A/N Sorry everyone, I really needed to take a break, but I'm back. I would like to thank everybody for their kind comments and support, it's been wonderful to hear from you! There's a lot of Foggy and Claire in this chapter, thought they might take the opportunity to finally get to know each other. More Matt in the next chapter. Hope you enjoy :-)

Chapter 6

Claire remained sitting on the edge of the bed for a while longer even after it was obvious that Matt had fallen asleep. She watched his breaths gradually even out and become deeper until his head finally dropped slightly to the side, lips parting when his muscles went limp and exhaustion got the better of him. He looked pale under the unnatural flush of fever, frail even. It was hard to believe that the man who lay here in front of her, sick and completely played out, was actually the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, the man that local criminals feared and who had brought down Wilson Fisk and his empire. The very same man who had saved her from the Russians and had beaten the crap out of her tormentors so they'd never lay hands on her again. So that she was safe.

Back then, part of her had wanted to blame him for what had happened to her, but in her heart she had always known that this decision had been hers. She had known that helping him would put her at risk, and if she could turn back time, knowing the consequences her actions would have, she would do it again. He was reckless at times, sure, and the memory of him interrogating that dirty cop – Foster, wasn't it? - still made her shudder. But when she was back in the ER talking to the people he had saved, there was only one conclusion she could come to, that in the end he was a good man, that he was making a difference and that he deserved all the support she could give.

She had made a rule for herself though, one that the rational part of her mind had thought up to protect her from further pain. She would not get involved with him. It had seemed the smart thing to do once she had realized what kind of man he was, and she had thought that she would be able to stick to it. Keep an emotional distance, be professional. But now that she was sitting at his side, seeing him weak and suffering, she realized how much she cared. It hurt her to see him like this. Maybe it was about time to admit that she had been wrong.

Absentmindedly, she rubbed her tired eyes, frowning at herself. What was she thinking? It was probably just the lack of sleep, making her all sentimental. She was stronger than this. She was smart enough to know what was good for her and what wasn't, and Matt Murdock was a complicated man. He was making her life difficult already. It would become much more difficult if she allowed herself to give in now. Besides, the reminded herself, it took two to make that decision, and Matt had readily agreed to end their affair before it had even begun.

He made a small sound of distress that pulled her from her thoughts, and she saw his eyebrows twitch in his sleep, his head turn. The tortured expression that flitted across his face caused her to instinctively reach out and lay a hand against the side of his face, which still felt overly warm. He didn't wake, but somehow her touch seemed to register because the tension faded from his lines. She brushed a wet strand of hair from his forehead, resting her hand on his brow and frowned in disapproval. She didn't get the impression that his fever was improving at all, though the meds should have kicked in already.

The fever was actually her greatest worry at the moment. While she knew it to be his body's response to his damaged lung tissue and probable infection, it would most likely continue to mess with his sleep and prevent him from getting any real rest. Besides, if it continued to rise, she would have to get him to hospital, whether he'd like it or not. She hoped it wouldn't come to that though. The cops were still looking for the shooters and the hospitals had been requested to inform the police in case someone with suspicious injuries was admitted.

She sighed deeply, quietly pushing to her feet, and cast a last glance at his sleeping form before she left the room and pulled the door closed. The walls were thin, she remembered that from the short time she had shared the apartment with him, and she would notice if anything was wrong. But she hadn't slept much in the last 48 hours, and if she wanted to keep going, she needed a cup of coffee.

She knew where he kept most of the things in his kitchen and after a couple of minutes the coffee machine was gurgling. To her dismay, there was no milk in the fridge and there wasn't a lot of food either. Just some eggs, a half empty jar of strawberry jelly and several bottles of German beer. She also found two apples in a bowl on the counter and some toast, but that was about it. Looked like she would have to order in today.

She waited until the coffee was ready and poured herself a cup, black with lots of sugar, and had just made herself comfortable on the couch when there was a knock on the door. She hesitated before putting down the cup and got up. Matt hadn't mentioned that he was expecting anyone.

When she opened the door, she was surprised to find Foggy standing there, a big shopping bag in hand, face slightly reddened from the cold. Single snowflakes melted on the collar of his coat and in his shaggy hair. He looked a little worse for the wear, as if he hadn't slept a lot, and clearly hadn't expected to meet her here if the expression on his face was any indication.

"Um, hi," she greeted him, not really sure what to say. She didn't know him all that well, and it was a little weird to only ever see him when Matt was unwell. He was a nice person, she had never doubted that. However, the only expression that Claire had ever seen on his face was worry. It didn't exactly make it easier to bond.

"Hi." She could practically see the wheels turn in his head as he tried to find an explanation for her presence. "What are you doing here? Is Matt alright?"

"No. He's - ," she hesitated, "He's not doing so well."

The crease between his eyebrows deepened. "Can I come in?"

"Um, yes, of course."

She closed the door behind him and followed him into the living room, where he put down his purchases on the table and started to unbutton his coat. He looked toward the closed bedroom door and she guessed his thoughts without difficulties.

"He's asleep," she told him, deliberately keeping her voice low and Foggy instinctively followed her example.

