Dangerous

Chapter Twenty-One

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."