AN: I don't usually crackship, but this is sort of based on a roleplay I'm in. In the sense that I couldn't get this scene out of my head, but the other girl doesn't ship it, so. Explanation at the bottom.

Matheus sat in the back of the bus, his earbuds in so he could ignore all of the stares he was getting. One hand was holding his iPod, his grasp firmer than usual, the other holding his crutches tightly. His good foot softly tapped the beat of the song blasting into his head against the metal flooring, the other leg splayed out across the seat, his ankle still twisted almost unnaturally. He bit his lip slightly at the thought of where he was going, but flinched when his teeth grazed the still-new cut on it. He distracted himself slightly by wondering what in the world the people around him were thinking when they looked at him. Some little kid who was at the wrong place at the wrong time, most likely. Probably wondering why they didn't see a story about a ten year old being mugged on the news. What else would they think, seeing someone of his stature with a split lip, a black eye, a huge gash on his cheek, and a dozen bruises covering every exposed part of his body? Child abuse, duh, he thought, scoffing. It was sad, how bitter he'd gotten because of it all. But he guessed Ellis was right. "There's only so long you can smile in the faces of people who keep pushing you down."

He glanced out the window and saw that they were coming to a halt, about two blocks from where he needed to be. Oh, well. Two blocks wouldn't kill him and he would do anything to escape the dozens of eyes on him. He slid to the edge of his seat, slipping his iPod into his pocket, grabbed his crutches and, after a moment, managed to get up. He slowly made his way through the aisle, repeatedly stumbling over the grooves in the path, his eyes on the ground partially so he would know where the rubber tips were hitting, mostly to avoid their stares. Yay for public transportation, he through bitterly as he managed to get off of the last step. He sighed quietly as the bus pulled away, leaning down so his left wrist could shove his glasses up his nose before walking again, grateful the cement was fairly even. Maybe I should've just rolled up my sleeves. The tattoos probably would've changed their theories. Hell, I should've just worn my earrings. Both can make them think I'm in a gang, or something.

He let his eyes wander a bit, taking in the brick houses surrounding him in an attempt to keep his mind occupied. He would be bitter, cynical, sarcastic, anything to avoid thinking about what he was doing. Or, rather, why he was doing it in the first place. Why it had even happened. He gulped, realizing he was in her driveway. He made his way to her door, leaning one crutch against his side so he could ring her doorbell.

"What?" her choked voice managed. He could hear that she'd been crying.

"Can I come in?" he asked after a moment of hesitation, barely able to make his voice loud enough for her to hear him. "Please?" He heard a few things shift, footsteps coming closer.

She opened the door and looked down at him, tears still dripping from her confused eyes. She looked exhausted. Sick, almost. She was leaning against the doorframe, her hand clutching her stomach, her face already a collection of bruises. "Matheus?"

He swallowed thickly, giving her a weak smile. "Hey, Dani."

She roughly wiped the tears off of her cheeks, flinching slightly when she grazed a cut by her eye. "Uh, yeah, come in." She held the door open while he tried not to stumble over the slight raise in flooring. She locked the door, avoiding his worried eyes when she turned back around. "So, how are you?"

He hesitated a moment before shrugging. She shouldn't be like this. She was never like this. "That depends… How are you holding up?"

She managed a small scoff, the tears rising back up in her eyes as she all but threw herself onto the couch, curling up into a little ball and to leave enough room for him to sit at the end as she yanked a blanket over herself. "Not so well… Everything just… hurts."

He set his crutches against the armrest, sitting down next to her. The question he'd been dying to ask since she came up with this whole plan was burning a hole in his tongue. But he shouldn't ask. It was a ridiculous question, and he already knew the answer. Although he couldn't shake himself of the slight disappointment in it. She's just stubborn. She hated him, is all. Hates, really… That's the only reason.

"Why'd you do it?" The question slipped out involuntarily. He knew what she would say, so why did he ask?

"What?" she asked, her eyes looking up at him, the rest of her hidden under the maroon-colored fabric.

"Why'd you fight Blake?" For some reason, his voice wouldn't rise above a whisper.

She lifted her head up, looking at him like he was insane. "Have you looked in the mirror? Do you honestly think I'm letting that ass get away with putting you on crutches?"