"What happened? He asked you to come over?"

She shook her head no, subconsciously crossing her arms in front of her chest in a defensive gesture. "I dropped by after work to check on him and bring him some meds." Her voice dropped a register as she recalled how bad he had looked. "He barely made it to the door."

She didn't mean to sound as bitter as she did, but she couldn't help it. She distinctly remembered Foggy promising her to keep an eye on him, make sure that he took it easy, and while he had probably meant it when he'd said it, apparently he hadn't done a very good job of it.

"He's running a high fever," she went on, voice low. "Considering the stuff he breathed in, this could well be the onset of pneumonia." She pressed her lips together, sighing in frustration. She had to ask it, even though Matt would probably hate her for it. "Did you know he went out again last night?"

The way that his eyes widened told her that he hadn't. Great, Matt. You didn't even tell your best friend.

"What – in that weather?" Foggy whispered incredulously. He had just shrugged out of his coat and was about to hang it over one of the chairs. "Is that why he got so sick?"

Claire raised her shoulders in a helpless shrug, "There's no way to know that for sure, but it surely didn't help."

"Great," Foggy sighed in obvious frustration.

"He said that he wanted to talk to the cops," she went on, wiping her eyes which were burning from lack of sleep. "Tell them that part of the chemical weapons probably ended up in the city."

Foggy gave her a long glance.

"Is that the reason for the terror alert?"

"They issued a warning?"

"Yeah."

"Well, good."

It meant that the authorities were taking the whole thing seriously. Matt would be happy to hear it too, might even consider to lay low for a couple of days. Let himself heal. Foggy, however didn't look happy at all. It took a moment until she realized what was bothering him.

He'd had no idea that part of the chemical weapons had disappeared.

"He didn't tell you about his suspicions, did he."

"No."

It figured. Trust Matt to only reveal as much information as necessary. Most likely, he'd been worried about Foggy trying to make him stay at home when he was itching to talk to the cops. Not only to warn them, but to find out if they had a lead. If he could help.

"Well," she sighed, trying to think of something placating to say, "he probably wouldn't have told me either if he could have avoided it. He has this thing for doing things alone."

She sank into the armchair, reaching for the half empty cup of coffee on the table, then nodded towards the coffee machine. "Want one too?"

Foggy hesitated, then walked over to the counter and helped himself. She couldn't help but notice the tension in his body and the tightness around his mouth, which revealed exactly how much the whole thing was getting to him. Now that she was watching him, she actually felt sorry for him. It was obvious that Matt's friend was suffering a great deal.

"You seem upset," Claire observed quietly. "You okay?"

"No."

He avoided to look at her, apparently didn't want her to see how troubled he really was, and focused his attention on pouring the coffee, took his time with the task. Retrieved a bottle of milk from the shopping bag, returned to the counter to add some milk to his cup together with a liberal amount of sugar. Fished a spoon from a drawer and stirred it. Took a sip, closing his eyes.

When he finally looked up again, the hardness in his eyes had diminished, but the tightness in his shoulders remained.

"I'm sorry," he said. "This is not your fault."

He gave her a weak smile. "I'm just tired of him getting hurt like this, and it really pisses me off that half the time he doesn't even tell me what's going on. I thought we were past that. I mean - " He paused, looking for the right words, then shook his head. "I'm really trying to be a good friend here, be there for him, you know? Pick him up when he needs me to. Make sure that he's okay. And he just goes out there again and gets himself more hurt."

Claire smiled sadly.

"Yeah, I know what that feels like."

"You do?" He looked at her in mild confusion, then shook his head at himself, apparently realizing what she meant. "Oh, sorry. Of course you do."

She felt his gaze rest on her for a long moment, thoughtful, pondering, and she self-consciously pushed a stray strand of hair from her face, unsure what to make of his scrutiny. There was a lot on his mind, that much was obvious. His face wore an expression of utter desolation.

"You really care about him, don't you," he said finally.

She raised her eyes in surprise, hadn't seen that one coming.

"I do," she admitted easily. "Else I wouldn't be here."

"I guess," he nodded. "So, how do you stand it? Patching him up, knowing that he'll get hurt again? That he might get himself killed? You must have been doing that for quite a while now."

She gazed at the ceiling, exhaling a long sigh. It was a fair question, she just didn't know how honest she wanted to be with this man whom she hardly knew. Who wasn't overly fond of Matt's vigilantism if she remembered correctly. However, he probably wasn't that much interested in her feelings for Matt anyway. The way he looked, he was struggling to get a grip on what had become a hard to bear reality for him. She had to remind herself that – contrary to herself – he hadn't befriended Matt when he was his Daredevil persona. He had known Matt as a lawyer, and there had been a time when he didn't constantly have to worry about his well-being.

"I don't know," she replied honestly, pulling her feet up into the armchair where it was warmer. "There are times when it's rough. But in the end it doesn't really matter because I believe in what he'd doing. And I don't want to let him down."

He nodded thoughtfully, drifting toward the couch and leaning against it, cup in hand. He didn't show any inclination to sit down though. Seemed to be happy with the couch standing between them for the moment.

