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He’s bleeding everywhere, but not profusely.
There are cuts, there are bruises, there are all kinds of wounds but none of them are fatal. Shallow, not deep, painful, not life-threatening, he’s had far worse.
Ever since the new suit, his injuries have decreased at a rapid pace. Sure, there was the occasional person who managed to land a hit. Though that mostly translated to stinging pain, a sensation he could grit his teeth to and fight back. Whereas his previous outfit almost always amounted to feeling as though his life bled out of his skin.
Sighing, Matt retrieves a first aid kit from one of the cupboards. He places the box on top of the kitchen counter, fingers tracing the white cross. There’s a fleeting memory of the times spent with his dad that he quickly brushes aside, as usual. He can fix this by himself, without the past lingering behind him.
As he puts on a pair of gloves, another memory surfaces. Warm yet methodic touches, tense yet comforting silences, and small smiles shared amidst bloody bandages as well as stitches.
A recent yet still far away remembrance.
He doesn’t want to believe that time has passed that fast, even though he knows.
He knows, has known for quite some time now.
Matt’s mind might lie to him, but his surroundings never do.
He notices every difference, every change. He cannot not notice. How Foggy’s mood switches whenever Marci is mentioned, turning sour for the briefest of seconds before he plasters on a fake smile. How Karen spends more and more time with Foggy, swearing that it is due to camaraderie, even though Matt can tell there’s an ulterior motive behind the act.
He can also tell that the glances she’s been casting his way have lessened.
Matt grabs a couple packages of sterile gauze pads, tossing them on the kitchen table. He tears one open, pulling out the gauze pad before dabbing at the cut across his chest. The familiar sting that travels through his body is a much welcomed interruption, snapping him out of his reverie.
He spends the next minutes cleaning and dressing his wounds. He leaves the bruises as they are, too fatigued to bother. They aren’t pretty to look at, but they’re not swollen nor from anything broken, he’ll live through them.
Hell’s Kitchen is quiet, or as quiet as the city can be which isn’t that much. Still, Matt doesn’t hear the frenzy of sirens, doesn’t hear muffled sobs or desperate screams. He counts that as a silent night.
Taking a deep breath, he removes his gloves while he walks towards the sink. The water is cold against his skin, prickling his knuckles as he washes his hands. In the past he’d remembered the water being replaced with blood, the bottom of the sink reeking of the stench.
He thought he’d never go to bed without that coppery tang following his every move. However, nowadays, it lingers more than it clings onto him.
Matt turns off the tap once his fingers start to numb. There’s no smell coming from the sink, only the sound of water running down the drain. He stares at the remaining droplets, despite seeing nothing but fire, stares until he’s forced to blink away tears.
There’s been too much time that has passed, too much change for him to fully grasp.
Chewing on his lower lip, he moves towards the living room. On his way towards one of the couches, he grabs ahold of a hoodie draped over the coffee table, putting it on as he sits down on the soft cushions. The fabric is warm against his skin, yet he feels cold to the bone.
He bought new furniture, courtesy of Karen and Foggy nagging him until he caved in, after the incident with Stick. Even that incident, that person, seems like a distant memory lurking at the back of his mind. Along with everything else he’s locked away, tried to forget.
Except for her, he can’t ever forget her.
Matt wonders how long he’s had this exact thought process for the past days, weeks, months.
He figures that it started somewhere around the time she left and he stopped calling. Only then did he realize the gravity of this situation. She told him she’d always be there when he really needed her to patch him up, he’d agreed.
What he hadn’t agreed on was his suit being better than he’d expected.
A sad smile flitters across his lips, the whole scenario more than ironic. He’d wanted less injuries. He’d wanted to be stronger. But he’d never wanted her to leave his side.
He had never, has never, wanted her to only be there to patch him up.
Matt closes his eyes, frowning.
He doesn’t want this.
He opens his eyes, mind set.
He doesn’t want this, not anymore.
Standing up, he strides towards the rusting wall while fishing for the keys in his pant pockets. He unlocks the double doors, breathing in deeply as he pulls them open. The interior is barren, save for the lone metal box sitting in the middle. He takes it out, places it on the floor with caution.
Matt feels the metal beneath his fingertips as he slowly lifts the lid. He’s met with his dad’s boxing robe, the past once more making itself present. Matt doesn’t spare as much as a glance at the clothing, the equipments. He lifts the case by the sides before placing it besides him.
His suit is still discarded on the floor, not yet folded and placed in the empty case situated in front of him, which is why Matt spots the cellphone in an instant.
The phone looks ancient, dust covering the entire device. Matt picks it up, brushing off the dust as he flips it open. Despite being out of use for too many months to count, there’s still enough battery left to make calls.
One number is stored inside.
Matt doesn’t pray as often as he did before, but he prays that she hasn’t changed the number.
He prays that she hasn’t changed.
