I dunno. Filler chapter? I'm avoiding my legal homework. Send help

Hey, remember when I said everything turned into a giant, bass-ackwards fustercluck?

Yeah, this rule apparently applies to the hospital. In which Frank...ie... Frank Castle currently resides. There's suits everywhere, for one thing. People, whom I think were just normal people. Reporters, wannabe reporters. Nosey assholes who have nothing better to do–

I don't think a single person in this lobby was injured.

The suits were making my skin crawl, and I half shrunk behind Matt. Poor, confused Matt, "What's going on?"

"Reporters," Karen told him, "Looks like every outlet in town wants a word with Castle."

"Us first," I stuck my head almost totally between theirs, "Right?"

"Maybe," Matt held up a hand to try to stave me off.

Foggy tugged my jacket and pulled me away from the other two, "Either that, or they want a report on who does want a word with him. C'mon, both of you," he grabbed Matt's elbow and nodded for me to follow them.

God knows where Karen just darted off to.

Us three? We didn't get far. A nurse and a... heavily armed SWAT...? member stopped us at the doors to the ER, "You press?"

Lady, I'm wearing a leather jacket and stylishly [not really, they're ripped because they're my only pair of jeans] ripped jeans and I'm holding a stick of bamboo. What the fuck kinda news are you watchin'? I cleared my throat and stood straighter, "We're attorneys."

"IDs?"

I pulled my wallet outta my inside pocket just as Karen reappeared with hers. Matt and Foggy's got cleared and awaaaaaay we go–

Into the deep dark depths of my mind... way back when, when Frank fucked up my piano fallin' through my fire escape and I had to patch him back up like a bad game of Operation– I never was good at that game, y'know? If anything, I'd forgo all actual gameplay and sit and hold the tweezers to the metal until the batteries died. Just to listen to the pieces rattle like teeth in someone's jaw–

But I did it. I sewed his ass back up and made Frank better because that's what he did for me. He didn't want to go to a hospital – and now I see why – and honest to fuckin' God I wouldn't either, criminal record or not. Hospitals freak me the hell out. Too clean, too perfect and pretty. Organized. I despise organization.

Then he runs off to Lord knows where to fight God knows who by himself– I grit my teeth, gripped my staff with an iron first and walked faster, trying to shake the idea out of my head. He's here. He's alive. Frank is alive and probably well...?

And the bastard had fucking told Matt to tell me that I'm a good kid with a good heart and he knows I'll take good care of Max – fucking obviously I'm going to take good care of Max, I'm not a fuckin' monster–

That fucking asshole was trying to die in a fucking graveyard by himself without giving me a proper fucking goodbye.

Well, we're in the fucking hospital, now, and I can give him a right proper goodbye when I smack the living shi–

"Bek."

I shook my head, white-knuckling my work binder so hard it was at risk of snapping, "Yeah?"

"C'mon," Foggy cocked his head towards the elevator, where Matt and Karen were waiting inside.

If I had to hazard a guess, he wanted to be here as much as I did.

All the same, though, I followed him into the elevator. The tension in our small group got worse when the doors shut, and it was the most awkward elevator ride of my entire life. Why'd they have to put dear ol' Frankie on the highest fuckin' floor they could muster up? Were they trying to scare off any possible thought of visitors – like they'd allow them, anyway – with the threat of four flights of stairs?

"We're about to step onto a big proscenium stage here. Does this much spotlight concern anyone else?" Foggy asked, finally breaking the silence, "And how do I know what proscenium is? Because I did theater in summer camp–"

The elevator dinged.

"--which is exactly the kind of thing these reporters will find out if they start digging into me."

"Or," I turned my head away from the opening doors, "They'll find out about it if they ask you a question and you start panic-monologuing like you are now. Calm down."

Doors open? Check. Me exiting the elevator? Triple check. I was outta there almost as fast as I was outta the starting position back in track. The linoleum clicked under my boot heels as I all but marched my way down the hall, staff tucked under my arm. Limp prominent, probably, but not hindering mobility at the moment.

