Advent Day 5!

[annalalaith]

This one is by Crys.

title: 'tis the season

author: sardonicynic

rating: pg-15 for language and allusions to violence

characters: claire temple, matt murdock

spoilers: through the first season of netflix's daredevil, just to err on the side of caution.

warnings: some coarse language and allusions to violence

summary: better to give than to receive, as the adage goes — especially when the gift in question is medical attention.

word count: 1,265

disclaimer: the characters aren't mine; the words are.

a/n: written for the milliways_bar advent extravaganza. happy holidays, everyone!

a/n 2.0: props and all the christmas tree frappuccinos in the world to thebattycakes for the beta. ♥






Claire snicks her deadbolt into place, breathing a grateful sigh.

Two twelve-hour shifts down. And, okay, two more to go before her next day off, but that's a prospect best eyeballed after some much-needed sleep.

She doesn't dwell on the looming advent of Christmas Eve, or the stocking stuffers she still needs to pick up for her hospital Secret Santa, or the cards she's yet to mail. (Oh, yeah. Stamps. Damn.)

Here and now, first and foremost: the hottest shower she can stand. Maybe a mug of tea after, if she's feeling particularly self-care-y before she crawls between the covers.

She's shrugging out of her jacket when her phone buzzes.

Glancing at the screen, her heart beats a little faster. (She kind of hates that it does, still. Like a biological betrayal she can't condone or forgive.) Her thumb hovers, briefly, before she swipes to answer.

"Hello?"

"Uh." Matt's panting, his voice thin and tight and faraway. "H-hi, Claire."

Oh, this bodes so well.

"Where are you?" she asks, as calmly as she'd bullshit about the weather, or the general holiday insanity, already retrieving her coat.

"I'm — " He must fumble the phone, because she hears a clatter, a muffled curse. Rustling, and a ragged inhalation. "My place."

"Still gonna be conscious by the time I get there?"

His chuckle is rough and raw.

"Depends on your ETA."

Claire rolls her eyes as she hefts her for-vigilantes-only kit.

"You know that's not funny, right?"

"A little funny."

"You and I have very different definitions of that word."


- - - - -


She lets herself in with Matt's spare key, blinking snowflakes from her lashes while her eyes adjust to the gloom.

"Matt," she says, low and even, because if he's conscious, he can hear her at any volume. (If he's conscious, he probably heard her heartbeat out on the street, or smelled her downstairs, or some similarly creepy shit.)

"Hey." His rasp is as taut as piano wire. "I'm sorry to — to drag you over here."

"Save the self-flagellation for confession," she says, flipping every light between the entryway and the living room on her way to the couch. "What've you — "

She pauses, and frowns as she surveys his black-clad form slumped against the cushions.

He's barely upright, ashen and sheened in sweat, looking about ten seconds shy of passing out — probably the only reason he's keeping that mouth of his blessedly shut. He must sense her scrutiny, because he shifts his weight, hissing through his clenched teeth, and peels his blood-slick palm from his left side.

"Oh-kay." Forehead creased, Claire tugs one hand through her hair, exhaling something between a sigh and a snort. This isn't funny, but it is ludicrous. "That's exactly what I think it is, isn't it?"

"It's, uh — " His Adam's apple bobs; he licks his windburnt lips, peppermint-red against his papery pallor. "If you think it's an icicle," he continues, carefully enunciating around a grimace, "the answer is yes."

Donning a pair of nitrile gloves, Claire arches an eyebrow.

"You piss off the Abominable Snowman?"

He chuffs a laugh that catches on a wince; his fingers twitch, and curl protectively around his side, just above the protrusion.

"That'd make a better story, actually."

"Yeah, well, spoiler alert." Claire takes a seat on the coffee table, assessing the damage. "Every version of this ends with stitches."


- - - - -


Matt loses consciousness a few moments later, and Claire's focus funnels even tighter. Her hands remain as steady as always, purposeful and precise, as she cuts away his long-sleeved compression shirt, and examines the edges of the ugly wound.

