AN I can't promise that this will have a proper plot. But I can promise lots of serious, dealing-with-our-problems fluff and shots of angst to keep everything well rounded. I don't think we need much else.

"Matt?" Claire called. She was hesitant to enter his apartment, despite the muffled 'it's open' that came almost before her knock. She chewed on her cheek as she finally crossed the threshold, closing the door behind her. She had been back in New York for a few weeks now and was honestly a little surprised Matt hadn't called her before now. Then again, he apparently had that spiffy new costume and didn't need to be put back together again every few days.

Of course, things hadn't been complete radio silence between them. While she had been down in Florida with family, she had received the odd phone call every now and then. Each one kept her up at night, because Matt may have been comfortable causally asking if nausea was a symptom of concussion or if there was a convenient way for a person to relocate their own shoulder, but she most certainly was not.

Otherwise, that had been it. Aside from unexplained and alarming requests for medical advice, he hadn't asked for anything. Hadn't said anything. Hadn't acknowledged them at all. Which was exactly what she had asked for. She was just slightly pissed that this was when he finally chose to listen to her.

Matt gave a pathetic half-moan to show he was on the couch. Claire edged closer and suppressed a sigh.

He was bad. Not on the verge of death, thankfully, but not good. Matt had swaddled himself in sweats, oversized socks, and a sweatshirt, but his face was a fine old mess. And, judging by the way he was huddled up, he had a very unhappy torso.

"What good's that armor if you still get the shit kicked out of you?" she asked, because blunt had always worked well with her before. Matt gave a sad huff that would have been a laugh if not for the wince.

"Kept me from being hacked apart," he told her, like that would make her feel better. "The blunt force is what got me."

"Oh, when you put it that way," she grumbled, scanning him over. "Open the hoodie?"

Matt clumsily unzipped his sweatshirt for her (two of his fingers were taped together, making things a little difficult). He wasn't going to die of blood loss, but the bruising across his side, chest, stomach, other side, and probably his back promised a lot of difficulty in future.

"Geez," she hissed, tugging one side of the hoodie back. "What are your legs like?"

"Usable," he mumbled, making Claire suck her teeth. She could not deal with this man sometimes.

"You need to invest in arnica," she said. Claire carefully checked his head for any serious blows as she spoke. "No headache or dizziness, right? Remember everything important?"

"No headache or dizziness, and I remember everything important. You're into holistic medicine, though?"

"I'm into whatever works. Don't think you have a concussion, thank goodness. Mind telling me how this happened?"

"Drug ring. Got stupid."

"Yeah."

Claire sat back on her heels, surveying him for a long moment. Even though she was pissed that he was still getting himself jacked up, she wanted to carefully brush some of the hair from his forehead, or maybe rest her hand on the not bruised parts of his face. And that just made her even more pissed, because dammit, she had left the city to avoid this weird, stressful, shoulda-coulda-woulda nonsense. And yet there she was, wading right back in.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat, "not much for me to do here. I'll get you some arnica, help those bruises go down quicker."

"Okay. Thanks. No…no concussion, right?"

"No, you're fine," Claire said, knowing he had heard her the first time. But she also knew that he just wanted to keep her there a little longer, even if it was only for a few seconds, even if she was angry at him, even if nothing came of it. "You should drink some fluids, though."

"Will do," he grunted, giving a slight, dutiful nod.

Claire worked her jaw. Asshole, that was what he was. He was a giant asshole that almost got himself killed, quietly slunk back home, and then didn't even call her until after he had changed. Didn't check in to see how she was doing on her own, all because she had drawn a line in the sand. Stayed away because reasons, but made her go running back to him at the last second. Asshole.

Matt was quiet, face turned to the floor. Then he tipped his head up and gave her a full dose of unfocused puppy dog eyes. She clenched her teeth and hoped he heard it.

How dare he look so pathetically cute when fumbling his way back from death. He couldn't even see her but he was doing that soft, adorably needy look in her direction, because he could tell where she was from the smell of her fabric softener or whatever. And because he knew, he knew that it would cut through her irritation in a way words never could.

Clair rocked back on her heels, not sure what to do now. Usually her visits were filled with a little more, like stitching him up and then reprimanding him to please, just this once, stay safe. Now…there wasn't much left for her to do. A quick diagnosis was it.

No, said the petulant part of her, no, that wasn't it. She had come for a reason, and dammit, she had not taken the bus for a five minute awkward fest in his living room while she checked if his brain was swelling. And that reason definitely wasn't because she wanted to see him, it really, really was not.

She glanced around for excuses to stay. Of course, his home was immaculate. Not so much as a rug to straighten.

"Do you need anything?" she asked, voice ringing with a resignation coming from her very bones.

"Could you help me get to the kitchen? Want to get a head start on those fluids," he said, shifting forward like he was going to stand up.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, Murdock, I'll get it," she said, throwing her hands up to keep him down. Neither one of them commented on how her heartbeat leaped as her hands landed on his knee and shoulder.

Claire stood up and walked to his kitchen. She remembered where the cups were, and soon enough she had returned with a glass of water (from the fridge, as apparently the tap tasted too much like every single mineral that washed off the city's pipes).

"You know, someday you won't pretend that you can function like a normal person when in debilitating pain," she told him. She made herself smile as she said it, trying to make her voice a little warmer than blunt and huffy.