Where the fuck am I going?

Apparently nowhere because I marched my ass right into a group of... what are these guys? SWAT? Normal cops? Military? I squared my shoulders and narrowed my eyes at the one who stopped me. Y'don' scare me, mate. I could lay you flat in roughly two secon's 'f I wanted–

"What the hell are you... four? Four?" Mahoney both looked and sounded confused as all fuck, "Whatever. What are you people doing here?"

Foggy's voice came from my right shoulder, "Brett... you're... wearing a tie. And it's not a clip on."

"Who is this?" Mahoney's pointer finger was, like, two inches from my jaw.

"Rebekah Hall," Matt's eyebrows scrunched, "Our... legal investigator, Brett, you've met her before."

"Several times, actually," I added wryly, "Nice to know I make an impression." but yet, the basically-a-criminal who just joined the team like, what, a month ago? Yeah, he sees her as a part of this law firm. Nice.

This is why I beat people up. It's almost cathartic. Therapeutic? Somethin' like that, I dunno. I only kind of majored in psych.

"Look, this ain't a good time."

"How'd you get babysitting duty, Sergeant?" Foggy asked, ignoring the not-so-subtle request to leave.

"That's detective sergeant, now," Mahoney corrected, flashing his badge.

"Promotion?" Matt asked. He has that dumb smile on his face. He did something, I can tell. I can't tell what, right now, but I know that smile.

"Uh," Brett almost cringed, "Just unlucky. Top dogs like the press of a good collar."

"Yeah, and the cops that get 'em," Matt agreed.

You fucker.

You mother fucking fucker.

The sudden urge to... extensively harm or otherwise maim poor ol' Matthew flashed hot through my chest.

"I'm sorry," Brett cut in, his voice hard, "This area is restricted beyond this point. You can't be here. Any of you," he added pointedly.

"What if we have business with Frank Castle?" I asked, tucking my binder under my arm that didn't have the staff tucked in the elbow. I folded my arms over my chest.

"Business? The guy's barely conscious." He was backing up, though, with the four of us closing in on him.

Matt's smooth voice was starting to annoy me, "Our firm wants to represent him."

"The man's already got a lawyer."

Foggy cut me off, "Yeah, we met that benchwarmer. Not the freshest fish the city could've drummed up, but he's in the running."

I don't even like fish.

"Brett, we feel Nelson and Murdock is better equipped to represent Mr. Castle's best interests." Matt told him, his voice oozing politeness.

"Obviously far better... equipped than his current legal counsel," the deep breath I took did abso-fuckin-lutely nothing to calm me down.

The suit sighed, "Look, I don't ask questions, but every firm in the city's passed this one by, there's gotta be a reason. You're chasin' the wrong ambulance."

A very vivid image flashed through my mind; Mahoney, slammed face first into the gross, eggshell-blue wall behind him. His arm, snapped at a very wrong angle– "DA Reyes wants the death penalty and Roth is ready to roll over and fuckin' help her," I looked up, finally, from the floor, swishing my long ass curtain of annoying ass hair out of my face in the process, "They're ready to extradite him out of New York."

Foggy tugged on my sleeve, again, peering over my shoulder, "We thought he'd respond a little better to our own strategy of, y'know, keeping him alive."

A long pause. Too long of a pause. I could hear the buzzing of the fluorescents, mixing with the general hum of the hospital. To me, it sounded like mosquitoes.

I hate mosquitoes.

Finally, Brett sighed, "Over here." I thought maybe he was leading us to Frankie's room but no, he led us precisely a foot to the left and continued talking, "Look. None of this is my problem. But all I know is, you go up against this DA and lose? The only funeral you'd be attending would be your firm's. You're talkin' career suicide."

Matt clicked his tongue and sighed, "If we walk away, we're letting him die."