"So, what about you?" She tilted her head, looking at him inquiringly. "How do you deal with this?"

Foggy exhaled slowly, then raised his shoulders in a vague shrug. "I worry. Like all the time. Ever since that night I found him half-dead here in his living room. I don't think that's a sight I will ever forget."

"Yeah, me neither."

It was a painful memory they shared, and it was disconcerting to see her own troubled expression mirrored in Foggy's face as their thoughts trailed back to that night. She saw the same terror in his lines that she had felt, the same fear.

"I tried to talk him out of it, you know," Foggy said softly. "More than once. He hasn't always been like this. Back at Colombia, when I first met him, he was just a supremely nice guy who wanted to help people. Make a difference. But this resort to violence," he shrugged helplessly, "I can't wrap my head around it."

"But he is making a difference," Claire replied. "You see that, right?"

Foggy looked at her doubtfully.

"Maybe this is easier for me to accept because when I met him, he was already wearing the mask. So I knew what I let myself in for. But the way you describe him… I think he still is that person, Foggy. He really cares about this city and its people. It's just, the problems he faces, there's no other way to solve them. When someone gets mugged in a dark alley at night and calls for help, you help in the best way you can. Now I couldn't stop the crime from happening, I'd just call the cops and hope for the best. But Matt can do more than that. And he hears an awful lot of people calling for help."

"He's taking an awful lot of risk doing it too, if you ask me."

"He does." Claire nodded. And some of the risks were unnecessary too.

Foggy let go of a long breath, looking into his cup as if for an answer. "I wish he would ask for help just once. There was no need for him to go out last night."

"Well, he did talk to the cops. That's something."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

He turned to put his cup on the table behind him and started to tend to the shopping bag and Claire took that as a sign that this part of the conversation was over. She got up once she realized what he was doing, jumping at the opportunity to do something.

"Can I help?"

"Nah, it's okay." He smiled his thanks and Claire stood back, giving him some space as he took out the purchases, laying them out on the table. Bagels from that fancy place down the block. Two different kinds of cream cheese, peanut butter, ham. A bottle of orange juice, some veggies. It was quite a lot and when he noticed the look on her face, he gave an apologetic shrug. "I know, I got carried away a bit. I was hoping to have breakfast with Matt, thought he might be hungry. You should go and wake him."

She briefly considered it, then shook her head.

"Actually, I would just let him sleep. He can eat when he wakes up."

"Oh, okay." He raised his eyebrows in surprise but didn't question her decision. "What about you? You hungry? There's more than enough."

Claire actually smiled at the suggestion. She hadn't eaten anything since she'd gotten home from work, and if she was honest, she was starting to get a bit hungry. It was nice of him to ask.

"Actually, yeah, breakfast sounds great. Thanks."

"Good. I really hate it when good food goes to waste. You can set the table if you want."

"Right." She disappeared behind the counter, gathering the dishes they'd need, while Foggy checked the fridge for any additional food. He shook his head in dismay, mumbling something about mice starving to death in Matt's kitchen.

"So, what's the plan?" He asked her as he returned to the table with the half-empty jar of jelly she had noticed earlier.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you said he's in pretty bad shape. You think we should take him to a doctor?"

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Hell, yes. But I don't think he'll let you. Trouble is, he has a point too. There might still be toxins in his bloodstream, and with bullet graze and rash on his face they might connect him with the shooting at the harbor."

"Okay, I get that," Foggy agreed unhappily. "So, what? We just hope for the best?"

"Basically, yeah."

Claire grabbed the coffee pot and joined Foggy at the table, refilling both their cups.

"You're staying with him today?" He asked her.

"That's the idea. At least until I have to get back to work this afternoon."

Foggy nodded. "I can close up the office at five, maybe earlier if I reschedule some of the appointments."

"You want to take turns?"

"You got a better idea?"

"No."

It was a reasonable suggestion, actually eased some of her worries. She had been wondering what to do if Matt got worse and she had to leave for work. She'd used up all her sick days weeks ago.

Foggy retrieved his smart phone, unlocked the screen and then slid it across the table toward her. "Could I get your number just in case?"

"Sure."

While Claire typed in her number as requested, Foggy took a poppy seed bagel and then nudged the paper bag in her direction, encouraging her to take her pick.

"This is weird," she said as she glanced into the paper bag, deciding on a plain bagel.

"What is?"

"Us having breakfast while Matt is asleep."

She decided on a plain bagel and cut it in half, coating it with a liberal amount of cream cheese.

"We could still wake him."

"No," she shook her head, "By all means, let him sleep. He can eat later, if he feels up to it. It's just – we don't really know each other, and this is Matt's place."

"Oh, I think he's okay with it," Foggy stated and the confidence in his voice made it easy to believe him. Claire noticed that he looked more relaxed now, the tension finally gone from his posture. He actually looked a lot more like the Foggy Matt had told her about.

"Besides, I think it might be about time that we got to know each other. Because if you're right and he really has pneumonia, we might keep running into each other for the next couple of days."

Claire sighed softly, lips twitching into an exhausted smile as she bit into her bagel.

"Yeah, probably."

TBC