ArchivedLogs:Painted Kites

Painted Kites
Dramatis Personae Matt Murdock, Neve
In Absentia	2014-08-11 '
Location <NYC> The Law Offices of Nelson & Murdock - Clinton
The Law Offices of Nelson & Murdock is a bit of a misnomer: it is really just one office, and it is not so much a real office as a tiny storefront set into one of the many brick buildings of Clinton that has been converted into an office. On entering in through the door, which still has a little bell that chimes merrily whenever it opens, a desk sits directly to the left with the nameplate of Karen Page, the firm’s secretary. Past her desk is an open area with chairs where clients can talk with either attorney, and beyond that are two more desks set up for the attorneys, Foggy Nelson and Matt Murdock, themselves. The entire back wall is dedicated to law books, although the keen eye might notice duplicate copies of everything; one set in regular type, and one set in Braille. The office is kept pretty clean, although occasionally a random assortment of items takes up space: cookies, bags of rice, sporting goods, wheels of cheese, just about anything odd one can think of. Though the attorneys might defend their clients as being respectable, upstanding citizens, they can’t always pay in cash, and the firm has quite the ebay account to try to make up for it. It was no simple matter to arrange an appointment. Oh, sure, it was easy enough to call and schedule a time in which Neve could drop by. It’s the dropping by portion of the itinerary that provides a challenge. It helps that she is no longer the golden girl in the pictures the media keeps flashing in the news--her hair is black touched with gold at the tips, her skin is the color of slate and her eyes--though they’re hidden behind Audrey Hepburn style sunglasses--are fathomless black, with not a jot of white to be seen. Likewise, she is /dressed/ in black, somber shades for a sunny summer day, in a lady’s double-breasted trench coat (closed), a pencil skirt and short heels appropriate for attending church. A black bag hangs from one shoulder and she keeps a hand over it for security. She arrives at the offices of Nelson & Murdock after taking a series of cabs through the city. The door opens, she slips inside and secures it behind her practically all in the same movement. Even before looking to the receptionist, she looks back through the window--that’s not suspicious at all, is it?--and checks the street outside. Then, then she finally turns. A small, tentative smile is offered as she approaches the desk. “Hello,” she murmurs, voice pitched almost at a whisper. “I had an appointment. To speak with Mister Murdoch?” The bell jingles cheerfully above the door when it opens and shuts, alerting Karen, the receptionist, to the entry. Though the look back through the window might be a little odd, she says nothing about it, greeting the woman with a warm and welcome smile. “Oh, yes. Please, have a seat,” Karen says, gesturing to the open area with the chairs. Meanwhile, in the back, the two lawyers are at their desks, holding a conversation. “--Matt, you’ve got to cut it out with the showing up late to court business, or somebody’s gonna hold you in contempt--” “I was only late by five minutes--” “That was just this morning, what about all of last week?” “You worry too much, Foggy.” But with the bell and the voices, the blind attorney’s attention has already strayed from the conversation, and he holds up a hand to Foggy to cut him off as he rises. “We’re talking about it, later,” grumbles Foggy, as Matt makes his way to the open floor. In a light, gray suit, he certainly looks like he belongs in a white collar profession, if not openly looking like a lawyer. Well, except for the dark sunglasses that he wears. “Ms. Leone?” he questions, when he’s closer. One hand seeks a little further out from the rest of him, to find the back of the nearest, open chair, largely for orientation. Of course, it’s not especially necessary, but it doesn’t hurt, either. Like a good little patron, Neve has done just as Karen asked--she’s taken a seat and there she waits, until the arrival of the man she presumes to be the one she’d come to see. That he is evidently /blind/ brings only a slight pause, simple enough to cover with reaching aside to take up the bag she’d set on the seat beside her. She stands, she smiles and she takes a step forward. Her own sunglasses? They also remain on, with both of her hands busy being curled over the bag’s top. “Neve, please,” she requests. “It’s...the matter of my surname is a complicated one. If that’s all right, sir. Thank you for seeing me.” “Okay, Neve,” Matt says, agreeable enough. When close enough, he offers a hand to her for a shake. It’s more or less in the right direction, maybe a little off on the perfect aim. “I’m Matt Murdock,” he adds. She won’t know it, of course, but he is just a little more reserved than he normally might be