Matt can't see the expression Claire makes when he opens the door, but her silence and the sigh that follows tells him more than enough. She smells like coconut oil and peppermint tea, and the pang of longing that hits Matt takes him by surprise.
“Get on the bed,” Claire says with a sigh, hefting her kit and stepping through the entrance, “Do I even want to know?”
“It’s probably better if you don’t,” Matt replies with a grimace, remembering the fire, Fisk, and the strange morning that followed. He still has no idea what he'll do with Wesley's offer, and the likelihood that he'll be forced to say yes is an unpleasant thought to be left with.
“Alright,” Claire says, grabbing Matt’s elbow despite his protests, and supports him until they reach the bed. Matt sits down, and stiffly takes off his hoodie.
Just hearing Claire’s voice, however, puts Matt at ease. In that moment he lets himself focus on the fact of her presence, instead of the warning he has to give.
Claire goes through her supplies, taking out antiseptic along with the thread and needle. When Matt is settled on the bed, she sits down gently next to him, and goes over his injuries with a critical eye.
“Whoever did this is good, these stitches were neat,” she says, examining the deep cut on Matt’s side where stitches have ripped. “They didn’t tell you not to move around too much?”
“They…” An image of Wesley, bent over him and sewing him back together enters Matt’s mind unbidden. “Sort of.”
“You really need to rest,” Claire continues as she starts to prepare, “Let yourself heal.”
“I meditate for that.”
Claire’s head turns a fraction towards him, telling Matt she just gave him ‘a look’. “So, the one who cleaned you up, new friend?”
“No, uh… no,” Matt says, the denial coming easily. As much as he dislikes this topic it’s better than the one he is avoiding. The idea of having anything close to a friendship with James Wesley feels so ridiculous he almost wants to laugh. He does his best to ignore the friction as Claire slowly removes the ripped stitches. “They just… happened to help.”
“And this person had no issue with your… reputation?”
The man had a direct hand in making Matt’s reputation what it is today. “No.”
“Okaaaay,” Claire says, nodding slowly. “So they’re a fan?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Claire lets out a soft sigh. Matt braces himself, and needle pierces skin.
“What’s your excuse to your best friend this time?” Claire says, finally giving up after the lack of straight answers. “You’re not going to explain this away by claiming you tripped.”
“Bar fight, he already knows.”
When Matt realised that he wasn’t going to make it into work that day, he called Foggy. The ensuing conversation is not one he wants to think about.
“He made me apologise for not telling him sooner.” Matt says. Claire is here and the words are falling out of him. Foggy had also wanted to sue the bastards who had done this to Matt, but Matt managed to talk him out of it.
“I bet he did,” Claire says with a quirk of her lips, her voice is soft and it makes Matt smile.
“He cares a lot about you, your friend.”
“Yeah, he came over right away.” Matt says, “I only just convinced him to leave before I called you.”
“You’re gonna keep doing this then?”
Claire’s voice turns accusatory, and Matt ignores the guilt that surges in his chest.
“I can’t stop now, Claire,” he says quietly, “Not after everything.”
“I don’t want to be stitching a corpse next time, Matt.” Desperation tinges her voice. “You should get some body armour, at the very least.”
Matt had been thinking the same thing. There had been some sort of protective layer in the lining of Fisk’s suit that had saved him from injury during their fight. He remembers the sound of metal slicing through fabric, grating against something hard and metallic. Will Wesley share the details with him if he asks? If Matt wants to he can pitch it as an investment. But the idea of going to Wesley for help, of saying yes and hearing that smugness in his voice, it still turns his stomach.
For some time, the only sound in the room is the whisper of thread pulling through flesh. Matt lets himself focus on Claire, her soft breathing, the scent of her soap, and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. He’s missed her. He’s missed her so much.
“You could tell him, you know.” Claire breaks the silence as she rolls a bandage over his stiches. “You’ll get yourself killed, going at this alone.”
Foggy hates the vigilante, and he’ll hate Matt for being him. “It’ll just put him in danger.” “You might think that, Matt,” Claire says, frustration pushing overcoming her patience at last, “But he was in danger from the moment you put on that mask. The least you can do is show him respect by telling him.”
Matt is silent, speechless in the knowledge that she is not wrong. But the thought of telling Foggy, of possibly losing him, is too terrifying to dwell on. In the end, the only thing he can manage is a whispered, “I can’t.”
Claire ignores him from that point, and soon, her work is done. She packs up her bag as Matt pulls his hoodie on over fresh bandages, and is almost at the door before Matt works up the courage to tell her.
“Claire, wait.”
Her movements slow, and then stop. “What is it?” she says, turning toward him.
Matt takes a deep breath.
“You might be in danger.”
“Did something happen?” she says, weariness in her tone.
“Yeah. It might be nothing, but… be careful, alright? Call me if you notice anything suspicious.”
Claire lets out a breath, her shoulders sagging, and Matt can sense her fear.
“It’s okay,” she says softly, “I’m taking some time off, gonna leave the city for a while.”
A spike of panic shoots through Matt at those words. He’s going to be alone now, he realises with growing apprehension. No one else will know about him except for James Wesley.
“How much time?” he asks without thinking, forcing a flirtatious grin onto his lips. He hears the quiver in his voice and hates himself for it.
“Why?” Claire asks, defiant, “You going to miss me?”
He almost opens his mouth to say yes, but the memory of Wesley in his apartment comes into his mind, and he can’t forget the way the man had been toying with his phone, had showed off the fact that he texted Foggy and convinced him to go home.
Matt swallows back the words he wants to say.
“It’s probably for the best, you’re not safe staying in New York.”
Claire stands there, and then she nods.
