PERSONAL SPACE: Here I am with a new chapter... Thank everyone for reading this.

I want to give a special thank to goldacharmed and zoepeyja who lef me a review! I'm sorry I haven't written you back so far, but I am studying for my exams at university and I have few time, but I will soon, I promise!

Thanks to the 22 and 13 of you who put this into followed and favourite lists, too!

Special thank to my beta InsertImaginativeNameHere for the great job she is doing me, for her patience, and for listening to my ravings!

Chapter 6: You'll wish I Killed You Yesterday

Matt was still trembling

Claire could feel the spasms of his hand as she held it in hers.

They were in the cab that was bringing them to the apartment she had rented when she'd left New York. Her blind friend was sitting motionless by her side, apparently perfectly calm, acting as if he were just her boyfriend and they were simply going home. Whatever the cause of that was, it wasn't only psychological. She could tell that his nerves were completely under control, and that if he really wanted, he could stop the shivering. Maybe it was just the wet sweater he was wearing... but if he'd changed his trousers and shoes, why not replace the t-shirt too? Was he hurt somewhere on his chest?

And what was he doing here? So far away from Hell's Kitchen? Why wasn't he wearing the red suit she'd read in the newspaper about? And who had he made a deal with? What was the connection with Foggy?

Not now, Claire. He needs you, not your questions.

She looked at him, gently caressing his hand with her thumb.

She tried to keep her face neutral, so he wouldn't notice she was trying to gauge how bad his condition was. He was pale and from the lack of movement and the small grimace he made when the car hit a pothole, she assumed he was hurt somewhere and he was struggling very hard to hide it.

He held on until they reached her house, then, the moment she left him to open the door, he let himself slide along the wall until he found himself sat down on the floor, as if he were too tired to stand for another second.

-Matt!- she crouched beside him.

-I... fine- The words came out weakly, and they were the only ones he needed to make himself clear, as if talking required energy supplies he didn't have. Jesus.

-My ass you are- she couldn't restrain herself from saying, probably more rude than she had wanted to sound. No time to be sorry, said her inner voice, while she was helping him to stand. He tried to help her, looking for a hold on the wall to lift himself. He couldn't find anything, but tried anyway to not put all his weight on her shoulder. She kicked the door to fully open it and somehow helped him to the couch.

She was happy to see his sigh of relief and the first concrete signal of relaxation while he was closing his eyes. She softly moved a stray hair from his forehead, trying to make him feel safe, her left hand still holding his. He was squeezing it quite hard, but not so much too hurt her, as if holding it could reassure him she was real.

-Don't move, Matt- she murmured before leaving to reach her bedroom. She felt a sudden tension in him, like he were afraid she would disappear if he let her go. -I'll be right back- she said, mostly to keep him calm and prevent him from getting up to look for her.

A moment later, when she came back with a sweatshirt that could suit him, she found him asleep.

She smiled, and felt very guilty about waking him, but she couldn't leave him wearing that wet thing.

She shook him awake gently. He moaned and grabbed her hand with a start, his eyes suddenly wide open, his muscles tensed ready to attack. Not to attack, she realized after a bit. The other hand, was not trying to hit her; he was keeping it near to his body, between his head and his chest, as if he wanted to be ready to protect himself.

That attitude worried her a lot. She knew from experience it was an half unconscious gesture, but back in New York, his instinct had always been to be the first to strike, not to defend.

What the hell happened to you, Matty?

-Easy. It's me, Matt- The sound of her voice and her hand taking his one were enough for him to relax a little bit, the minimum to stop himself from intercepting every her gesture, so she took the chance to examine him. -I need you to help me. Can you do that for me?-

He simply nodded, and the way he did it, as if he were doing the most intense, strenuous activity in the world, revealed how weak he was. She wondered where he had taken the strength to react when she had woken him from. The answer came by itself: fear.

What or who in the world could scare the man without fear to death?

She threw the question out of her mind. Matt needs you as a nurse right now. She told herself for the second time that day, and after that she focused on the young man laying on her couch.