Matt gave a smile that was barely more than a tug at the corner of his mouth. He probably knew he was being ridiculous, but Claire knew that was habit by now. The fact he even acknowledged his weakness to her was probably the biggest gesture of trust he could make. That thought made her stomach flip, but also reminded her that she was angry with him. Claire would have much preferred a normal, reasonable boyfriend that gave her baby kisses and flowers, rather than this guy that backflipped off of buildings and flirted with her about music as he stood over dying Russian mobsters and then nearly died every other week.

(…no, she wouldn't, probably. Nice guy Matt Murdock would have been nice, but nice had yet to stick around in her life. Plus this Matt had the hellacious determination to stay very much in place.)

Claire handed Matt the cup. She knew she didn't need to carefully guide it into his hand, he could have reached out and grabbed it just fine, but she did anyway. And it wasn't because that tiny, non-medical oriented touch was stomach jolting and completely wonderful. That literally had nothing to do with it.

Matt gave her another tiny half-smile, this one a little more covert than the last. Oh, he was onto her.

"Thank you," he said, ever maintaining his impeccable manners.

Claire sat back on the coffee table and sighed through her nose. Obviously Matt wasn't going to send her away, and she…she didn't know. Claire didn't want to leave, not yet. Not when he was sipping water and listening to her instead of going on a vengeance streak or not nearly dying in her lap.

And…there were still a thousand things that needed to be said. Things that could only be delivered in bits and pieces around the anger and adrenaline and liters and liters of Matt's blood. But Claire also didn't want to get into that, either. She wasn't interested in their pointless test of wills, especially not when she barely knew which way her head was going these days.

Matt set the glass of water on the floor and returned to the fetal position. His eyes were half-lidded, sleepy after the long day. Claire watched him as the only noises in the apartment were their breaths and the softened sounds of the city outside. Steady, comfortable, calm.

Claire grit her teeth. She had left to prevent this from being comfortable, to keep herself from seeing this strange, unhealthy thing as normal. She couldn't do this, she couldn't sit there and constantly ping back and forth between being angry at Matt and wanting to stroke his hair. She couldn't lie awake at night, afraid he was bleeding out without her, afraid he was losing his soul while she ran away even while she felt so damnably certain she was right.

"Are you going to stay?" he mumbled.

Claire didn't answer, other than to take a deep breath and let it out again. She could see the tension ease out of each one of his muscles, an exhausted trance settling over him. He wanted so much from her, but he never asked because Matt knew it was more than she could ever give.

Claire resisted putting her head in her hands. She knew by now that what Matt wanted and needed were drastically different things.

He needed a hospital, but he didn't want a hospital. He wanted her to care for him, and was content to lay by her side in whatever bloodstained, exhausted, reserved capacity she would allow, but it was unclear if that was what he needed. And, of course, he deserved a hug, but Claire didn't know if he understood the concept of receiving something without half-killing himself first.

She got to her feet, making Matt drag in a breath. He tilted his face toward her ever so slightly, heart half-broken before she had even taken a step.

"Scoot over," she said, waving her hands as though that would get him to move faster.

"Huh?"

"Scoot. Your boot."

Reluctantly, Matt began to sit up and make room for her. He winced and a hand twitched toward his ribs. Cracked, probably, or at the very least bruised.

"No, no, not that way. Here," she sighed, stepping closer.

Matt paused, then eased himself back down when she nudged him into the couch cushions. She bit her cheek. This wasn't a commitment, it was a kind and friendly gesture and it was as good as she could give because Matt had just had the shit stomped out of him and probably couldn't handle a hug.

Claire laid down beside Matt, her body curving into his. She could feel him stiffen next to her, probably scrambling to read her pulse, her breath, probably her freaking sweat glands, but she clenched her teeth and made herself stay quiet. She knew her heart was pounding and her face was hot and her hands and toes were clenched very, very tight, and she knew it was because she was being stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid beyond belief. She honestly did not need any more personal complications in her life for as long as she lived.

"Uhm, Claire?" he asked, struggling to get his voice out.

"Yes?"

Okay, not so testy, cowgirl.

"Mind…mind explaining to me what's…going on?"

"Physical contact promotes healing," she blurted, then closed her eyes. Kill her now. Kill her now and throw her body into the Hudson. That did not sound like the noble friendly act she had intended it to be. "Skin to skin contact promotes healing. Oxytocin, stuff like that."

Claire wasn't sure if it was the rampant 'do not fight me Matt Murdock' tone in her voice or the fact that Matt wasn't about to protest her basically cuddling with him, but he didn't point out that they weren't actually touching skin. That was probably wise. Claire was fairly certain she would turn around and smother him with a pillow if he did, no questions asked, Hippocratic oath be damned.

Matt took a slow, shallow breath, and when he exhaled she could feel it on her hair. She was a little afraid to move, even though her arm was wedged between the couch cushion and her body, and her legs were smashed together to keep from getting too snuggly with him (this was for platonic healing purposes. platonic healing purposes). Matt was a stone behind her, quietly taking things in.

Then he melted into her back, completely relaxing with a sigh that gave her an almost physical hurt. Claire closed her eyes and inhaled. She held it until she felt light headed and then slowly, slowly let it out. Matt gingerly reached over her and draped his arm across her side. His taped fingers found her hand and after a moment's hesitation he held it.

"There," he whispered. "Skin to skin contact."

Claire closed her eyes as a shiver went up her back. She wasn't sure who fell asleep first, but she knew that she left before Matt woke up.