They've definitely weathered worse.

Brow furrowed, she's studying the impressive hilt of the icicle with narrowed eyes when his breathing grows more labored.

She's not worried.

Not yet.

"Don't you dare ruin Christmas by dying on this couch," she warns him, just in case his subconscious is listening on some level. "I'll drag you back from purgatory on a one-horse open sleigh if I have to."


- - - - -


Matt's pulse is too thready for her liking.

She can't be certain he won't bleed out if she removes the icicle — she needs scans, and she needed them five minutes ago — and, okay, yeah, she's a little worried.

"Come on." She slides Matt's bedroom door shut for the umpteenth time. "The one time I actually want a pandimensional portal in my life — "

She yanks open the partition yet again, and, lo, like a pre-Christmas miracle, Milliways awaits across the threshold, all gleaming wood and cheery hubbub and bustling wait-rats.

Finally, Claire does not say, because she murmurs attitude of gratitude under her breath, instead.


- - - - - -


Hauling Matt from the sofa to the infirmary proves to be less of an ordeal and more of a military-efficient extraction and delivery, thanks to X-23 and X's hairy fireplug friend Logan.

While X and Logan neatly maneuver Matt onto a gurney, Claire trades her bloody gloves for a new pair, and readies a handheld scanner.

"Leave it to Matty to land on the wrong end of the perfect crime," Logan says, eyeing the icicle.

"An imperfect crime," X replies, matter-of-fact as ever, as she and Logan step back to give Claire room to work. "This weapon may melt. But there is still the body. After."

Claire almost laughs before she closes the privacy curtain around her comatose patient.

"For the record," she says, her eyes flicking to Matt's slack, pallid face while her gloved fingertips fly over the touchpad to access the scans, "your friends are much funnier than you are."


- - - - -


Six hours and zero naps later, Claire is freshly showered, sporting a borrowed pair of scrubs from the infirmary's staff supply, and curled into an armchair next to Matt's bed.

In the stillness of the space between them, broken only by the scratch of her pen or an occasional sip of mint tea, she hears his breathing change — a quiet hitch, followed by a careful inhale.

She stops scribbling mid-signature.

He frowns, muscles tensing and fingers balling into loose fists; she knows he's reading the room as best he can through the pharmaceutical fog.

"Easy, slugger." Her voice is pitched low, two notches above a whisper. She gently sets aside her nearly completed stack of holiday cards. "We're in the bar, in the infirmary."

Head turning toward her, his unfocused hazel eyes blink open for a heartbeat before falling shut again.

"Claire. You — " His voice gutters; he licks his chapped lips, and plucks at the thin sheet and blanket with his thumb and forefinger. "Thank you, Claire."

(That bittersweet pang, again, when he says her name. Ugh.)

Her lips twist, not quite a smile.

"Less talking, more sleeping."

One corner of his mouth quirks.

"Okay."

"Ooh, think I should drug you more often. You're actually agreeable like this."

That earns her an unexpected smile: sudden and starburst-bright, and just the right ratio of loopy-goofy.

"Claire."

"Mm, more sleeping, remember?"

"H-hang on." His eyelids flutter once more; he flexes his fingers, and feels out the IV taped to the back of his other hand. "Did I — is it Christmas yet?"

"No," she assures him, reaching for her tea. "Next week."

"Good," he says, settling. "That's — good." He's fading, trailing to a rough-idling mumble. "Didn't ruin it, after all."

She half-smiles to herself behind the rim of her mug.

"Not this year."

.

Comments

[ceitfianna]

Oh this is wonderful and sad and so very them. So many great moments from her thinking about Christmas chores, the icicle, Matt drugged and worrying about messing up Christmas.

[sardonicynic]

Thank you so much, lovely! I had an unholy amount of fun putting this together, and I'm glad you enjoyed the read. <333

[iprotectyou]

Oh, this is awesome. I was pulled in from the first line, and continued to be enraptured throughout the piece. The last lines made my heart do a flip.

