The War for Hell's Kitchen
Guilty
By: Brenli

Nema thought she might snap like piano wire wound too tightly to last.

There had to be a reason, though... It's not like that woman was the only one there. Some man. Also blind, but cutting up an apple.

So maybe... there was some reason, that she had been too irritated and impatient to wait for. Maybe one of them was the paying client? Which one, then? The man?

Or the beautiful woman with eyes so much darker than hers, they were just plain black. Dark-haired, mocha-skinned, the literal antithesis of herself. Was she the paying client? Why was she in his bed?

There had to be a reason.

Now wasn't the time to wonder.

"Fan club's here." Setsuna murmured to her, and she'd only barely heard it.

"Word must've gotten out about Michael testifying." She sighed, not able to figure out if this was going to help the case or not. It could go either way, and she didn't appreciate the uncertainty.

"Uriel better show."

Nema had to consciously keep herself from suddenly spitting curses against him. "If... if he doesn't, we'll survive." She took a breath, shifting from heel to heel. "Right?"

Setsuna didn't have time to answer, looking past her to suddenly lighten up. No matter how angry he was... it felt good to finally, finally have Uriel present.

The moment Nema saw him, she moved to her seat, sat down, opened her folders. Picked up her pen. Did all that she could to have a reason to ignore the blind lawyer that had finally decided to do his job.

She heard him tap his way over to his own seat, close up his walking stick... and then he practically descended on her like she was prey. "Nema, I'm so sorry about-"

"Setsuna wants to walk through some things with you." She absolutely did not want to have this conversation here. Not now. This wasn't the place. Michael needed them.

She felt the pause like the weight of a boulder sitting upon her shoulders, and when he fell back to speak with Setsuna, it was all she could do not to let out a loud sigh of relief. Or cry. Or storm out. But she had to keep it together, for Michael's sake. She'd come this far. She could get through this, too...

"Counsel, are we about ready?" The judge asked.

"One moment, Your Honor." As Setsuna and Uriel sat, Nema heard him quickly give him the overview of the plan. Walk Michael through his story. Connect the dots between the Colonel and the neurologist. Proving whether Michael's version of events was true, was not necessary. They just had to convince the jury that he believed it, and relived it every day.

From there, the personal convictions differed. Nema was well aware Setsuna wanted Michael put away in some mental institution, and while Nema thought he could benefit from working through the mental mess she knew he had, she didn't think an asylum was the way to go. But... if nothing else, that would have been better than being shoved into general pop, where she... she couldn't even imagine what that would have been like, for Michael. No matter how wild he was, how cruel. It was a game of numbers, and corruption, and keeping one eye open at all times.

An asylum would have been better than that. And... and maybe... a first step. Maybe they could work him out, from there...

She chose to avoid the fact that she very much doubted either Setsuna or Uriel wanted to help her with that.

"Counsel?" The judge queried again.

"Yes, Your Honor." Uriel stood, clearing his throat. "The Defense would like to call Michael Castle to the stand."

"Bailiff, bring in the defendant, please."

A great clamor began as soon as the double doors opened, and Nema turned her head to watch Michael as he entered, flanked on each side by an officer. She heard Uriel quietly ask Setsuna to tell him what was happening. Heard Setsuna comment on the suit he wore, how he looked better than Setsuna himself ever had, and he wasn't even wearing a tie.

Of course, Nema had gotten him a tie. A couple to choose from, but Michael had forgone either, leaving the top button undone. Perhaps, not a bad choice. Maybe a tie would have made him look like he was trying too hard... But for all her prior picking and gentle whining – and sort of teasing, she supposed, recalling the dreamsicle slip of the tongue – that wasn't what caught her eye.

He looked... preoccupied. Deep in thought, and maybe even... disturbed by something.

Nerves, probably? And she couldn't blame him for that... so when his blue-green eyes found her own, she smiled softly. Uriel's stoicism and Setsuna's nervous comments faded to inconsequential background noise. She was on his side. She was fighting for him...

Her smile was met with the hints of a frown.

Because how could he meet her hopefulness with hope of his own...? Knowing what he knew. Weighing what he was weighing.

For the first time since she'd burst into his life, past a line of red tape on the floor, he hesitated to hold her gaze. They'd done so for far too long; they said too many things with their eyes, even if it wasn't always as clear as they would have liked.

Michael couldn't have her reading him, now.