She helped him to sit and lowed his jacket zip, then she made him take it off. He groaned in pain, so she tried to be as delicate as possible, not just so she didn't hurt him.

-I'm going to take this sweater off, ok Matt? I want to check you, plus, it's soaked through, you must be freezing- she explained. She knew this wasn't really necessary, she had never done that before with him, but she wanted him to be aware of what was going to happen. It usually worked with patients in shock after some accidents.

-Yeah...a little- he managed to muster up a half smile for her, one of those adorable puppy smiles that would prevent anyone's anger. She couldn't avoid smiling back, softly gracing his cheek in a soft caress.

-Relax, ok?-

-Please... soft. Hurts... hell- he begged, and the fact that he was asking for something for the first time since they had met alarmed her. He could normally bear sorrow in a way that seemed inhuman to her.

And she did it.

-God- she couldn't stop from jumping when she saw his chest's condition. -How the hell...-

-Long story- he cut in, his voice broken with pain, his shiver stronger now that he was half naked.

She made him wear the warmest and biggest sweatshirt she'd found (probably it was one of the ones Mike'd left in her wardrobe, she have must taken it without thinking, but now she was grateful she had). It was a thick, dark gray plush shirt, with a zip and a hood.

She pulled his arms into the sleeves and put the hood over his head to keep him warm. He was trying to grab the two sides of the zip to close it, but Claire stopped him putting her hand gently on his fingers..

-I'm sorry, Matt. I know you are cold, but I have to check you over-

-I'm...fine- he muttered, fighting with himself to stay awake -Just... bruises. Probably... one or two... damaged ribs. He...didn't...want..to kill...me-

-He didn't?-

He shook his head very slowly.

-Just...punish...Need... to rest... please...wake me...an hour...gotta...back... please..-

He was losing consciousness, his shaking very visible right now. She helped him with the zip, fastening it to cover also his neck. He let himself falling on the couch and a second later he was already sleeping. If they were only brushes... they could wait. But why was he in such pain then? Oh, yes, she reminded to herself, he has his own idea of "just bruises", and you won't find it in any medical manual.

She covered him with a fleece blanket and let him rest.

It was the best thing to do. Maybe when he would wake up, he would be more calm and she would be able to check him over, wearing down his resistance.

She didn't wake him up after an hour. Not after two or three, either.

Claire just let him sleep. Actually, a couple of times she froze for a moment, watching him carefully. He was so deep in sleep he hadn't moved a single muscle for long enough to make her wonder if he was still alive.

She found out he was.

His breathing was regular, his face hidden under the hood, his body huddled up on himself under the blanket to prevent heat loss. He wasn't trembling anymore, and that made her feel better, maybe it had just been the exhaustion.

Matt wasn't at home.

Stick knew it the moment he reached the door of their apartment. This time his mission would have taken more time, so instead of a cheap motel, Stick had decided to rent a small apartment in Boston, not far from the MIT, one of the most important Engineering school in the world. When he had left the house that morning, Matt was still unconscious on the floor where he had last seen him time the night before. Stick had checked to make sure he hadn't killed him, then he had gone out to finish the part of the job that could be done in the sunlight.

Usually, when he had such things to do, he let that damn kid have the day off, with a double purpose; he could work without Matt chattering about stupid things like morality and justice and that altar boy could go to the church and pray for his soul. For Stick religions (all of them) were just a pile of bullshit made to control normal people's behavior in the name of some God with the threat of some Divine punishment. He had never understood why his best pupil (because the lawyer really was the most talented soldier he had ever found) insisted on so much of that kind of crap, but he had noticed that after the church he was less of a pain in the ass, so Stick let him do whatever he wanted.

The old blind man had been aware from the beginning he hadn't got full control of Matt anymore, but still he wasn't worried about a possible escape: the guy was a man of honor, and a lawyer; they had made a deal and Stick was absolutely sure Matt would respect it, if not for loyalty for his friend's sake; besides, until he would obey orders, he didn't give a shit.

