A/N: Not sure why I'm on Chapter Twenty-One on Wattpad but only Nineteen on AO3 but oh well.

Here's this little tidbit of information; I'm currently in my second semester of paralegal classes. I've fallen down a Mandalorian pit. I've lost many, many pets since I was last able to update and it's taken a mental and emotional toll on me. I stopped working two part time jobs and got one full time one that requires a lot of overtime. 

I've been sleeping a lot.

None of these are actual excuses BUT I'm very thankful for all of you who've commented and given me a reminder that this story needs a little loving too. I just hope you guys are still here after waiting so long for another update.

Why am I here?

My foot, I'm sure, has tapped its way through the cheap cream carpeting Foggy insists on keeping in this dingy office, most likely exposing the grungy floorboards below.

Why am I here?

I have my thick binder in front of me, an un-clicked pen weaving its way through the fingers on my beat up right hand. I'm supposed to be... taking notes? All I've succeeded in doing is drawing several different doodles of the Mandalorian as I listen to this lame ass public defender talk with Karen.

My ears tuned back into their discussion when I heard a name of interest, "...Castle chased me through the stairwell, but he didn't. I went down, he went up."

"I can change that," the other guy, Roth, said, shuffling his paperwork.

"I also didn't escape on foot," Karen explain, "I had a car, and I know I told NYPD about it. It also says here I was his onl target, but that's flat out wrong. What about Grotto? Where did you get my statement?"

"Grotto?"

"Elliot Grote," the name slipped through my grit teeth, clearing the confusion from Roth's face.

He went on to go through something about a victim's list and ballistics and many guns. I heard Frank Castle too but my mind was playing through a scenario that most likely didn't happen. I couldn't fathom it. Bits and pieces like a broken movie screen; dimly lit stairwells, Frank and Karen darting through each layer of the staircase. Fuckin' Grotto somewhere in there too. I couldn't wrap my mind around it?

My Frankie? Chasing an innocent woman in cold blood with the intent to harm? He didn't even like me watching TV shows that depicted harm against women–

I shuddered.

My pen snapped.

Three sets of eyes turned to me, and I looked up from my blank notes page, "What?"

Silently, with hesitancy, Roth offered me another pen from across the table, his eyebrows pulled together over his dark rimmed glasses. I graciously snatched it from his hand and made quick work to start spinning it between my fingers.

Thank God Matt decided to finally roll into work. What fuckin' time is it, anyway? "Early start today."

"Matt, uh," Foggy started, "This is Christopher Roth."

"The public defender assigned to the Castle Case," I finished, sitting more upright in my chair. I might as well attempt to appear professional, instead of a grumpy teenager forced to come socialize at dinnertime.

Roth smiled at Matt like he could actually see it, "I just came by to discuss Miss Page's statement and get her signature. After that, we're all done."

Karen lifted a hand to him, "With this meeting."

"With this case," he corrected.

I could feel the shift in the room, between the four of us. Matt was the only one to speak, "How so?"

Roth was ingorant of the shift in mood, that much was obvious, "Castle's awake–" He's awake, that's good – "Soon, he'll plead guilty and then it's open and shut."

Not good.

Foggy nodded, "Open and shut is good. New York will sleep better knowing Frank Castle is behind bars. I know I will."

"Sleep even better when he's dead."

My eyes shot to Roth. I'm ninety percent sure Matt just heard my heart stutter, because I could feel him looking in my general direction, "Dead?"

Out of the two of us who spoke, Roth chose to answer Matt, turning almost completely around to face the man.

Not good to turn your back on me.

"Well, lethal injection, probably," Roth explain kindly, if that's the word you would use, "Although, the electric chair is a possibility."

"New York doesn't have the death penalty," I told him shortly.

Finally, he turned back to face me, "Yeah, but Delaware does–"

My teeth cracked. I'm sure of it. I was going to need a dentist.

"--Dogs of Hell were murdered out there along Interstate Ninety-Five. DA Reyes just has to link the killings to Castle, and then they'll be well within their limits to extradite him."

Foggy clicked his tongue, but I couldn't hear him talking. I couldn't hear anyone talking anymore. My ears were ringing, and I think the room was starting to tilt. I think they were still talking.

My heart was beating really fast.

Frankie? My Frankie? Frank fuckin' Castle? He's– he's just– but—

At the same time I had the idea to stand up and maybe take a walk, do something to make my blood stop pumping through my ears, something was tugging gently at my elbow. Whatever it was, I let it pick me up and usher me into the other room.

