A/N: This sort of just appeared out of nowhere. I love this pairing, by the way. They're weird and funny and dark and sweet and make perfect sense together.

Feedback: Yes, please. Let me know what you think.

Chane is used to being ignored by most. Which is why Claire's adoration is unsettling and hard to believe at first.

She doesn't doubt his sincerity, since he's gone out of his way to make sure she's safe. So far, there's been the trio of assassins sent from a rival family, a couple of two-bit hoods who tried to mug her in the street and the dozens of others who've found out about her and have tried to use her as a hostage or shield or some sort of bargaining chip.

With her eyes, she communicates several things - how he's an idiot for risking himself; annoyance at his cockiness when he smirks at her afterward; relief when he catches her in his arms. She never worries for him, not really, although there is a streak of pity for the unfortunate ones who try to take him on or catch his attention for all the wrong reasons, namely by threatening her.

Hell, the only thing she understands less is why she kisses him afterward. She would feel claustrophobic, but something about the confining space between his arms as he crushes her to him is oddly comforting, especially when she listening to the hammering of his heart so clearly against her ear. He's a contradiction that way, turning logical things inside out and upside down.

There's a warm huff of his breath in her hair when he mumbles her name. Claire doesn't see her smile, but her feels her hands around his neck and her fingers running through his hair that he takes it as a sign of affection.

Claire knows Chane loves him, even if she never mentions it when she scribbles things down on pieces of papers. He counts the times she killed a hitman he couldn't see from a distance in the dead of night while fighting off two others; the bullets she extracted from his side and arm; the wounds she's stitched up; the little stories she tells as she discloses details of her life; and the numerous times she's wrapped her arms around him or kissed him. There's a reproachful look in her eyes when he's injured, as if reminding him that he's supposed to be invincible no matter what, the big dope. She dies of anxiety while nursing him until he's up on his feet again.

When she comes down with a cold, he goes the trouble of finding her a doctor and medicine and even making her soup. Chane's relieved he hasn't resorted to breaking bones for her medical care. He turns out to be appallingly domestic, which kind of horrifies her, considering how they first met. His attempt at cooking isn't great, which amuses her, but she resolves to get better quick. She's completely better two days later, pushing him away from the stove to make proper toast so he won't try to force feed her that weird slop while making childish train noises with the spoon.

Claire observes her while sitting at the small table they share. He's been worried about her, that much is obvious.

When he asks her if she's feeling better, she stands before him and takes his hand to press against her forehead. She's no longer feverishly hot but normally warm and soft as his hand drifts down a little to cup her jaw.

Chane feels his arms around her waist as he traps her to him. She exhales gently when she feels his face at her stomach. He breathes in the scent of fresh cotton from the dress she just put on. It's a nice change from the damp sweat on her thin nightgown a few days earlier. She's touched by his devotion, feeling herself melt just a little as he sinks against her.

Again, Claire feels her fingers in his hair.

When she leans down to kiss him, she knows exactly why she does it.