“I meant what I said,” Claire says before she leaves, leaving Matt alone in his empty apartment. “Talk to Foggy, don’t go at this alone anymore, Matt.”
[FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 3b/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
“Get on the bed,” Claire says with a sigh, hefting her kit and stepping through the entrance, “Do I even want to know?”
“It’s probably better if you don’t,” Matt replies with a grimace, remembering the fire, Fisk, and the strange morning that followed. He still has no idea what he'll do with Wesley's offer, and the likelihood that he'll be forced to say yes is an unpleasant thought to be left with.
“Alright,” Claire says, grabbing Matt’s elbow despite his protests, and supports him until they reach the bed. Matt sits down, and stiffly takes off his hoodie.
Just hearing Claire’s voice, however, puts Matt at ease. In that moment he lets himself focus on the fact of her presence, instead of the warning he has to give.
Claire goes through her supplies, taking out antiseptic along with the thread and needle. When Matt is settled on the bed, she sits down gently next to him, and goes over his injuries with a critical eye.
“Whoever did this is good, these stitches were neat,” she says, examining the deep cut on Matt’s side where stitches have ripped. “They didn’t tell you not to move around too much?”
“They…” An image of Wesley, bent over him and sewing him back together enters Matt’s mind unbidden. “Sort of.”
“You really need to rest,” Claire continues as she starts to prepare, “Let yourself heal.”
“I meditate for that.”
Claire’s head turns a fraction towards him, telling Matt she just gave him ‘a look’. “So, the one who cleaned you up, new friend?”
“No, uh… no,” Matt says, the denial coming easily. As much as he dislikes this topic it’s better than the one he is avoiding. The idea of having anything close to a friendship with James Wesley feels so ridiculous he almost wants to laugh. He does his best to ignore the friction as Claire slowly removes the ripped stitches. “They just… happened to help.”
“And this person had no issue with your… reputation?”
The man had a direct hand in making Matt’s reputation what it is today. “No.”
“Okaaaay,” Claire says, nodding slowly. “So they’re a fan?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Claire lets out a soft sigh. Matt braces himself, and needle pierces skin.
“What’s your excuse to your best friend this time?” Claire says, finally giving up after the lack of straight answers. “You’re not going to explain this away by claiming you tripped.”
“Bar fight, he already knows.”
When Matt realised that he wasn’t going to make it into work that day, he called Foggy. The ensuing conversation is not one he wants to think about.
“He made me apologise for not telling him sooner.” Matt says. Claire is here and the words are falling out of him. Foggy had also wanted to sue the bastards who had done this to Matt, but Matt managed to talk him out of it.
“I bet he did,” Claire says with a quirk of her lips, her voice is soft and it makes Matt smile.
“He cares a lot about you, your friend.”
“Yeah, he came over right away.” Matt says, “I only just convinced him to leave before I called you.”
“You’re gonna keep doing this then?”
Claire’s voice turns accusatory, and Matt ignores the guilt that surges in his chest.
“I can’t stop now, Claire,” he says quietly, “Not after everything.”
“I don’t want to be stitching a corpse next time, Matt.” Desperation tinges her voice. “You should get some body armour, at the very least.”
Matt had been thinking the same thing. There had been some sort of protective layer in the lining of Fisk’s suit that had saved him from injury during their fight. He remembers the sound of metal slicing through fabric, grating against something hard and metallic.
Will Wesley share the details with him if he asks? If Matt wants to he can pitch it as an investment. But the idea of going to Wesley for help, of saying yes and hearing that smugness in his voice, it still turns his stomach.
For some time, the only sound in the room is the whisper of thread pulling through flesh. Matt lets himself focus on Claire, her soft breathing, the scent of her soap, and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. He’s missed her. He’s missed her so much.
“You could tell him, you know.” Claire breaks the silence as she rolls a bandage over his stiches. “You’ll get yourself killed, going at this alone.”
Foggy hates the vigilante, and he’ll hate Matt for being him. “It’ll just put him in danger.”
“You might think that, Matt,” Claire says, frustration pushing overcoming her patience at last, “But he was in danger from the moment you put on that mask. The least you can do is show him respect by telling him.”
Matt is silent, speechless in the knowledge that she is not wrong. But the thought of telling Foggy, of possibly losing him, is too terrifying to dwell on. In the end, the only thing he can manage is a whispered, “I can’t.”
Claire ignores him from that point, and soon, her work is done. She packs up her bag as Matt pulls his hoodie on over fresh bandages, and is almost at the door before Matt works up the courage to tell her.
“Claire, wait.”
Her movements slow, and then stop. “What is it?” she says, turning toward him.
Matt takes a deep breath.
“You might be in danger.”
“Did something happen?” she says, weariness in her tone.
“Yeah. It might be nothing, but… be careful, alright? Call me if you notice anything suspicious.”
Claire lets out a breath, her shoulders sagging, and Matt can sense her fear.
“It’s okay,” she says softly, “I’m taking some time off, gonna leave the city for a while.”
A spike of panic shoots through Matt at those words. He’s going to be alone now, he realises with growing apprehension. No one else will know about him except for James Wesley.
“How much time?” he asks without thinking, forcing a flirtatious grin onto his lips. He hears the quiver in his voice and hates himself for it.
“Why?” Claire asks, defiant, “You going to miss me?”
He almost opens his mouth to say yes, but the memory of Wesley in his apartment comes into his mind, and he can’t forget the way the man had been toying with his phone, had showed off the fact that he texted Foggy and convinced him to go home.
Matt swallows back the words he wants to say.
“It’s probably for the best, you’re not safe staying in New York.”
Claire stands there, and then she nods.
“I meant what I said,” Claire says before she leaves, leaving Matt alone in his empty apartment. “Talk to Foggy, don’t go at this alone anymore, Matt.”