Matheus stared at her blankly. "You seriously took on a guy twice your size for me?"

Dani rolled her still-wet eyes. "Of course I did, you idiot! Why else would I have done that?"

"I-I don't know," he admitted, barely aware that his hands were squeezing the life out of each other. "I figured it was just because you hate him."

"Well, that, too," she said, slowly sitting up, "but that's a stupid reason to get into a fight with someone. Alone, at least."

He nodded silently. He couldn't quite agree with her… From experience, at least, seeing how all of the 'fights' he'd been in were one-sided. He needed something to say, though. He hated rambling, but he hated silence more. "So, have you just been resting?"

She nodded. "That and drinking some tea. I hate coffee, but tea helps me relax, I guess." A look of realization passed over her face and she glanced around the room. "And it's on the counter," she groaned. It was only a few feet away, but he could tell it would hurt just for her to get to her feet.

She started to stand, but he did before she could, one hand on the back of the couch to steady himself. "I got it."

She glanced at his crutches for a moment, unsure, but gave a small, tired, grateful smile as she half-laid back down. He limped over to the counter, grabbed her still-warm purple and green mug, and carried it back to her. She gave an exhausted version of her usual cheerful beam as she took it, pulling her blanket closer so he wouldn't have to sit on it, and sitting upright.

He sat back down, closer to her this time, as she took a sip, her hands wrapped all the way around the cup, completely ignoring the handle. He smiled bittersweetly at her, though she wasn't looking. He hated it, knowing that she was in so much pain because of him, but she looked… sweet, almost. She was normally tough or overly-excited, so it was sort of interesting to see her softer side. He tensed in surprise when she leaned her head on his shoulder, her hands still tightly gripping her mug, her eyes closed.

He bit his lip, this time almost relishing the sharp sting the cut gave him. "I'm sorry."

She glanced up for a moment, leaning up just far enough to set her mug down on the coffee table. "Don't be. It's my fault for thinking I could actually take him on." As soon as the porcelain gently tapped against the wood, her head was back on his shoulder.

"But you wouldn't have had to even think about it if I hadn't–" he started, his voice thick with guilt.

"Matt," she cut him off. "Shush."

He hesitated, but listened, pressing his lips together, his eyes glancing around the room. Silence… Complete silence, other than the clock ticking above her TV. He looked back down at her. She snuggled closer, her short hair tickling his neck, her arms wrapping around his, hands grasping right above his tattoo. She was cute. He would have said it out loud if he wasn't so keen on not disturbing her. She really didn't deserve the bruises she was sure he was going to have for the next several weeks…

Before he knew what he was doing, his lips softly met the top of her head, his free hand stopping absentmindedly tapping a beat against his thigh.

Her eyes fluttered open, looking up at him almost curiously. Why did I do that? he thought, shaking his head quickly, barely aware of her eyes on him until one of her arms untangled from his, reached up, and cupped his cheek. He looked back over at her, eyes widening in shock when her lips brushed his, pressing into them gently for just a moment before she pulled away and nuzzled back into his neck, though closer, arm wrapping back around his.

He stared at her in disbelief, though she was curled up against him like nothing had happened. Something definitely had, though. He wasn't sure what exactly had been meant by it, but…

He bit his lip. He wasn't going to ask now. He'd ask when she was feeling better. When they both were, although that could take a while. But not now. Now she just needed to rest and he needed to be there for her, at least. So not yet. Soon, but not yet.

AN: Alright, here's the story from the rp: Adam (being Blake) beat up Ray (being Matheus), so Dalton (being Dani), whom he'd already repeatedly called a dyke, decided to take him on. The original idea was that Ray would piss him off even more than usual and Adam would call a time for a "fight", so that Samantha (Aylin) would be able to record it without his knowledge. Dalton would step in and take the first punch before starting a fight with him. Sam would give the tape to Figgins as evidence that Adam's a dick and Dalton wouldn't be able to get in trouble because she goes to Carmel, while everyone else goes to McKinley. But Ray backed out, so she just took him alone and got it handed to her.

Make any sense? ^^;

Go review and complain about what's wrong with me!