She doesn't even have to open her eyes to know that he's a mess. When she does the sight is still enough to take her breath away for a moment.
She fell asleep on the couch scrolling through news articles on her phone, now Matt is standing in her living room, black mask off and looking like he's gone twelve rounds against a bunch of heavyweights.
Sitting up on the couch and sliding her legs around to set her feet on the floor, Claire stands and starts heading for the kitchen.
"Sit down, I'll be right back."
She leaves Matt to settle on the couch and heads to the kitchen for water and towels, and grabs her kit on the way back. She finds him sitting with his head resting against the couch back and his eyes closed.
"Matt-- " she calls out, not sure if he's passed out on her.
He pulls a breath, deep and slow, the tic in his facial features telling her that it doesn't come without pain which makes her eyes immediately dart to his chest and ribs.
"I'm here," he says, a low grate in his voice.
"Good," Claire replies, pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves, "because I was crashing this couch first."
Moving closer, she starts her exam, checking his head first.
"Rough night?" Matt asks as she cards her fingers through his hair, searching for injuries and lumps and finding the former on the back of his skull.
"Hm, long," she corrects, almost absently. "Long night, you're the one who had it rough."
The corner of his mouth flickers in the ghost of either a frown or a smirk, but otherwise he doesn't respond; going silent as she continues working.
"You probably have another concussion," she declares at last, pulling off her gloves and swapping them out for a new pair so she can start the repair work. "Bruised ribs at least, you'll have to tell me if they're broken, that cut on your temple is going to need stitches and overall you look like shit."
A saline rinse happens first as she starts to clean out the gash over his eye before setting to stitching it closed. Matt winces but holds still for her, his expression distant. Detached.
"Am I going to get a story or is this just another one of 'those nights'?" Claire prompts after the silence between them has stretched.
"I don't really think it matters anymore," Matt says, his voice hollow.
Claire frowns, snipping the piece of silk after one stitch and pushing the needle through for the next.
"If that were true you wouldn't still be going out there," she says. "Or be here right now."
Matt's shoulder rises and falls in a shrug and he looks so damn lost, defeated.
Claire finishes with the needle and sets everything down. Pulling the glove off of her right hand, she reaches up and slides her palm against his cheek, his stubble scraping her skin as she holds his face in her hand.
"Hey," she says, gently turning his head towards her. He can't see her, but that doesn't matter, her eyes settle on his and hold there. "I still believe in you, Matt."
There's a quake in her voice that turns into a knot when she feels his throat work against her fingertips on his neck, but she forces her voice to keep working for her as she speaks to him.
"I meant it, when I said what you do is important. It still is. Don't grind yourself down thinking it isn't." She swipes her thumb across his cheek, gently, mindful of the bruise there.
"What you do matters. You matter. To a lot of people, including me."
Leaning forward, Claire presses a kiss to his forehead while he bows his head into her.
Something breaks in his expression and the line of his body. The stoicism cracks and he relaxes into weary relief. His shoulders fall and he breathes in then out with a shaky sigh.
She holds him for a long moment, then draws back slowly.
Another glove goes on, and then she gets back to work.
Smoothing a bandage over his stitches, she watches resolve return to him and she knows that when he goes back out there again he'll have it with him.
by her touch
"Claire."
She doesn't even have to open her eyes to know that he's a mess. When she does the sight is still enough to take her breath away for a moment.
She fell asleep on the couch scrolling through news articles on her phone, now Matt is standing in her living room, black mask off and looking like he's gone twelve rounds against a bunch of heavyweights.
Sitting up on the couch and sliding her legs around to set her feet on the floor, Claire stands and starts heading for the kitchen.
"Sit down, I'll be right back."
She leaves Matt to settle on the couch and heads to the kitchen for water and towels, and grabs her kit on the way back. She finds him sitting with his head resting against the couch back and his eyes closed.
"Matt-- " she calls out, not sure if he's passed out on her.
He pulls a breath, deep and slow, the tic in his facial features telling her that it doesn't come without pain which makes her eyes immediately dart to his chest and ribs.
"I'm here," he says, a low grate in his voice.
"Good," Claire replies, pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves, "because I was crashing this couch first."
Moving closer, she starts her exam, checking his head first.
"Rough night?" Matt asks as she cards her fingers through his hair, searching for injuries and lumps and finding the former on the back of his skull.
"Hm, long," she corrects, almost absently. "Long night, you're the one who had it rough."
The corner of his mouth flickers in the ghost of either a frown or a smirk, but otherwise he doesn't respond; going silent as she continues working.
"You probably have another concussion," she declares at last, pulling off her gloves and swapping them out for a new pair so she can start the repair work. "Bruised ribs at least, you'll have to tell me if they're broken, that cut on your temple is going to need stitches and overall you look like shit."
A saline rinse happens first as she starts to clean out the gash over his eye before setting to stitching it closed. Matt winces but holds still for her, his expression distant. Detached.
"Am I going to get a story or is this just another one of 'those nights'?" Claire prompts after the silence between them has stretched.
"I don't really think it matters anymore," Matt says, his voice hollow.
Claire frowns, snipping the piece of silk after one stitch and pushing the needle through for the next.
"If that were true you wouldn't still be going out there," she says. "Or be here right now."
Matt's shoulder rises and falls in a shrug and he looks so damn lost, defeated.
Claire finishes with the needle and sets everything down. Pulling the glove off of her right hand, she reaches up and slides her palm against his cheek, his stubble scraping her skin as she holds his face in her hand.
"Hey," she says, gently turning his head towards her. He can't see her, but that doesn't matter, her eyes settle on his and hold there. "I still believe in you, Matt."
There's a quake in her voice that turns into a knot when she feels his throat work against her fingertips on his neck, but she forces her voice to keep working for her as she speaks to him.
"I meant it, when I said what you do is important. It still is. Don't grind yourself down thinking it isn't." She swipes her thumb across his cheek, gently, mindful of the bruise there.
"What you do matters. You matter. To a lot of people, including me."
Leaning forward, Claire presses a kiss to his forehead while he bows his head into her.
Something breaks in his expression and the line of his body. The stoicism cracks and he relaxes into weary relief. His shoulders fall and he breathes in then out with a shaky sigh.
She holds him for a long moment, then draws back slowly.
Another glove goes on, and then she gets back to work.
Smoothing a bandage over his stitches, she watches resolve return to him and she knows that when he goes back out there again he'll have it with him.