The cologne grounded me, brought me closer to my senses than I was, anyway, "Matt."

"Rebekah," he pushed me to lean against a wayward, unclaimed desk, "Rebelah, breathe."

I let out whatever breath I didn't know I'd been holding, "Matt, you can't let them–"

"Miss Hall," his voice was stern, and I hadn't noticed how pathetic my cracking voice had just sounded, "Calm down."

I began trying to slow my breathing, "Matt, the death penalty? They can't be fuckin' serious."

He held up a hand, "It'll work out, but if you can't separate your two lives you're going to have to go home."

"Two lives?" Foggy's voice even sounded like it was poking its head into the room.

"Work life and personal life," I offered a small smile over Matt's well-manicured shoulder, "Boyfriend issues," I lied.

"Fuck em," Foggy told me.

Karen was following right behind him, "Statement he wanted me to sign? Complete work of fiction. Probably handcrafted by Reyes," she came over and leaned on the desk beside me.

"Well, we could write an anonymous letter, maybe the judge will assign a new public defender."

"We all know public defenders hardly ever do shit," I snapped. Not really directly at Foggy but just to the general void, "No offence to them or anything but seriously, public defenders are just there as a courtesy because everyone has the right to an attorney, even if it is the worst one possible. They just save the shitty ones for cases the courts know they have in the bag so the defendant isn't acquitted on terms of a mistrial."

Karen, Foggy and I'm sure Matt, too, were all blinking at me like I'd just sprouted a tail and horns. I shrunk in on myself, "What? You know I'm right."

"We're just wondering where you learned all that fancy lingo from," Foggy joked, "Little Miss Paralegal got some know-how."

"I was one class application away from being in the big boy law courses and you know it," I smiled sheepishly. My smile was gone in an instant, though, "But still. You heard him, he's had one other case and it wasn't anything near as big as this."

"We could just help Castle ourselves," Matt sounded hesitant. And out of breath, like he'd just run three blocks.

"No way." Foggy told him.

"We don't have to help him," Matt defended, "We could just negotiate a plea deal. Without extradition or an electric chair."

I was biting the inside of my cheek so fuckinghard I'm sure it was close to bleeding but it was the only way I could keep a giant grin from breaking out over my face.

"...Castle goes away, Reyes gets her ticker-tape parade..." Matt continued, "Everyone wins."

Foggy took a deep breath, "Everyone except us. You see the front door? The open sign is up, but nobody's walking in."

"Well, I mean, how many people need a lawyer right this second?" I asked, "I know there's a lot of shit goin' on in town lately but, Foggy, law services aren't exactly a hot commodity half the time."

He gave me a flat, irritated look, "If we keep messing with Reyes, we'll be shuttered by the end of the month."

"But if we stand up to her, we could actually end her incessant bullying." Matt told us, his voice ridiculously hopeful. He was giving me hope, albeit probably false hope. The other two wouldn't ever agree to take on Frankie's case. I couldn't even tell if Matt was debating it for me or for his own whacked off EvErYonE HaS GoOd iN ThEm reasons.

Whatever his reasonings, I couldn't have been more thankful, "C'mon, taking Reyes down a notch? The satisfaction it would bring."

"It could possibly save this guy's life," Karen added.

Foggy was lookin' a bit irate at this point, "A murderer who shot at you," he stressed.

"I thought we've gone over that he didn't shoot at her," I deadpanned.

"For reasons I don't fully understand yet," she put her hands out, one towards me and one towards Foggy. Palms down, like she was trying to stave off a feral cat fight.

I should know the gestures, I've done them several times in the dark alleyway behind my building.

Matt stepped in, again, "Roth said Castle's gonna plead guilty. So," he started waving his arm, trying to generate ideas, "we get in there, we talk to him–"

"Ask him some questions about what really happened to his family," Karen cut in, why Reyes wants him dead."

"Build a fair please and show the DA our justice system," Matt clicked his tongue, "Still has a backbone."

From where I was standing – well, leaning – it looked like Karen and Matt were ganging up on poor Foggy, who stood looking hopeless, lost and confused on the opposite side of the room.

"This is a bad idea, Matt," Foggy smacked his hands together, his tone holding finality.

"I do agree that it is a bad idea," I chimed in, "Terribly, horribly bad. However," I struggled to keep my voice even, "There's a lot of good that can come out of this too if we can pull it off, Foggy."

Karen excused herself after silence blanketed the room, and Foggy motioned for Matt to follow him.

