull. A lump at the base of his neck caught her attention.

"Took a hit to the head?" She inquired. As if his condition wasn't bad enough, he'd just have to add a concussion to the list.

"It's okay," he replied, wincing as she examined it. "I've had worse."

"I have no trouble believing that."

Letting it go for the moment, she continued her assessment with his arms and shoulders, frowning when she came across the angry red gash on his shoulder.

"What's that?" she asked worriedly, placing her hand on his upper arm, gently moving him sideways so she could get a better look.

"Bullet grazed me," he mumbled, holding still while she inspected the wound. "It's nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing," Claire objected, brows furrowing. Actually, it looked rather painful. "Looks like an acid burn on top of a bullet wound. It doesn't necessarily need stitches but it should be cleaned."

He acknowledged the information with a small nod, face blank except for a look of utter exhaustion. Claire watched him closely, noting the stiffness in his posture and the color of his skin which seemed to be impossibly paler than before. Sweat glistened on his forehead. He was shivering less violently now, but the way he avoided to take a proper breath was troublesome, a sure sign that he was hurting a lot more than he let on. She knew how he hated pain meds, but if he kept breathing like this, he would likely pass out.

"I'd like to give you an analgesic before I start," she said softly. "It'll also ease the pain in your chest. Make it easier to breathe."

When he didn't react, she placed her hand on his arm, squeezing it lightly. "Matt?"

He flinched, turning his blind gaze towards her in confusion.

"I'll give you something for the pain," she repeated. "Okay?"

"'kay."

His easily given consent troubled her as much as his apparent difficulties to stay alert. It seemed like he was slipping away, whether it was the toxins in his blood or mere exhaustion, she couldn't say. Better to get this over with quickly. Methodically, she wiped the crook of his arm with an antiseptic pad before preparing a needle and administering the drug. He took the pinprick impassively, eyebrows not even twitching.

"You still with me?"

"U-huh."

"Good." She waited for the meds to take effect, relieved when the pained crease between his brows finally disappeared and he took a careful, deeper breath. "Try to stay awake until I'm finished, okay?"

A small nod, followed by a cough. The man needed to rest soon or he'd fall right off her couch.

"You want to lie down?"

He shook his head, eyes drooping. "No, I'm okay."

Sure didn't look like it.

"How are your eyes?" She inquired while she was cleaning the wound on his shoulder. His skin felt icy, even through the latex gloves she was wearing. "If there's any residue of the toxins, they should be irrigated."

"All washed out," came the mumbled answer, hoarse and slightly slurred. It obviously tired him to speak and Claire felt sorry for making him. She needed to make sure she didn't miss anything though.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I…," he swallowed with some difficulty, then went on, "didn't get much into my eyes. They watered like hell though."

"I can see that. You got a rash all over your face."

He turned his head toward her at that, eyes sliding open again. "How bad is it?"

Claire smiled reassuringly, knowing he could sense her doing so. Her fingers smoothed a bandage over the wound. "Don't worry, it won't scar. I have a salve that should help. Couple of days and you'll be handsome as ever."

A smile tugged at his lips at her remark. "You flirting with me?"

Claire shook her head, returning the smile despite the worry that tightened her chest. "Hey, I already got you out of your clothes."

"That you did."

He coughed again, violent this time, breaking into a fit that wracked his body, bringing tears to his eyes. Claire winced in sympathy.

"You feeling up to drink something?" she asked softly. "I made some sage tea. It'll help to warm you up. It might also soothe your throat."

He let his head sink against the backrest of the couch, taking a controlled breath.

"You'll let me sleep after that?"

She smiled compassionately. "I promise."

Matt nodded, eyes closed. "Okay, I'll try."

It turned out trying was the correct way to phrase it. By the time Claire returned from the kitchen with the tea, sweetened and cooled down enough to drink, Matt was merely half awake. He was slouching, drained of all energy and despite his efforts to control the tremors, his hands were too shaky to get a proper hold of the mug. He barely stifled a curse when some of its contents ended up on the blanket, anger and embarrassment displaying on his face, and Claire quietly sat down next to him, steadying his hand and raising the cup so he could drink.

He took his time, careful not to burn himself, the warm beverage feeling too hot against his lips. When he had finally finished, she took the cup from his hands and placed it on the floor.

"Feeling a bit warmer?"

His eyes turned to her, red-rimmed and glazed. They looked endlessly tired.

"A bit."

Not much then. Another thing he wouldn't complain about. It figured.

Claire suppressed a sigh that wanted out, knowing in her heart that the rewarming measures she had taken wouldn't suffice. Which left only one thing that she hadn't tried. She wasn't sure how well he would take it though, given their current state of relationship.

"Matt," she hesitated as she tried to find the right words. "You're still a lot colder than I'd like. Let's get you to bed, okay?"

He shook his head at her suggestion, declining the offer with a faint smile. "I really can't put you out of your bed, Claire. The couch is fine."

Of course he'd misunderstand. She'd have to elaborate to make him understand that this was not about chivalry.

"It's really too small for two people," she clarified, hoping that he'd catch the drift.

Silence. He looked exactly the way she'd expected him to and it wasn't as if she didn't understand. She was conflicted about the idea herself, was aware what the intimacy of sharing a bed would do to them, what it would feel like to bring back the ache that was sleeping at the bottom of her heart. She had cared for him deeply, and she still did. The emotions reflecting in his unfocused eyes told her he felt the same.

But she could steel herself from it. This was part of her promise, to always be there when he needed her to patch him up. And right now he needed all the warmth he could get.

"Come on," she said softly, taking his clammy hand into hers. "It'll be alright, I promise."

For a moment it looked like he would just stay there, planted on the couch, and she gave him a moment to reconsider. She couldn't make him, wouldn't make him if he didn't want to. But when she gently tugged his hand, silently repeating her offer, he gripped the blanket, holding it together in front of his chest, and started to push to his feet. He couldn't stand on his own, muscles still stiff and cramping, and Claire was at his side to catch him, arm around his waist, wrapping his left arm around her shoulders.

"I got you," she said. "Come on, let's go slow."

They made it to her bedroom in small steps and Claire took her time to tug him in, fluffing up a pillow before sliding it under his head and nestling the hot-water bottle among the blankets. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, her hand came to rest on the crown of his head and she gazed at him, tried to read the emotions that played across his face. Hidden among the layer of fatigue and physical discomfort she could make out something else, apprehension as much as relief, and the unspoken need for comfort.

"I'll be gone for a moment," she told him, seeing him close his eyes as the tremors started to take hold of him again. "Gonna hit the shower. You'll be fine on your own? Anything I can get you before I go?"

"No, I'm good." There was the hint of a smile, but he didn't open his eyes again.

When she started to rise, she felt his fingers close around her hand.

"Thank you, Claire," he whispered.

The gesture reminded her of the night they had first met, him half-dead on her couch while she'd had concerns not unlike tonight. It would be alright, she told herself, just like back then. He would be alright. Gingerly, she leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead before pushing to her feet.

"You're welcome."

TBC