A/N Okay, this one took a little longer than I expected. I hope you're still with me. Thank you for your kind words and for your encouragement :-)

Chapter 3

Matt woke up curled on his side, arms drawn toward his chest for warmth. The cold that had haunted his dreams was still there, though it had decreased markedly. It was a mere inconvenience now, a dull ache deep in his bones that refused to let go. Remnants of heat radiated from a hot water bottle against his stomach, but there was a larger warmth pressed against his back, a warmth that moved slightly with every breath whispering against his neck. The sound of a familiar heartbeat, a slender arm wrapped around his waist. Claire.

She had patched him up as always, he distinctly remembered that, though his memory failed to provide much of the details. He recollected just fragments, the touch of gentle fingers on his skin, the concern in her voice. Her scent. The same scent that enveloped him right now, streaming from the cotton bedclothes and breathing onto him from behind. It was subdued, as if he had come down with a cold, but it was there nevertheless, complex and sweet and unmistakably her. After the damage the toxins had done to his lungs, he couldn't help but feel relieved that his sense of smell was still working.

He tried a mental check-up of his body then, methodically, directing his attention to one body part at the time. It was difficult to focus, gauge the damage through the drug-induced haze that wrapped around his mind, and at some point he just gave it up. The only pain that registered clear enough came from inside his chest, a deep molten hurt that flared with every intake of breath. It bothered him more than he cared to admit. How long until he recovered from this? A week? Two?

Behind him, Claire sighed in her sleep, burrowing her face against his neck. Her breath quickened slightly, lashes brushing against his skin as her eyes moved behind closed lids. She was dreaming, he realized. The insight stirred something in his heart, something light and warm he couldn't put into words. It was comforting despite the ache that resonated with it, the knowledge that the moment would pass. This was an echo of something that could have been, nothing more. He relished this moment though, the sensation of her snuggled against him, and he felt himself relax in her embrace until the regular thud of her heartbeat guided him back to sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, the warmth behind him was gone. He lay quiet for some time, too exhausted to move and increasingly aware of his injuries as the drugs were losing their grip on him. There were various hurts that demanded his attention, the lump at the back of his head that thumped in unison with his heartbeat. His eyes, still sore from the toxins. The gash at his shoulder burning in a slightly different hue. His lungs were worst, ablaze with pain, struggling to expand against an immaterial weight that sat on his chest. He coughed weakly to make it go away and winced when the effort drove stabbing knives into his chest. Today was gonna suck.

It took some effort to lever himself into a sitting position, but he managed, annoyed at the way his muscles trembled from the strain. Gingerly he moved to the edge of the bed, naked feet feeling for he floor. The rasp of the cotton bedclothes against his skin reminded him not-so-gently of the fact that he wasn't wearing any clothes and he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders for warmth as much as to cover his nakedness. Not too far away he could hear the soft mumbling of a TV and the clatter of dishes mixing in with the sizzling of something frying in a pan. Sounded like Claire was making breakfast. His grumbling stomach told him that he hadn't eaten in a while. Food would be nice before he headed home.

The smell of fried vegetables greeted him when he entered the living room – peppers, tomatoes, zucchini – a variety of herbs blending in. Rice cooking in a separate pot. Claire hadn't noticed him yet and he padded towards the kitchen on shaky legs.

"Good morning." His voice was barely audible and he cleared his throat, leaning against the back of the coach to steady himself. He attempted a smile, but it turned out to be more crooked than anything. "You're cooking?"

"Hey, you're up." She turned around with a surprised smile, her heartbeat spelling worry and relief in equal parts. He could feel her eyes rest upon him as she tried to figure out how he was doing. If he looked only half as bad as he felt, he probably looked like shit. "You hungry? Lunch isn't quite ready yet, but I got some cereal if you want any."

"Um, thanks," he rasped, running his hand over his head in an effort to fix his hair. "I can wait. Smells good though."

"Coffee?"

"No, thanks. But a glass of water would be nice."

"Sure." He could hear the smile in her voice. "Why don't you sit down and I'll be with you in a sec?"

He sank onto the couch drawing the blanket closer around him and waited for Claire to join him. God, he hated to feel like this. The short walk from the bed had drained him, leaving him light-headed and breathless, and he coughed again trying to clear his airways. Something wet came up and he swallowed it, distraught at the coppery taste it left in his mouth.

The cushions shifted when Claire sat down next to him and gently pressed a glass of water into his hands. Her scent wafted over him as she did, carrying memories of last night, of her body folding around him. It was something he really didn't want to ponder right now and he willed the emotions that stirred inside him into silence. He knew where they were standing, she had told him more than once, and he appreciated what she had done. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel sorry for helping him.

"How are you doing?"

The question was gentle, softened by genuine concern that transmitted through her voice and the touch of her hand on his upper arm.