[sardonicynic]

B'aww, you're too sweet! Thank you so much — this was a ridiculous amount of evil fun, and I'm all kinds of happy to hear that you enjoyed the read.

[munnin]

Oh, that's just beautiful! I love the humour between them, especially in their worst moments.

Honestly, Claire should be heading up the Defenders. She's the most awesome for them all.

This was just fantastic, thank you.

[sardonicynic]

Hee, thank you! Snark is Claire's balm of choice, forever and always.

So glad that you enjoyed this read — I am just bananas for these two, in all their iterations, so this was a ridiculous amount of fun to put together. ♥

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Really beautiful and heartwarming, on a day I really need both. Thanks for this, it's great!

[sardonicynic]

Forever happy to help supply a much-needed mood boost! Thank you for reading — I'm so glad that you enjoyed this.

[i_am_your_host]

Aww, I loved this! Their interactions are perfect and the ending was very sweet.

Though seriously, when Claire's phone rang, I was like, it's Matt isn't it and he's hurt isn't he dammit Matt! And only he would manage to get stabbed with an icicle. Poor Claire ;D

[sardonicynic]

Of course it is Matt calling; of course he is hurt; of course he managed to get himself stabbed with an icicle! Dammit, Matthew, you hapless, martyr-y acrobat!

Ahem.

Thank you so much, darling! Seriously, I am delighted that you enjoyed this. ♥

[bjornwilde]

Oh this is wonderful and a great read. I could clearly hear both Claire and Matt in this.

(And my Danny voice is telling me he wants to hire Claire as a consultant or something so she can get some rest and not have to worry about day to day things like rent. Stupid head still thinks throwing money at problems makes them better.)

[sardonicynic]

Thank you so much! I obsess like crazy over dialogue, so that is pretty much the greatest feedback I could ever hope for; I am all beamy over here! ♥ I'm so glad you enjoyed the read, and that this resonated as so very them. :D!

(Oh, Danny. Claire could moonlight as his life coach, for really-reals.)

[thebattycakes]

So I've already flailed at you a bunch on this, but I'm going to do it again because my love for this fic is so great.

First of all I just love your Claire to pieces. Claire, I am SO SORRY Matt is a vigilante dumbass who has robbed you of your relaxation times after pulling such long hours.

She is just so great, everything she thinks and does rings so true and I feel for her in all the ways.

Second, everything. Just, all of it. The interactions between Claire and Matt are, as always, superb. I love their dialogue, the humor and ridiculous banter in the face of somebody trying to die on the other person, their actions and reactions, and that final convo in the infirmary. WAUGH.

As an added bonus there is a Logan and X-23 cameo that just makes me cackle and grin in the best of ways.

I love your brain. It is the best.

<333

[sardonicynic]

Oh, Bat, you are too good to me, and I will shout it from the rooftops. ♥ Because one good flail deserves another, please allow me to windmill my T-Rex arms in your general direction! Thank you for allowing me to borrow your eyeballs and brainpan, because your mad beta skills made this infinitely better. <333

I'm so glad that this resonated as so very Claire, and so very Matt. CLAIRE TEMPLE IS A SAINT AND NO ONE IN THE MCU DESERVES HER, ESPECIALLY YOU, MATT MURDOCK.

Ahem.

Seriously: Thank you, thank you, thank you, beebs — this was a ridic amount of fun to play around with, and I am delighted by your delight. <333!

[genarti]

This is so delightful! Oh, Matt, of course he would manage to somehow get himself stabbed by an icicle, and of course he would be stoically self-flagellating about inconveniencing friends thereby. And Claire is so great, prickly and snarky and soft-hearted. And I snorted aloud at X's hairy fireplug friend Logan.

[sardonicynic]

Thank you so much! This was an entirely ridiculous endeavor, and a fathomless amount of hilarious fun to write; I am just over the moon that you enjoyed the read. ♥ (Of course this would befall Matt! And Claire, by unfortunate proxy.)

And poor Logan, living in narrative infamy. I regret nothing. >:DDD

So, yes: Thank you, lovely! I am beaming in your general direction.