I followed, too, whether Foggy wanted me to or not. I might not be a fuckin' lawyer but I'm just as important to every case these morons take on.

We all sat at the table previously occupied by us and Roth, and I swung the door shut behind me before taking a seat at the rickety ass little wooden table beside Matt. I copied the blind asshole and folded my hands together on the almost-polished surface as Foggy began to lay into us, "I can't believe we're even discussing this, Matt. He–"

Foggy cut off, side eyeing me. I reached up and pinched the bridge of my nose, "Chained him to a roof, right?" Foggy choked on air and before he could say anything else, I kept talking, "Yeah, I know, dude."

There's some stuff you're about to find out about me that you're not gonna like, either, though.

He looked ready to pull his hair out, "Matt, you of all people should know this guy's a psychopath."

Matt held an open palm out, "Okay, okay, so his methodology is clearly wrong, but in his own kind of way he was trying to do something noble."

"Do you hear yourself?" Foggy asked blankly.

Matt laughed, "Yeah. He wanted justice, Foggy, like us."

"So we should risk everything, our firm, our reputation, and let's be honest, our safety? We should put it all on the line to help him?"

"He's not a bad man," I whispered to the tabletop.

Foggy frowned at me like he'd forgotten I was in the room, too, "Not a bad– Not a bad man? Do you hear yourself? How many people has he killed?"

How many have I killed?

The look on Matt's face said he was asking me the same thing.

I turned more to face Matt, silently asking, no, silently pleading with him to helo me try to explain how I know Frankie isn't a bad man. How do you explain to someone that a mass murderer has been living on your couch for Lord knows how long?

Honest to God, I think I need to explain more to Matt, too.

I cleared my throat, and turned back to face Foggy, "Okay, so, um... I haven't been totally honest with you, Foggy, about... who I am."

"If you tell me you're also a masked vigilante, I'm checking you both into a psych ward." a slow, awkward smile broke my lips apart and Foggy's whole frame sagged, "You've got to be fucking–"

"I can explain," I butt in, "Okay, I'm sorry I never fucking told you but I'm, uh... I'm Phantom. That damn stick?" I jerked my head towards the corner where my staff rested against the wall, "I need it because I got my knee shot out by one of Gallagher's guys. Among other bullet holes I acquired. Y'know where I got that staff from? Frank Castle," I held up a finger to shut him up before he had a chance to say anything, "And y'know why I'm still even upright 'n walkin'? Because Frank fuckin' Castle heard my boot fall off my broken foot after I'd been holed worse than Swiss cheese and tossed in a dumpster. He pulled me out, he made sure I didn't pass out on my way to his apartment and Frank Castle patched me up and made sure I was alright."

I'm also pretty sure Frank Castle went back and found those assholes who tried to do me in, but I can't remember back that far. Can you?

"So, since you're asking me if I can hear myself? Yeah, loud 'n clear. He's got messed up methods, as Matthew so kindly summed up, but Frankie–"

"Frankie?"

I flinched at both Matt and Foggy's incredulous tones, "Frank," I corrected, my voice hard, "Frank is one of the nicest men I've ever met. However long I've known him and he's only ever gotten stern with me about my needle habit–"

"Heroine?!"

"Shut the fuck up," I hissed, "Not anymore, Frank made me quit cold turkey– do you see what I'm trying to tell you? He's worth the fuckin' risk, Foggy."

"Is this about saving a man," Foggy asked, "Or saving a vigilante?"

A few seconds of silence, and Matt took in a slow breath, "He's a person. Like you, Foggy. Like me. And he shouldn't have to die."

My heart felt like it was trying to escape my fuckin' ribs. I'm sure Matt could hear it, and I'm sure Foggy probably could've too. I can almost feel the anger rolling off Foggy, amongst other emotions he was having. His lips folded into a thin line, and he smacked an open hand on the table before standing to open the door.

Another beat of silence.

"Karen," he called, "Grab your stuff. We're goin' to the hospital."

I let out the breath I was apparently holding in. Matt's breathing evened out, too, but he didn't seem very relieved. I gave his shoulder a pat as we stood, "He'll forgive you."

"It's not that," he told me, grabbing my staff for me, "He's got a lot to mull over right now. We're being unfair."

I swung the door shut behind us, "As I said, he'll forgive you."

A/N: I'm almost finding a median between working, writing and homeworking. Hopefully I'll be able to keep with some steady updating for a little while. And again, thank you for reading <3