"Think about what you want, Michael." One of the officers who'd escorted him whispered, and it was all he could do to not begin yelling and beating his cuffed fists into the officer's face. His glare followed the officer every step of the way. Of course, he ended up standing not far from Nema. Of course, that meant seeing her face in the peripheral. He didn't even need to look head on to feel the hope flowing out of her... nervous, now, judging from her frown and the worried mutter she sent Setsuna's way. Fuck, for the first time ever he wished she couldn't read him.

No point in dancing around it, now. She read him, much too well.

"Do you solemnly swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Michael had to take a slow, quiet breath before speaking. "... Yeah." That was as good an answer as he could give. He wasn't sure if what he was about to do would count as telling the truth or not. Fuck, for all he knew it was both, in the convoluted way his life was.

"State your name for the record."

"Michael Castle." So far, so good... He couldn't help it; he glanced at Nema. Their eyes met.

There was no confusion, now. Nothing was lost in translation. Chocolate-doe eyes, gently furrowed brows, lips gently open. A question, a concern. An 'are you okay?'

Shit, was he ever 'okay' these days? But damn if she didn't make him remember. And smile. And laugh, fuck, outright, gut-busting laugh because she couldn't accept how brutal she was. Because she was brutal, she dug in with her damn hands and pried him apart. Punched him square in the face. Shoved him back into the fight...

She wasn't going to understand this.

He sat down. Looked at her again.

Why couldn't she just... not be here? Uriel was here, and if they were gonna stick to the pattern then maybe that meant she shouldn't be around. But, fuck...

It was a cowardly fucking thing to admit, but if she wasn't sitting there, he wasn't sure he'd be able to do this, in the first place. That's what made it all the worse. Was this going to make her... cry, two fat tears tumbling down her face like in the hospital? Would it make her livid? Either way, this was going to hurt her... But he had to. He had to...

Uriel stood, briefly groping for his cane. It felt downright alien to have him around... which said a lot about how shitty of a lawyer he'd been for this case. It was far, far too late, now, but if he had his way, he would've wanted Nema to be given the damn credit, here. She was the one who actually worked with him. Verbally shot back when he was giving attitude she likely didn't deserve. She was invested in his sorry ass; he felt terrible about it. Poor Miss...

"Mr. Castle," Uriel began, "You've been charged with multiple capital crimes. Been called a killer incapable of empathy or remorse."

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get on with it. He couldn't help glancing at her. Again. Again. Again.

She was equal parts hopeful and worried and mentally pressing him to keep with the fight. The tangle of feelings colored her cheeks rosy red beneath melted chocolate doe's eyes, framed in pale sunlight hair. Her hair was only half pinned up into a twist... held together with pens. Because a secretary could never have too many pens.

Fuck.

"Hmm." Michael said with a nod. "Yeah... So I hear." Good, good. Good and honest.

"Michael." The tiniest space of a pause. "May I call you Michael?"

As if he gave a shit what this lawyer who couldn't be bothered to spend time on this case wanted to call him. There was something about him that he couldn't explain. Something about the way he spoke, the tones and all of that. "Yeah." Michael replied after a short, scrutinizing pause.

"Michael, we've heard a lot about neuro-chemistry... and psychology, and all things unfolding, scientifically and otherwise, inside your brain."

Yeah, he was a real spectacle for shrinks. It was getting damn hard to keep the comments to himself, already. He wasn't cut out for this type of warfare, for talking circles around people, it just wasn't for him. But it was what Nema wanted, so dammit, he had to try. Right?

"But I just have one question I want to ask."

Fucking finally.

"What happened that day?"

God...

"The day your family was so tragically killed."

He didn't give a shit that this lawyer was on his side or even that he was blind, he just wanted to hit him in the face. Everything about this felt ugly, cheap, turning memories into a sad, sad story for everyone in the room. At least with Miss Nema Page it had felt like sharing. At least she cared, enough to break into his house, enough to cry for his loss. Here it was just... cold statements transcribed to a document, and strangers who were supposed to weigh it heartlessly so they could judge him. This fucking circus. This fucking freak show that he got to be the star of.

Jesus Christ, had he even been up here for five minutes yet? He wasn't cut out for this, at all.

He looked over at Nema... How could she claim she wasn't brutal when she was staring at him with that begging look in her doe eyes? She was terrifying in a way no one gave credit for, which honestly only made her that much more dangerous. Woe for the man who was at her mercy. Woe for Uriel, even if he couldn't fucking see her.