"Better than yesterday, thanks to you." Warmer at least. He gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you. For... what you've done."

He couldn't say it out loud, it felt wrong somehow, and he didn't have to. The gentle squeeze on his arm told him that she knew what he wanted to say.

"I'm glad you're better. How's the pain?"

"Bearable." For the moment at least. He took a tentative sip of water, relishing the coolness against his parched throat. "But that's probably due to whatever you've given me."

She acknowledged the information with a small nod, studying him.

"Your cough sounds worse. Are you still having trouble breathing?"

He shrugged, shivering slightly despite the blanket. Somewhere to his right he could sense his suit lying across a chair, still damp from his dive into the harbor. It would take at least another couple of hours to dry.

He felt Claire's gaze upon him as she still waited for an answer, and Matt tried to put his discomfort into words. "It almost feels like… I've come down with the flu."

And it hurt like hell, despite the residual pain meds still masking the worst of it. He wasn't going to tell her though. She'd just want to drug him up again.

"Do you have a fever?"

He felt her warm hand against his forehead before he could answer.

"No."

"Okay, that's good." She heaved a sigh of relief, brushing a stray strand from her face before she went on. "You should really take something against the pain though. This will just get worse if you don't breathe normally."

She was probably right, and Matt didn't mind taking some mild painkillers. But whatever she had drugged him up with last night was completely out of the question. It would prevent him from doing anything else than lie on the couch. He wouldn't even be able to meditate and he needed to meditate in order to get better soon.

"I got some pills at home," he declared.

"What kind of pills? Aspirin?"

He nodded.

"Ibuprofen would be better really. I'll get you some, along with some meds to prevent your lungs from scarring." She paused, studying him. "Your face looks better by the way. The rash is almost gone. How're your eyes?"

"Still sore but better than yesterday," he replied truthfully.

"May I have a look at your shoulder?"

He slipped the blanket from his shoulders, quietly bracing himself as he waited for the touch of her fingers on his skin. She leaned in to gently peel the bandage away and the brush of her warm breath against his neck caused an involuntary shiver to ripple through his body.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, misinterpreting his reaction as pain.

He gave a wan smile.

"I haven't seen you in a while," Claire said softly as she examined the wound and he tensed when she applied some antibiotic ointment. "Actually, I didn't think I would, now that you got yourself some body armor. It seems to do a good job keeping you safe. Looks good too, by the way."

"Better than my black outfit, huh?"

"Yeah, definitely. It's a big improvement." She paused as she reached for a fresh bandage. When she spoke again she sounded almost sad. "I'm sorry I didn't recognize you last night. I really wasn't expecting you, and your voice was…"

"Different. I know." He didn't blame her, he still sounded like some long-time smoker. But now that they were talking about it, he remembered her reaction when he had called out to her, the screaming panic in her heartbeat. "Who did you think I was?"

She shrugged, smoothing the bandage over the wound. "Some creep. I don't know."

Not true. Not exactly a lie either. She was playing it down, avoiding a subject she didn't want to talk about. Not to him, at least. He wondered if it had to do with the night she had been abducted by the Russians, if she was still suffering from the aftermath.

"This seems to be healing," she informed him, interrupting his train of thought. "Given the chemical burn, the scar might not look pretty though."

He couldn't help but smile at her unnecessary concern. "I can live with that."

Claire started to clean up after herself and Matt addressed her as she got up. "Hey, could I use your phone? I'd like to call Foggy, tell him I won't be coming to work today."

"Sure."

She threw him her cell and he caught it reflexively, relieved that his senses were still working well enough to do that. It was then that the TV caught his attention. He had barely noticed the constant mumbling in the background, his mind having filtered it out as irrelevant, but now that the news were on, his curiosity was aroused. The anchor had just mentioned a shooting at the harbor. Hopefully the cops had taken care of the rest.

Claire must have noticed his shift of attention, as she quietly reached for the remote control on the table, turning the volume up.

"This about last night?" She asked, and he just nodded his head, raising his hand to indicate that he was listening.

"… dramatic footage from the crime scene. The shooting is reported to have been brutal. According to Commissioner Higgins from the 15th precinct, six officers were shot dead, two more were taken to hospital. Their condition is critical. Unconfirmed reports state that toxic gas has been released during the incident and may have played a role in the high number of casualties."

Matt felt his heart grow cold. Six officers dead, two more in critical condition. Because of him. If he had been more careful, he would have been able to help. But he had been stupid enough to get himself injured, had been forced to retreat when he should have stayed to make sure that everything went well. His fists clenched as anger welled up inside of him and he felt the desperate need to thrash something, but willed himself to sit tight. He shouldn't have left the police to it, should have known they'd be in over their heads.

Beside him, Claire was staring at the screen in silence, but her quickening heartbeat betrayed her feelings as she reacted to the footage he could not see. It wasn't difficult to imagine though - the crime scene crowded with cops and paramedics, bleeding men rushed away on gurneys, red and blue lights flickering in the background.

