@warjournal
Foggy and Karen are reluctant to leave the room even after Frank specifically asks for Matt alone. Karen in particular—she has something she keeps trying to say about Frank’s family, some breakthrough she’s made, and Matt has to walk her out with a few strong words about office managers not being bound by privilege before she backs down.
She does, though. Foggy too. Matt can hear them whispering outside the door, concerned, but he can tune it out. Focus on Frank, his presence imposing even from a hospital bed, his heart and his slow breathing drowning out the hundreds of heart monitors and MRI machines and televisions and phones throughout the hospital. It’s different, talking in a hospital room instead of a graveyard or a filthy rooftop, doing this as Matt Murdock and not Daredevil, but Frank—Frank’s not any different at all. He’s still tense like a predator about to pounce.
“Now, Frank—can I call you Frank?” Matt smiles his favorite lawyer smile—not the Devil’s smile, not the smile Frank had seen—and feels the minute shift in the floor texture where tape is laid out around Frank’s bed. He stands right at the very edge of it, tip of his cane just over it. “My colleagues and I have reviewed the charges you’re facing. I understand you’d like to plead guilty to all of them, is that correct?”
