The War for Hell's Kitchen
Brave Damn Woman
By: Brenli

He'd been awake for longer than he cared to let on, lying in the hospital bed with thick black straps holding him down, with each hand cuffed to the sides. Thoughts chased themselves in dizzy circles around his battered head... surprise that he was alive. Confusion that anyone bothered to keep him alive. Certainty that this was the end of things. The end of his war. He would never get the justice or the answers that he sought...

Noises bled through the shut door, three pairs of shoes, one the tack of heels, and the tapping of a cane. Michael tilted his head forward and opened his bruised eyes in time to see who entered.

So he was right. Two men and a woman. The first seemed far too wholesome to be anywhere near the likes of him, sandy-colored hair, a cautious disposition. The second was blind, cool and composed; or maybe that was just the dark lenses of his glasses hiding whatever his eyes would have given away. His cane was tucked under his arm as the woman guided h-

It hurt, despite the painkillers, for his brows to pinch together, for his head to lift off of the pillow.

He remembered her.

Hair like pale gold. The subpar, harsh and struggling hospital lights had washed it over in a sickly green, at the time. Same with her skin. Dark eyes.

He'd shot at her, with all the calm cruelty of a hunter. He remembered, because she was the only reason that Voice had gotten away, that night. He was a sharp shooter – a Hell of a sharp shooter – but she was an innocent who kept getting in the way of his intended target.

And so he'd lost his mark, but no other choice would have done, at the time.

Michael would never gun down someone who didn't deserve it.

He watched the woman mouth a shocked, "Oh my God..." and release the blind man's hand. Couldn't say that he blamed her. If he looked even half like how he felt, then he must've looked like roadkill.

The blind man kept stepping forward, but Michael looked past him, uninterested in anything but the woman who he'd shot at, who was suddenly before him, again. What kind of coincidence was this...? And why was she looking at him that way? At once both reserved... and sharp. Or was that just the contrast of those eyes against the rest of her? He couldn't decide. But those eyes certainly commanded his attention, whatever they meant to convey. Scared or fierce?

"Uri, the tape."

The sandy-haired man's comment wasn't for him, so Michael ignored it. Kept on staring at the woman as she hugged a couple of folders and a notebook against her chest. In the hospital, under that not-so-great lighting, her eyes had looked dark and frightened as a doe's. He remembered their eyes meeting when she looked over her shoulder at him for a sliver of a moment. In this lighting they looked more like pieces of a melted Hershey bar. Scared or fierce? His gut told him, both. Surely she remembered him, after all. He'd... likely made a lasting impression. Maybe she meant to attack him for almost killing her.

"Michael Castle."

With a reluctance Michael couldn't place – like looking away from a hostile threat, but like looking away from an animal he hadn't meant to startle – his aching, blue-green eyes shifted over to the tan-skinned, long-haired man blindly standing just at the edge of the tape framing his hospital bed.

"My name is Uriel Murdock." Uriel fixed his cane back together as he continued to speak. "These are my associates, Setsuna Nelson and Nemaelle Page."

"Yeah." Michael wanted to move past any pleasantries, wanted the quiet. Wanted to figure out what the chances were that a woman he'd shot at would see him again. Would be staring at him like she had something to say. "I know who you are. You protect shitbags." Nothing like abrasiveness to cut through all the bullshit.

The corners of Uriel's mouth briefly flinched upward as he softly scoffed. "We're here to make you an offer. We don't want money for our services; we're not interested in fame or free advertising. We weren't even assigned to your case. We don't have to be here."

As Uriel spoke, Michael's head tilted slightly. Getting the woman more comfortably into his peripheral vision. She definitely had a stare on her, brown eyes set so sharply against the paleness of everything else about her. If looks could cut he would've been beheaded by now. And yet she didn't seem... angry. Or at least, not as angry was he would've expected her to be. They didn't have to be here, so why the Hell was she?

"But you take a quick look around, you'll notice we're the only ones who are. As you may well know, your list of enemies extends well beyond the gangs you've killed..."

On and on and on and on. Michael felt like he could go on autopilot, half-listen while staring at the woman as she stared back at him. Maybe it was just fear. Logic should dictate it was just fear...

Most women didn't stare fear square in the eye, though.

"... And the day you were admitted to Metro-General for the round you took to the head, a do-not-resuscitate order was placed on you."

If they were planning to recite his biography to him, Michael intended on going right back to sleep.