"According to police reports thirty barrels of an unidentified chemical compound have been seized. The police are still looking for the shooters."

Thirty barrels. It took a moment until the implications of the number registered, and his heart skipped a beat when it did. There had been more than thirty barrels under deck. Where the hell was the rest of it? Was it possible that the cops had only procured part of the cargo? That would mean that the chemicals were still in the hand of the people who had tried to smuggle it into the city, and judging by what the stuff could do, they were planning to use it as a weapon. Having experienced its effects firsthand, Matt didn't want to imagine what this stuff could do if released somewhere in his neighborhood. At a mall. At a school.

Suddenly he felt very sick.

"Matt, are you alright?"

Claire's hand on his arm, her heart beating worry and fear. He was sorry for scaring her, was debating how much he could tell her, what good it would do.

"This got something to do with your dive into the harbor?"

He nodded, running a shaking hand over his face. How on earth had he allowed this to happen? How had people like that been able to set foot on his doorstep without him noticing?

"Matt?" Firmly, this time, demanding an answer. "Talk to me."

He directed his blind gaze at her, letting her know that he acknowledged her, even if he didn't know what to say. He just hoped that the emotions that tore him up from the inside didn't display on his face.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled finally, it was the only thing he could think right now. "Claire, I … messed up."

"You were there during the shooting?"

He shook his head. "No, before. I left when the police arrived, hoping they'd take care of the rest."

The men on the ship had been knocked out, all except for the one that had locked Matt in the cargo area. It was impossible for him to have overpowered the cops on his own. But there had been the woman on the phone, Qa'id. Matt distinctly remembered her saying that she'd be there in no time. She must have tried to save the shipment.

"Please don't tell me you're blaming yourself for the deaths of the cops. That's not your fault."

But it was. And it was so much worse than that. He hesitated, searching for the right words and didn't find them. Claire thankfully turned off the TV, getting rid of the annoying noise in the background before turning back to him.

"Matt?" She asked gently.

He shook his head at himself. He had pulled her into this mess asking her to patch him up again. She deserved to know.

"The toxic gas that's responsible for," he made a vague gesture with his right hand, "what happened to me. They had a complete shipload of it. Barrels, I don't know how many, but definitely more than thirty. I didn't even breathe in that much of it, but as you can see, it's very… effective."

"When you say 'they', you mean who? The shooters?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Maybe some kind of terrorists, I don't know."

"And you're saying they have more of this war gas here in Hell's Kitchen?"

He nodded, mute.

"Oh my God," she muttered under her breath. "How come they didn't say so on the news?"

"I don't know. Maybe the authorities want to avoid a panic. Maybe the cops have a lead. But I don't believe it. I think, what's more likely is that some cops are in on it, just like with Fisk. I mean, you don't just shoot some cops, unload a ship and then disappear without a trace." He shrugged, helplessly, not knowing what to think.

He could sense that Claire was staring at him.

"You've got to tell the police."

"And what good would that do? If they just want to avoid a panic, then there's nothing to tell, they'll know already. If some cops are in on it, I don't know whom to trust."

"Isn't there this cop you told me about? Officer what's his name..."

"Officer Mahoney." Matt tilted his head, weighing his decision. "I don't know. Maybe. I might give it a shot."

"Good." Resolution. "For a moment, I thought you'd run off again trying to take care of things by yourself."

Which, ultimately, he'd have to do. He knew it wasn't the smartest thing to do given the state he was in, and if the circumstances were any different, he'd like nothing better than to lay low and get some rest. Hell, he felt wretched to say the least. But lives were at stake here, he didn't know how many. He couldn't just let half a shipload of war gas sit in the hands of some madmen. Only God knew what they were up to, and it couldn't be anything good.

"Here," he felt Claire pressing something into his hand. Her cell phone, he realized. He hadn't even noticed that he'd dropped it. "Call Foggy. Ask him to come over. Maybe he can be here before I have to get to work."

It sounded like a good idea. Matt could even ask him to bring some dry clothes so he could head home. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Claire's hospitality, but he didn't want to bother her any more than he had to. Besides, he really felt like taking a shower and brushing his teeth. Foggy wouldn't be too happy to learn about what had happened though. In fact, his friend might even try to stop him from doing what needed to be done.

"What is it?" Claire asked when she saw him hesitate.

There was no way around it really, Foggy had to know. He'd deal with the inevitable discussion once it came up.

"Nothing." Matt gave her an apologetic smile. "Hey, could you dial for me? I can't read a touchscreen display."

"Sorry, I forgot. Of course." She typed in the number he gave her, then handed him the phone back.

"Thanks."

Leaning back against the cushions, he lifted the phone to his ear and listened to the ringing tone. It took a moment until someone picked up.

TBC