If Daredevil heard her question, he certainly made no move to answer it. Betsy remained rooted on the spot, legs apart and gun half raised.
"You can drop the gun now," Daredevil said as he pushed himself away from the wall.
Betsy shifted her feet and set the gun down on the floor, nudging it toward him with her foot.
The vigilante looked at the gun. "You need to keep that."
Betsy shook her head. "Why? Is he coming back? Who the hell was that?" She put her hand to her chest and slowed her breathing, a feeble attempt to calm her pulse down.
"I doubt it, considering he now knows that you're under my protection. He wouldn't chance it again. His name is Frank Castle." Daredevil began walking to the window, glass crunching under his feet.
Betsy rushed toward him with her hands raised. "Excuse me? Protection? Hold on, what did Melvin do?"
Daredevil stopped in the middle of the room and lowered his head. "I don't believe Melvin did anything. Frank, however, believes he was responsible for a bomb that went off on a commuter train. Two people died, eight were injured." He tilted his head toward Betsy before continuing. "He was seen on a security camera running from the scene."
Betsy stood with her mouth open, staring at the vigilante. "That's not—Melvin would never—"
"I know," Daredevil interrupted. "I knew Frank would question you first, it's what I'd do. As a matter of fact, that's why I was in the neighborhood. I'm just sorry it took me so long to get here." He frowned and reached toward Betsy, but seemed to think better of it and put his hand down. "Frank won't come back to your apartment now, but…please keep the gun with you. You obviously know how to use it." He said with a slight smirk.
Betsy began picking at her nails, a bad habit she picked up in college. She decided to ignore the fact that Daredevil had wanted to question her as well but was beaten to the punch by Frank. "Thank you. I know Melvin trusted you, and I can see why."
Daredevil nodded. "The cops will probably come to ask some questions about Melvin. It's probably…best to leave this out." He gestured toward the disaster that was her living room. "Sorry about…all of that."
Betsy barely glanced at the living room, not wanting to get angry again. "It's fine. I mean, it's not, but it's not your fault. At least the TV is ok."
The vigilante smiled then, and Betsy felt her heart flutter. She imagined he was quite handsome under that mask. Then she felt angry that her brain always seemed to go in that direction. She supposed it was a coping mechanism.
Daredevil fished around in a pocket and pulled out what was clearly a burner phone. "Call your cell from here so you'll have the number. I don't expect you to, but I would greatly appreciate it if you'd contact me if you hear from Melvin. Just no texts."
Betsy did as she was asked and handed the phone back. "Do all the vigilantes have burner phones?" She rolled her eyes at the question. Was she really trying to crack jokes with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen?
Daredevil smiled again. "Only the smart ones." He finished crossing the room and put a hand on the windowsill. "Don't be afraid to call me if you need me. We are on the same side in this."
Betsy managed a nod in his direction. The strangeness of the night was catching up to her. She suddenly felt very tired and wanted nothing more than to put her head on a pillow.
Daredevil scanned the room one last time and jumped out of the window without a sound. Betsy forced her legs to move and walked to the window, shutting and locking it. She peered into the night for any sign of the vigilante but found none.
Betsy avoided looking around the living room too much and walked straight to her bedroom, shedding her clothes along the way. She downed a couple of Benadryl and climbed into bed, making a significant effort to not think about anything. She felt a warm mound lay next to her and reached out her hand to pet the elusive cat, Oliver. "Thanks for nothing," she mumbled into her pillow before finally falling asleep.
Beeping. Loud beeping. Oh god, was it time to wake up already? Betsy threw her hand out and slapped the alarm clock on her nightstand. She cracked open her eyes and was greeted with the bright morning sun filtering in through her window.
After finally getting out of bed, throwing a decent outfit on, and applying some mascara and lip gloss, Betsy timidly stepped into her living room. It wasn't as bad as she'd worried it'd be. A broken vase, an overturned coffee table, shattered picture frames, some dirt sprinkled on the floor from a plant that was knocked over. And of course, the large bullet hole in her floor. She chastised herself for that stupid move. She wasn't all that surprised that the neighbors didn't call the cops, given her neighborhood. She was a bit disconcerted, however, that they didn't.
She swept up the glass and dirt, picked up and straightened her coffee table and magazines, and threw away the broken picture frames. She made a mental note to buy more after work. She stood over the bullet hole, wondering what she could do to fix it. After a few minutes, she resolved to throw a rug over the hole and worry about it later.
Breakfast was a bland granola bar and cup of coffee. She knew she'd need a lot of liquid courage to get through the day. She filled Oliver's food bowl before grabbing her purse and briefcase bag, and was about to vacate the apartment before remembering what Daredevil had said about the gun. She grabbed it from the cookie jar, where she'd stuffed it during her frenzied cleaning, and jammed it into her purse before she had much time to mull over her decision.
It wasn't until 1:00 p.m. when Betsy decided to head down to the cafeteria of Metro-General for lunch. She'd been working nonstop since she arrived and avoided her coworkers at all costs, only leaving her office to go talk to patients. She got along pretty well with her coworkers, but was certainly not in the mood for their jokes. Clinical social workers had an odd sense of humor, due in part to their depressing jobs.
Betsy had about five minutes of peace during her lunch break before one of her coworkers plopped in the chair across from her. It was Suzanne, a heavy-set woman with salt and pepper hair styled in a bun on top of her head.