He opened the door and found confirmation about what he had felt from the outside; no one was at home.

Stick sighed and undressed himself, he couldn't stand the smell of his own clothes for a minute more, the scent of blood he could smell coming from his hands.

He needed a shower to blur it away and, after that, meditation. Lot of meditation, or the next time he really could kill Matthew.

It was almost midnight, and Matt hadn't come home yet, and Stick was beginning to get angry. Still he was sure the lawyer hadn't gone away forever. His cane and all his stuff were already here, including his Bible, the one Jack Murdock gave to him when he began Sunday school (he knew because a young Matt told him some days after he had left St. Agnes with him), so wherever he was right now, he was planning to come back.

Stupid, emotional kid!

Stick sighed and slipped into a light meditation to calm down. He had a mission tonight and he had to accomplish it alone because of that pussy.

When you come back, kid, you'll wish I killed you yesterday. I promise.

Claire had stayed with Matt as long as she could keep her eyes open. At 1am he was still sleeping on her couch, apparently deaf to everything around him, but for about an hour it wasn't the same sleep he had before.

Earlier he was perfectly still, almost completely relaxed, his breaths slow and regular, his shaking had stopped completely; now he was getting upset, his body was making convulsive movements as if he were fighting against something or someone, the hood fell down revealing his face; he was sweating, mumbling about something in such a low tone she couldn't take a single word.

The nurse was aware what the risks of waking him up were, she and Foggy had experienced the consequences, but she had no choice; he was panicking inside his own dream (or nightmare, or whatever it was).

She got closer and carefully but resolutely squeezed his shoulder, shaking it to wake him up. She was expecting his start, so she was fast, faster as she had ever thought she could be, in order to slip away from his semi-unconscious move to trap her.

-Matt- she called out, his voice sweet but loud enough to reach him -Matt. It's me. It's Claire-

Since he was with Stick, rough starts were become routine. The old blind man always had something to punish him for. Though he wasn't the kind of good boy who always obeyed, this time he wasn't so sure he had deserved it.

-Matt. It's me. It's Claire-

He froze hearing his friend's voice. What the hell?

Calm down, Matt. Apparently Foggy's voice in his brain was more awake than his brain itself. Rewind. Play forward.

Images of the last few hours came to his mind, refreshing his still sleeping memory.

See? Everything's ok, you paranoid. When exactly his conscience had begun to have Foggy's voice?

No. Nothing was ok.

He sat down on the couch.

-What time is it?- he asked in greeting, turning his head in the direction he felt Claire was. Sleep had been a real blessing. Although he hadn't made a full recovery yet, now he was strong enough to speak and move without so much trouble.

-It's the middle of the night- she explained, and he heard her light steps come toward him. Matt heard her crouching now she was close, he could feel the heat of her body and smell the freshness of her toothpaste (a particular mix of berries and mint) while she was speaking to him. She gently took his hand and at the same time moved his hair from his forehead, a gesture that immediately made him feel safe. She was moving slowly, not only to avoid scaring him, he suddenly understood: she was tired. -You were having a nightmare, I think.-

-I've told you to wake me in an hour... -

-Yeah... and since when did I do what you say, Matt?- He couldn't avoid lifting his lips in a soft smile, before trying to stand up, even if a part of him wanted to stay on that couch so much, as near as possible to Claire and her sweetness. He could never have her, he knew that, so he suppressed that part. He couldn't stay here, anyway. The longer he remained, the more the possibilities of Stick hurting Foggy increased. His head began to spin as soon as he managed to stand, but he ignored it, even if the world on fire around him for a bit seemed more like a sea. A sea in a storm, judging from the waves.

It's not the world, you idiot! It's you!

Shut up, Foggy-Bear!

-Where do you think you are going, exactly?-

-Gotta go-

-Where?-

-Gotta go- he repeated, stubborn -There's no time-

-Ok... see you, Matt. Be careful-

One thing she had learnt in those months of stitching up Matt Murdock, a.k.a. Daredevil; he was probably the most stubborn guy in the world.

