The War for Hell's Kitchen
Onward March
By: Brenli

"You know you can go home now, right?"

"Uh... yeah." Nema needed to take a deep sniff of a breath before turning to face Niddhegg. She felt sick... truly, physically sick. She supposed being awake for as long as she had been thus far would do that, to a girl... "You don't need anything else?"

"I have your statement." Nidhegg sounded rather peppy, considering he wasn't running on much sleep, himself. "If I have any more questions, I can track you down."

She nodded to him as she wrapped the blanket she was offered around herself even tighter, though she kept her throat exposed.

"And don't worry..." He continued as she turned away, "That so-called 'police protection' I gave you? They're crossing guards in Yonkers, now."

"What?" Nema's already-dangling stomach dropped lower, still. "No... No no no, Nidhegg, really there's... There's nothing they could do. It wasn't their fault...!" That was the truth, though he didn't know it was because she'd given them the slip. "Michael followed me; he kidnapped me...!"

"Well, thank Christ you managed to get away. Not many people can say that about the Punisher. Seriously... Go. Home."

Nema sighed, hearing it shudder past her lips.

"Get some sleep. Ambien's the real deal." It was an attempt at a joke. It failed horribly. "Look... I know what you're thinking."

Yeah, did he? Nema looked away, stared at body bags being zipped up and carried off on stretchers.

"Maybe Castle survived. Maybe he's still out there. He ain't."

Nema felt her heart thump like it meant to punch its way out of her chest. "... How can you be sure? You ID him, yet?" Maybe they hadn't, and if they hadn't then yeah... yeah. Maybe he was out there.

Or maybe he was just at the bottom of the water, not yet found.

"There's 20 burned bodies. It takes time."

"So there's a chance." That he was dead. That he survived.

"You saw the same explosion I did. You're safe, Nema."

Was she? She never felt safe, not fully. Not ever.

"That nightmare you've been living, it's over."

The idea sat inside her like a big lead ball, because how many times had she told herself that, and ended up wrong...?

"Michael Castle's a dead man. Thompson!" Nidhegg called out to an officer. "Give her a ride. Wherever she wants to go." He turned a gentle smile to her. "Get out of here, Nema."

She carried the weight of that lead ball and the weight of herself over to Thompson's car, and when they climbed in, Thompson asked, "So where to, Miss?"

And she almost cried, just like in that cab when the trial had fallen apart. "... Actually, I need to talk to my boss; can you take me to the Bulletin offices?"

She needed to check in with Nyssa about her lack of work, and make sure things were going okay with Max. Maybe take him back home, and let him be floppy and smiley and what she needed. A distraction from him...

A reminder of him.

It was hard to be angry with him when he was most likely dead and gone. Yes... he'd used her. In multiple ways, and she made a mental note that she still needed to pick up a morning-after pill. For the way he'd lead her on, he deserved a lot of mean words and probably a slap to the face and then to be ignored for at least a few days. She didn't care about the logic in it, if she was an obvious way to obtain more information. It was a shitty thing to do, to lie to her about... And to think, only moments before she'd been saying that he never lied to her.

To be fair – if nothing else she supposed the dead needed some kind of fairness, because they could no longer speak for themselves – Michael had looked incredibly guilty about it. Like the sorry feelings were what formed the bruises coloring his face... So if he felt so terrible about it, why subject her to it, at all?

For family. Nema already knew the answer. That's what it meant to be loved by a man like Michael Castle; he'd do all manner of terrible things for those he adored... and lost.

For what? Now he was gone, too.

As she thanked the police officer and stepped out of the car, she wondered what the afterlife had in store for him. Maybe he was with them, now... Nema hoped so, even as she felt her bones ache. After all he'd done for their sake, she figured it was what he deserved. To be with the ones he loved so, so very much. More than anyone or anything else...

She spotted Nyssa going over papers as she moved through the bustling office, and the editor looked up just in time to spot her. "Hey..."

Nema continued on her way to her office, letting Nyssa catch up to her.

"Hey, I've got a guy on the scanners, here. He tells me 20 people are dead."

"Yeah, well I wasn't one of them." She wasn't sure if she was ready to hear what Nyssa had to say, next. Nema just didn't have the energy to go in on this, to make a piece of it; she just couldn't find it in herself to go to work...

"Yeah?" Nyssa grabbed her wrist and didn't continue until their eyes met. "Well thank God."

And that touched her. Made her feel like crumpling into her boss' arms and weeping, though she couldn't explain the extent of her sadness. Her tiredness. Her mourning... Nema pulled away and strode into her office, sniffling.

Nyssa wished she had some whiskey to drink. "So... uh, what, that's... the third time you've been in Michael Castle's crosshairs and escaped?"

"Just lucky, I guess." Though Nema certainly didn't feel lucky. She was getting more and more certain she was cursed. Yes, Michael already came with his own dangerous agenda, but he was now one in a list of people who perished in one way or another because of her. Urich. Wesley. Her brother...

"Yeah, well, we both know that's a load of shit." It hurt to be cruel, but Nyssa didn't like being avoided, either. Especially on something as huge as this. "But, you know, just in case I'm deposed one day, we'll say you're the luckiest lady on the planet. Deal?" She waited for a response. Any kind of response...