He pushes down on the dial button, not realizing his hand is trembling until the phone is pressed to his ear. The familiar tone reaches his ears, too loud and too unnerving. Matt can’t remember the last time he felt this way, as if he’s teetering over a cliff.
The dial tone continues, prolonging as Matt can physically feel his resolve slipping through his fingers. He sighs, hand falling to his side. The tone rings, almost overbearing in the silence.
Everyone changes, even she.
”Matt?”
Matt drops the phone.
He freezes, straining his ears. There’s the vague noise of movement.
”Matt? Are you there?”
This time, her voice sounds more urgent. Matt wants to believe he hears an underlying tone of worrying, of something more than simple urgency.
He picks up the phone, hands shaking as he presses the device back to his ear.
”Claire?”
His voice comes out rough. The name tasting foreign on his tongue. He’s not surprised though, he’s refrained from uttering her name for the past months.
There’s a pause on the other line, and a part of Matt wishes that she has the same reaction he does.
”How bad is it?” She finally says in a calm and professional tone.
Matt stops, words failing him. He hadn’t planned to come this far, much rather have an actual conversation with Claire. Yet here he is, keeping her waiting without any plans.
He really hasn’t changed since she left.
”It’s…” Matt trails off. ”It’s nothing.”
Claire draws in a breath. He can picture the frustrated look on her face. The image sends a small smile covering his lips.
”Okay,” she hesitates. ”Okay, that’s, good, I guess.”
He can’t help but grin at that sentence. ”You guess?”
”What else am I supposed to do when it comes to you?” She fires back, though there’s no bite in her tone.
A warmth begins to fill his chest. He’s missed her voice. He’s missed her.
Matt hadn’t called her in the beginning, hadn’t called her at all, because he hadn’t needed her part of their promise. He starts to question why. She is more than someone to patch him up.
Her voice alone is enough to chase away the cold feeling that’s been invading his senses for the last days, weeks, months.
”I,” he pauses, fumbling for something to say. ”I missed you.”
As soon as the words leave his lips, Matt wants to hang up. What he’s doing won’t change what’s been done. But Matt’s never been a quitter; he presses the phone tighter to his ear.
He can hear it as clear as day, how she sighs. A deep sigh.
”Matt-”
He doesn’t let her finish, can’t let her finish.
”I know, I know, okay? I understand that we made a deal, but I don’t want that. I don’t want you to be someone to just be there and patch me up when I’m in danger. I want you to be there by my side, as something more than a…”
He waves his hand in the air, as if Claire was standing right in front of him.
”A nurse?” She finishes for him.
”Yeah,” he breathes out, rubbing at his face. ”Thank you, Claire.”
She scoffs, but the sound is light in his ear. ”Why does it feel like we’ve been through this?”
”Maybe we have.”
”Matt, I can’t promise anything.”
A part of him feels like he’s been punched in the gut, another part of him feels like he’s been drenched in cold water. Matt isn’t sure which one he prefers more.
”But,” she whispers, ”I missed you too.”
Matt lets out a shaky breath, a small smile lighting up his face.
”So, what does this make us?” He asks.
”Two lovesick fools?”
He can’t stop the laugh escaping his mouth. ”I’m not the only one, then?”
”No,” she mutters, but he can almost hear a smile, ”you’re not the only one.”
Matt decides to push his luck, he’s gotten further than he could’ve ever imagined. ”Do you want to, catch up?”
”It’s pretty late,” Claire points out, ”and I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.”
”Ouch,” he says, feigning hurt. ”Talk about a swift rejection.”
His smile grows as Claire chuckles on the other end. He hasn’t realized how much of an impact she has had on him. She still does. Though Matt hasn’t had the time to fully grasp that, too busy mulling over what could’ve been.
”I might have a spot for you during lunch though,” she muses.
”I’m free,” Matt replies, a bit too fast for his own liking.
She’s smiling, he’s certain of that. ”Oh really? I thought lawyers were quite busy these days.”
Matt doesn’t miss a beat. ”We are, but I don’t think my coworkers want my depressing presence around the office.”
”I guess I’m doing them a favor.”
”You are, you always are.”
There’s a fondness in his tone that he hadn’t detected earlier. Matt lets it linger though, stay between them as the night drags on.
”Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Claire says, and he hopes it’s not wishful thinking to think that he can hear something similar in her tone.
”Yeah,” he whispers. ”Thank you, Claire.”
”Goodnight, Matt.”
”Goodnight.”
He waits until she hangs up. The familiar click comes later than expected, sending another wave of warmth through his veins. Matt closes the phone, putting the device back in its place before placing his dad’s boxing case over it.
Once the metal box sits in the usual spot and the doors are locked, does Matt let himself relax. He sits down on his couch, the tension easing off of his body. It feels strange, being at ease.
He hadn’t realized it before, but he needed Claire in more ways than one.
Matt needs Claire, even if time tells him otherwise.