The shift of darkness just behind Nema's head made him look up. The fucking officer, getting his attention, staring at him. He wanted to wring his neck for being such an obnoxious piece of shit.

He had to look away, had to breathe out his building anger. He needed to keep it together...

"It's okay, Michael." Uriel said gently, when the silence stretched on. "I understand, it's difficult."

"Do you?" He spoke right on the heels of Uriel's last sentence. The sarcasm laid heavy in his tone. "Do you understand?" Bullshit. He hated this. "'Cause I don't think you understand shit." He could do this without having to pander to people hungry for his tears.

He must have struck a nerve in the lawyer, whose jaw clenched, whose tongue wet his lips before fixing up his cane. "I'd like permission to treat the witness as hostile, Your Honor?"

Hostile, huh? Oh, he could give this long-haired no-show lawyer hostile.

"Granted." The judge acquiesced.

"All right, Michael. You don't want to tell us? I'll tell you."

Yeah? Would he?

"I'm gonna tell you exactly what kind of man you are."

Michael's hands clenched into tight fists.

"You're the kind of man this city needs."

… Okay. His fists unclenched, but his trigger finger started up, nervous and curious.

"Because, ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Uriel continued coolly, "We all know this city needs help. Needs it now. Not tomorrow, not next week, not when the day comes, when the corruption that Lucifer Fisk left in his wake is flushed out for good, and the police force is finally back on its feet. We need it now."

… What... what the...? Michael wasn't going to disagree – shit, everything he'd done had been because he couldn't wait. Wouldn't wait for aid that would never come. If you wanted something done in Hell's Kitchen, you had to do it yourself. Nothing else would do.

"Because this city's been sick. And the cops, they can't fix it alone. They need... we all need men and women who are willing to take the fight, themselves."

As Uriel spoke, so strongly impassioned, Nema's lips became a delicate frown. This... wasn't the Uriel she had argued with. The rigid lawyer who staunchly stood by the system, insisted that nothing else would do. No, this flew in the face of the things that had driven the schism between them ever wider. Why was he saying this...?

"The kind of people who risk their lives so that we can walk safe at night in our own neighborhoods...! The ones our esteemed District Attorney here is trying so hard to destroy. New York needs these people! We need... heroes." The crowds began cheering, the judge banged her gavel down, and Uriel had to catch his breath. Was this for Michael or was this for himself...? It felt like both. It also wasn't at all in keeping with the plan Setsuna had distantly murmured to him.

"Order...!" The judge yelled out louder, gavel banging... Setsuna's heart rate spiking, and Nema's breath leaving in a sigh of frustration, confusion... lots of things.

"The help they offer... and the hope that they provide..." He needed to get back on track, here... "Michael Castle wanted to help, but he took it too far. He shot people, he killed people." Uriel could sense Michael's own nerves – always running close to the surface to begin with, but nearly bursting from his skin now; he could hear it in quiet but staggered breathing and the sound of a finger nervously tapping. "It's against the law. And he broke that law many, many times."

Michael gave a moody sniff as he tried to piece where all of this was heading. It sounded like the kind of shit Red might say to him while trying to kick a gun out of his hand...

"Now, I don't like him any more than you do, but here's the thing. He's not a common criminal. He's not malicious in intent. Michael Castle is actually a good man, he just... He doesn't know the difference between right and wrong, anymore. And he doesn't need punishment for that...! He needs help. Our help."

Michael looked down at his cuffed hands. Not punishment, help. So, what? Send him to the nearest looney bin, and pump him full of pills to 'regulate' him, and talk about his feelings with shitty people who didn't honestly care about him? Fuck... for a shining moment, there, he thought this asshole lawyer was going to play in perfectly with what he intended to do...

"That's the kind of man Michael Castle is. And now, you have to decide what kind of jury you want to be. No further questions, Your Honor." And finishing required a sigh of an exhale.

"Your, uh... Your Honor? Can I say something?" The strain of Michael's voice felt quiet after the clarity of Uriel's own.

"You may." The judge allowed.

He let himself have another look at Nema. She seemed... dazed, and he supposed he couldn't blame her after the compelling and drawn out speech her lawyer boyfriend just delivered. Probably what she liked about the guy. Eloquent and shit... Yeah, women loved that, right? Why wouldn't this brown-eyed girl love that, too? But enough of that, now...