But Nema just sniffed and fought tears and thumbed through papers on her desk. Gathered folders together.

"... Great, great." She bit back the moodiness and tried to just... be a boss. "How's the, um... How's the story coming?"

"There isn't one."

Nyssa felt the statement wake her up better than seven shots of espresso. "... How do you figure?"

"Because everyone is dead." Nema felt like she would be telling herself that for a very long time, because nothing had ever been more true. Everyone was dead. "Reyes. Blacksmith. Michael." Urich. Wesley. Her brother. "They're all dead." And she was done.

"Mmm hmm." Nyssa quietly agreed.

"So anyone who was involved in the cover-up, or screwed over by it, is gone. So there are no more stakes; there's no reason to write it." No reason to write at all, probably. Time for another career change; maybe she'd become an actress, and she'd never stop acting. Just lose herself in fake personas until her real self was gone; that sounded good.

"So what am I supposed to fill Sunday's paper with?" Her boss asked flatly.

Nema laughed, tasting the bitterness of it like the way Michael enjoyed his coffee. "Crossword puzzles." She returned to gathering her folders together. She wanted to lock them away. She wanted to burn them.

"Look, Nema, Nema..." Nyssa sighed. "I understand that this whole journalism thing is new to you, but a real journalist doesn't just up and quit..."

"Well that's not fair...!" Yeah, that sounded childish... Not one of Nema's proudest moments.

"That's exactly fair!" Nyssa snapped. Felt terrible for snapping... but knew that it needed to happen. Not just as her boss, her mentor, but as a friend. She was watching the bright-eyed ingenue crack apart before her eyes; it was like watching the death of her... "Stories don't disappear, they change. They become different stories."

"Change?" The word broke into splinters and got stuck in the insides of her cheeks. "I'm exhausted." Unbelievably so, in every way. "I need to go home, I need a shower, I need to eat, I need to sleep, I-!"

"Why do you care so much about Michael Castle?"

The question tore her apart, made her begin to weep in earnest.

Which killed Nyssa, but Nema needed this. She knew Nema needed this, like anyone about to give up needed a harsh tug back onto their feet. "I mean, maybe once upon a time this was about whether or not he was innocent or some sort of, you know, psycho murderer, but that ship sailed a long time ago, along with your career at Nelson and Murdock. So why do you still care?"

"Because he is not a psycho murderer!" She wept and she growled and she thought she might start turning her office upside down and inside out. "... He wasn't a psycho murderer." Wasn't. The correct tense, the tense used for the dead.

Nyssa bit back her sadness and hid it with a shrug. "I don't know how you... He killed 30-something people."

True, but things were never as simple as that, never had been. Never will be. Some psychos weren't murderers. Some murderers weren't psychos. "His family was gunned down in front of his face." She remembered memories he shared while strapped to a hospital bed. "Now what he did was wrong..." She delivered a sharp glare as she remembered fighting for him in court, "But no one, including your paper, ever mentioned the fact that he was a father... and a husband, grieving, looking for answers! And you, more than anyone, should understand why that matters to me!"

Yes... Nyssa knew. Nyssa understood, even if it felt like there were pieces missing in all the files Isobelle Urich had slipped into some folders labeled 'Nemaelle Page.' There had been enough there to understand... and that was why Nyssa had no choice but to push her like this. Even if it was painful. "... So you're saying there's more to him."

She watched as the ingenue stood there, tired and hurt and angry and ready to fight her... Good. That was what Nyssa wanted. For that aggressive, glowing-bright spark to remain. To not watch it get extinguished from her pain, to see it flare all the brighter for it, instead. For Nema to still be Nema. "... Yes." The word was small but it was as powerful as a bullet.

Nyssa took the hit with pride. "... So is this story over?"

Another pair of tears made their escape from Nema's brown eyes, but along with them came a smile. Small, tired. But a smile, just the same. "... Fine. You're right."

"I know." Nyssa felt herself smiling with her. "Get used to it."

"So it's not... it's not an exposé, anymore. It's what? It's a... profile?"

"Yes."

"Which means I need more sources. Like personal contacts, right? Like someone who knew him outside the trial?"

It was work, yes, but it was more than work. It was Nema being brought back to life. Now Nyssa wanted some whiskey just in honor of her thankfulness. "Tick-tock, tick-tock. Sunday's coming...!"

"Okay okay okay!" Nema's hands tore through her pale blonde hair. "... I might be able to get someone. Maybe." She grabbed her folders.

"Leave it." Nyssa waited until Nema unfroze and set the folders back down. "It's time to face the truth, Nema Page... This is your home, now." She smiled a very rare smile, one that wasn't sharp. One that made her green eyes soften behind the lenses of her glasses.

"... Does that mean Max has to move in, here?"

"I'd honestly be fine with it. He can be our office mascot."

Nema laughed, a few remaining tears choking it. "You'll hold onto him just a little while longer?"

"Oh, I'm holding him for ransom. One article if you want him to come home with you!" Nyssa's smile grew. "Go!"