"And a shoot-to-kill order, just a few days ago." Setsuna spoke, both hands gripping the handle of his briefcase.

No shit?

"We know because we heard it given." She finally spoke.

"These orders were issued by the District Attorney..." Uriel continued.

But Michael took a moment, while on autopilot, to compare the woman's – Nemaelle's, Miss Page's – voice now to the sharp, panicked tones he remembered tearing out of her throat as she tugged Voice along with her, unaware that each bullet had been calmly, perfectly aimed to avoid her. It had been at the cost of him losing that thug, that night, but it didn't matter, now. Her voice was softer, currently. Restrained. Which was a perfect word for the look in her eyes. She was holding something back, or a lot of things...

"Someone in the DA's office wants you dead, Mr. Castle, and we'd like to know why."

Nema stepped forward just one pace, and so he looked at her openly. She stopped.

Still Uriel spoke. "You let us take your case; we can soften your sentence, and give you a shot. Maybe even find out who's responsible for what happened to you." When Michael still laid there in silence, he pushed a little harder. "We're talking about your life, Mr. Castle. We can help you keep what's left of it."

A laugh that came out more like a weak, dying chuckle burst past his lips as he looked up at the ceiling. "Like Voice?" He was over this. There wasn't anything they could do to help him. To give him what he really wanted. Did they think he was scared of life sentences, the death penalty? Please. He'd been on death row ever since that carousel was shot to shit...

She moved, and it was so sudden compared to her prior stillness that Michael's body tensed, his bruised eyes widened.

"Nema. Nema, Nema!" Uriel reached toward the sound of her as she burst past him. "Setsuna!" He called for help, but she was already past the red line of tape marking out the floor around his bed.

"You want answers?"

Michael thought she might strike him, and if that made her feel better for what she thought he tried to do to her, he'd let her do it. He'd been cracked in the damn face so many times, anyway. What was one more?

But she struck him in a different way. Pulling a photo from one of her folders... Jenny. And Bal. And himself. At that damn carousel. He looked so happy that he couldn't fucking recognize that man at all... What the... How the...?

"So do we! But none of us will get them if you're dead!"

"Where did you get that?" The bruises framed the wide, wild look suddenly in his eyes. "Where the fuck did you get that?"

"From your home." Scared or fierce? From so much closer, she just looked fierce. Unapologetic about what she'd done to get that photo.

"You were in my home?" How? Why? Shit, he hadn't gone back there since...

Some newcomer was ranting at the door, something about who was in this room with him. It could've been people with torches and pitchforks, ready to tear him apart. It didn't matter. The woman with the piercing eyes set in all that gentle lightness had been inside the one place he couldn't bear to set foot in. Why?

"You come into my house-" He meant to threaten, pouring every meager bit of energy into a low and menacing growl.

"Someone is lying about what happened to your family, Mr. Castle...!" Uriel was already pulling Nema back beyond the red tape, even as the back of her pale hand rested against his chest in refusal. Michael's aggression only fueled her. Yeah... not scared, not at all. Fierce, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

DA Lailah Reyes stepped in, her heels stabbing at the hard floor, the anger making the scar on her face seem more pronounced as she pointed at each of his three visitors. "You three. Out. Now!" She was stern enough to make Setsuna jump and to pull Uriel's attention away from him, but Nemaelle... the brown-eyed girl kept staring. Piercing. At once fighting against his aggression and beseeching him to listen.

Brave damn woman.

"Now!"

And she kept staring, up until the last moment. When she turned, her pale gold hair swung against her shoulders just like it had when she ran from him like a frightened doe. But even that had been an act of bravery, hadn't it?

The detective sergeant whose name he kept forgetting – Hedwig, Niddhegg, something that sounded Scandinavian or some shit – went to close the door, leaving him alone with... suddenly, too many new thoughts and questions. "Wait." His voice was a rough bark, a grunt at best.

Niddhegg paused in the doorway, as the DA's yelling polluted the background. "What is it, Mr. Castle?"

"Them." Michael said, after briefly steeling himself to the decision. But nothing else would do, not after Nemaelle Page had burst past the line everyone else was afraid to cross. Literal. Figurative. "I want them representing me."

The detective sergeant paused only shortly before nodding.

"Tell the bitch with her panties in a twist that I want a consultation with them. Now."

He blinked at the language, as colorful as the bruising all across Michael's face, but nodded again. "I'll tell her now."