The nurse stood up with him, leaving his hand the moment he released the contact between their skins.

Claire watched him swaying across the room, waiting for the moment he would fall down (because he surely would).

She didn't stop him when he declared he wanted to leave.

Words were useless when he was in what she called "the man in the mask" mode (she probably would have to switch it in "daredevil" mode now the papers had re-named him), so she let his body the time to make his mind understand that if he really wanted to do something, he would have to find a way to divide his soul from his walking corpse, because it was not going to follow him.

Ten (if he were a regular guy, she would have started from three, but this was Matt so...)

Matt was taking the first step toward a direction that would lead him directly into the wall. She didn't say a single world, and she didn't feel guilty about it.

Nine.

Dammit.

She saw him understand he was making a mistake and turn around looking for something that could show him the way. She was expecting him to ask for help, already knowing he wouldn't.

Eight.

He eventually found the right way, and began to walk in the right direction.

Seven.

The first trip over his own feet.

Six.

Another one.

Five.

One more.

Oh, come on!

Four.

Matt began to stagger and he moved his hands in front of himself, trying to reach for a wall or something that would help him to stand. He found a chair.

Three.

Somehow, he managed to open the door.

Two.

The stairs were so close, maybe one or two steps away from him.

No. No. Please. Please. Please. Fall down. Before the stairs, preferably.

One.

She couldn't feel terrible for her sigh of relief when Matt finally gave up and let his body be in charge of his movements. Luckily, it was smarter than his owner.

Dammit, Matthew. Some day I'm gonna kill you.

She sighed again before reaching for him and taking him by his arms to pull him back inside the house.

All alone, Claire wasn't able to lift him onto the couch again, he was too heavy for her and she had nothing to help her moving his body. She looked at the young lawyer. He was unconscious, but his breathing was fast and he was beginning to sweat, as if he had just finished a long run.

-Hold on, Matt- she whispered, before leaving him. She locked the door and went to her small bedroom. It had a double bed, but it was formed by two single mattresses. Claire worked fast, unmaking it and throwing the sheets away. Somehow, he moved one of the two of them in the living room where Matt was lying. She couldn't lift him, but she hoped she could make him roll over it, helping herself with a soft blanket. -Sorry, Matty. This is gonna hurt, but I can't leave you here-

He moaned in pain when she made him roll from the floor to the mattress, using all her weight to squash it in order to make it as tiny as possible. Eventually, he was more comfortable than before, even if he didn't look better.

Stay calm, Claire. You've just tossed him a lot. She told herself. Leave him rest for a while.

The nurse inside her was definitely right, so the girl listened to her. She covered him again and sat on the couch.

Maybe she could rest a little bit, too. Just five minutes.

A sunbeam hitting her right eye suddenly woke her up. Wait. In her apartment the sun wasn't visible until... shit.

She sat up on her couch with a start, her neck and back aching because of the position in which she had fallen asleep, half sitting half lying between the arm and the backrest of the sofa. She cursed herself and began to move very slowly, nibbling her lips to not moan with sorrow. Soon things went better, and her first thought was for the man she was taking care of.

God.

Matt was still unconscious, or maybe just asleep, she couldn't tell for sure, but his condition was much worse than the night before. His shivering had started again and he was equally sweating. The lawyer had thrown the blanket away from him, his breaths were fast and a little irregular.

This wasn't good. At all.

It was already noon, and still no sign of Matt.

Stick knew that the moment he woke up after having a full night out.

If that kid wanted to test his patience, he was failing massively.

He got up in anger and went to his former pupil's room, trying to find out if he had at least come home to change his clothes. Everything was exactly how the lawyer left two nights before, except for a pair of jeans and a jacket. There was no fresh scent of him in the apartment, so he guessed Matt had taken them before leaving the day before.

Also his black mask and boots had seemingly gone with him. Was he playing the lone vigilante again helping poor people in danger?

He didn't matter.

His patience wore off. It was time to show that kid he wasn't joking.