"Betsy, are you feeling OK?" Suzanne asked, pouring ranch over her salad.
Betsy forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit of a migraine." She rubbed her head for added effect.
Suzanne stared at her and shook her head between bites. "Bullshit. What happened? Men trouble?"
Betsy had to admire her tenacity. She felt a smile tug at her lips. "You could say that."
Suzanne nodded. "I knew it. Pretty girl like you. So, you gonna elaborate or what?"
Betsy stared into her salad bowl, contemplating what to say. Suzanne could see through most lies, so she decided to go with the partial truth. "We had a fight. A pretty bad one. Things were…thrown. I don't think he'll be coming back around." She nodded absentmindedly, willing herself to believe that Frank Castle was done with her and Melvin.
Suzanne looked at her, the worry clear in her eyes. "Wait, is that the bald chump who used to bring you lunch sometimes?"
Betsy gasped, but couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Suzanne! That was a patient! No, his name was Melvin. We haven't…talked in a while." Betsy stared into her salad again and poked at it with a fork.
Suzanne put her hand on Betsy's. "Honey, if you ever want to talk, you have my number. Seriously, you're like the daughter I never had. Promise me you won't associate with that bastard again." She asked softly.
"Oh believe me, I promise. We are done." Betsy squeezed Suzanne's hand, feeling a little guilty for going to such great lengths to ignore her coworkers earlier.
Suzanne's cell phone suddenly chirped on the table and she glanced at it. "Shit. I have to go. But we can talk later, if you'd like." She smiled and stood up.
Betsy nodded and watched her leave. She pushed her salad away and took her phone out, sending a quick text to the phone number Melvin had given her months earlier.
Thank you for the dress. It's beautiful! Let's talk soon.
She had sent dozens of texts, all of them unanswered. Nonetheless, it made her feel better. She liked to believe that Melvin read the texts but didn't know how to reply. That brought a smile to her face.
"What are you smiling about?" Frank Castle walked up from behind and settled in the chair that Suzanne had just vacated. He was wearing a baseball cap and blue jeans, and looked incredibly normal. He had even more bruises on his face than he did the night before. He eyed Betsy's cell phone in her hands and plucked it out of her limp fingers, scrolling through her texts. "A phone number, eh?" Frank took a pad of paper out of his pocket. "Do you have a pen?"
"Don't," Betsy managed to croak, reaching feebly for the phone.
Frank made a show of padding his pockets before turning to a doctor at the next table. "Excuse me, do you have a pen?" He flashed a smile at the doctor and Betsy observed how straight and white his teeth were. She wondered what had happened to him in his life to make him so distrustful of the world.
"I'm going to call the cops," Betsy said in a low voice while looking around the room, hoping to catch someone's eye.
The doctor barely glanced up before handing Frank a pen, deep in conversation with his colleague. Betsy watched helplessly as Frank scrawled Melvin's number on his pad of paper. "Thank you," he said to the doctor as he tucked the pad of paper back into his pocket and handed the pen back.
"You even think about calling for help, I will not hesitate to shoot my way out of here." He padded what was clearly a gun under his jacket. "This is just a social call." He pushed Betsy's phone back across the table.
"Please, Melvin didn't do what you think he did," Betsy whispered, pushing her panic down and pressing her palms on the table.
"Then why is he running? With a record like his, it really wouldn't be all that surprising." Frank folded his hands on the table.
Betsy shook her head. "And I'm sure you're just the model citizen?"
Frank let out a quick laugh. "You got me there. Look, you have something of mine. Give it back and I'll be out of your hair."
Betsy bit her lip. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"My gun. I know it's in that suitcase of yours, it's a special one." Frank nodded to Betsy's purse, which was on the chair next to her.
Betsy placed a hand on her purse. "I'm just supposed to pull a gun out of my purse in broad daylight in a hospital?" Her voice sounded shrill even to her own ears.
Frank rolled his eyes. "Hand it under the table. Slowly,"
Betsy set her purse on the floor and took the gun out, passing it to him under the table. As soon as Frank grabbed it, he put it under his jacket in one swift motion. Betsy was surprised at how easy the maneuver was. No one had glanced at their table twice since Frank sat down.
Frank stood up quickly and looked down to Betsy. "Tell our mutual friend I said hello." He smiled and nodded before leaving the way he came.
Betsy stared at the table for what felt like an hour before coming to her senses. She felt sweaty all over and wiped her palms on her skirt. She stood up abruptly and grabbed her belongings before making her way outside.
Once outside, she stared at Daredevil's phone number on her screen, trying to decide if she should call him during the daytime. She was sure he had a normal life. Or maybe he just lived in a cave and slept during the day. She called the number before she chickened out.
She paced around the sidewalk while the line rang, wishing she had a cigarette to calm her nerves. The beating sun and dozens of pedestrians did nothing for her stress levels.
"Hello?" A man answered with a strong, clear voice. Much different than the hushed tone that she was used to hearing the night before.
"Um…hi. This is…Betsy?" Betsy cursed her awkwardness and sat down on a bench, not sure that she trusted her legs anymore.
"Yes. How can I help you?" The man's breathing was slightly labored, like he was walking.
"Well, you said to contact you if I needed you. So this is me contacting you."