Time to do this.

"You know those, uh..." He paused. Just thinking about it made him scoff. "Those people? The ones I put down, the people I killed?"

Just one more glance at her. God, she was so full of hope that she shone like the sun. Brutal. She was ruthless...

"I want you to know that I'd do it all again."

He had officially taken the jump out of the fucking plane. No going back, now. The crowd made their astonished, stupid noises. Nema's eyes cut him like a knife, but not out of firm cruelty. No, they cut because they were like frightened doe's eyes viewed through his crosshairs.

"This is a circus, all right?" He growled out fiercely, taking the fall like a damn atomic bomb. "It's a charade; it's an act! It's bullshit about how crazy I am!"

"Language." The judge attempted to warn him.

"I ain't crazy!" He yelled over her. "I'm not crazy! Okay? I know what I did." He glared about the room. He dared everyone to challenge him... but he couldn't look at her. Not that way. "I know who I am. And I do not need your help."

Something started in the back of his mind, EED, EED. But fuck it. Fuck EED, fuck the bullet that punched a hole through his temple. Fuck it! Nema, poor Miss, even she'd said it with eyes that cut like a knife – he was in control; it wasn't an excuse! "I'm smack-dab in the middle of my right God damn mind, and any scumbag, any, any lowlife, any maggot piece of shit that I put down; I did it because I liked it!"

"Order!" The judge demanded over the cries of the courtroom; it felt like domesticated war zone buzzing chaos. He could ignore it.

"Hell, I loved it!" He roared out like a lion in need of blood. Saw Nema jump, in his peripheral vision. Doe eyes in the crosshairs, but he couldn't will himself to look right down the scope at her. "I'm sittin' here, I'm...! I'm just itching!"

That fucking officer was giving him some stupid smile that he attempted to dull to a smug twitch of the lips, and Michael wanted to send a bullet through his fucking teeth.

"I'm itching to do it again! And you think... What, you think you're gonna send me to a nuthouse? Some doctor; they're gonna get me to stop doing what I want to do? Well that ain't happening! Not on my watch!" He stood, he bellowed, he did what he had to do, and he didn't look at her. None of this was in any way for her. He wished she'd stayed home... "You people, you call me the Punisher, ain't that right? The big, bad Punisher! Well here I am!"

"Bailiff!" The judge called out. "Remove the witness!"

Good, good. Cart his ass out of here before Nema had to see any more of this. "You want it, you got it! I am the Punisher! I'm right here!" He struggled against the bailiff, "You want it, I'll give it to you! And anybody who came here today to hear me whine, to hear me beg? Well you can kiss my ass!"

It took three officers to drag him out, and as he passed his shitty fucking lawyer, his nervewracked partner... and her... he screamed it out. "I'm guilty, do you hear me?" He made the mistake of looking at her. Frightened doe, standing, asking him questions with her eyes. He couldn't answer her... He'd let her down, so, so hard. "Come on, Judge! I'm guilty, you hear me?" Guilty of being a piece of shit person in a piece of shit world and fucking betraying the one person who still looked at him like he was human. "I'm guilty! I'm guilty! I'll kill every one of 'em! Every single one!"

He kept it up, all the way to his shitty cell with his uncomfortable cot and the water that never really ran warm enough.

"You were perfect." The officer with the smug fucking smile said softly, and was promptly elbowed in the mouth.

"He better have what I need or I swear to Christ, he's dead. I don't give a shit; he's dead."

The bloodied officer spat out a wad of blood before speaking. "It's all business. Why would he betray you?" He took off Michael's cuffs, locked him in.

All he could do was pace in the small space granted to him in the damn suit Miss Nema Page had been too generous in getting for him. He didn't deserve it. "Hey, hey...! Hey!" He hit the bars. "I'm talking every part of his offer! I did my end! He better keep to his! Doesn't matter how many fucking bars you surround me in; I'll break out of all of 'em if any of you-"

"Mr. Castle," The officer said with a small sniff, letting the blood dry on his chin. "We're not animals, like you are. Not a single blonde hair on her bubbly head will be touched. Now contain yourself... he prefers not to hold discussions with people who lack composure."

People who lack composure... Michael spat in disgust and hit the bars, not caring that his flesh bruised and split against the metal.