when meeting someone new in his office. Just slightly wary, perhaps. This does not, however, make him impolite or anything along those lines, of course. He’s just not as fast to smile and be as welcoming as Karen had been. “Would you like something to drink? Water, or coffee maybe?” Once the handshake is over, he gestures in totally the wrong way, but sweeps his hand to make up for it and encompass the whole room, and says, “Please, have a seat. What can I help you with?” And he takes a seat himself, crossing one leg over the other, ankle resting just above the knee. He turns his head just slightly, to give his right ear a better line to her. He’s very interested in hearing what she has to say, and how she acts while saying it. The hand that tucks into his is cool to the touch and slow to offer up any strength to the grip--cautious, to match his wary. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Murdock,” Neve says in turn. “I’m fine but thank you for the offer.” And so her hand is retrieved, the offer taken to settle and the process repeated--woman in chair, bag on seat, hands clasped to rest in her lap. Without proper sight to spot the nuances, she might seem the very image of quiet and composed. Beneath that veneer, however, is a simmering tension. Anxiety held in check through willpower alone, to keep the pleasant facade in place. Her voice has yet to raise above the level of a murmur. “I’m not certain how much you know but I’m here because I’m in need of legal counsel. I intend to visit the police very soon and I had hoped I might engage your services, or gain a referral to someone willing to represent me during the process that follows.” As openings go, she can only hope that suffices--and she waits with her breath held for his response. Quiet and composed on the surface can nevertheless be given away by a too-quick pulse, if the anxiety is high enough. And Matt is definitely listening for any changes in Neve’s as they talk. With what she says, a bit of a smirk appears on the blind attorney’s features. “My partner would say that I’m a little too obsessed with the news,” he says, with his voice pitched to have a little more volume than is necessary. The sudden burst of keyboard chatter from Foggy over in the back is definitely not an indicator that he was busted for eavesdropping, oh no, and Matt’s smirk holds, maybe turning just a teensy bit amused. But, even if there was amusement in the first place, it is quick to disappear. “What, exactly, will you be visiting the police about?” Matt asks. “Forgive me for maybe being a little crass, but I feel like you have a few options on your plate for that.” Neve turns her head in the direction of that clatter and yes, her pulse lurches even faster to make the connection between sudden sound and the eavesdropping potential. In her lap, her hands tighten together white knuckled. Amusement, sadly, is not shared. It takes a moment or two before she’s willing--or able--to approach an answer. “I don’t believe that’s crass,” she says quietly. “The...I’m not sure of how the process works. As they declared Audrey legally dead. But she was wanted for the murder of Officer Whelan. The man responsible for the mutant fighting...ring. That seemed the best place to start. I’m not aware of any other charges pending but I’m sure they could find something, if they tried. They’re very good at finding things.” Matt’s expression skews apologetic for the eavesdropping, but only mildly so; he and Foggy are, after all, law partners, and if Matt decides to help her out, then Foggy will be involved, as well. So where he doesn’t necessarily appreciate the Nelson half of the firm listening in, the Murdock half can’t really complain too much. In any case, with Foggy’s attention turned elsewhere for the moment, Matt sits quiet to hear her out. His brows draw together the slightest touch, giving away the fact he slips into a thoughtful state about it all. “Well. If somebody is alive, it doesn’t matter if they were declared dead, legally or no. So that would be reversed.” He sits quiet for an extra moment after that, weighing what he wants to say in his head, first, to make sure that things measure up. The blare of a car horn outside makes it through the windows, and he’s treated to a brief, overly sharp picture of the room, and of Neve, before he finally continues with, “You talk like you aren’t her.” “Part of my...treatment involved techniques meant to separate me from what I was before. I hear the name and I get this urge to leave, a voice stressing that I’m Neve. And before that he...wanted me to think of it as an infection. I’m trying to work through that. I apologize for any confusion.” In that split-second of “visual” clarity, Neve is shown with her head up and face turned towards the lawyer. The pinch of her mouth, the lift of her eyebrows, these things mark her expression as somber, pensive. Small wonder, given what she says next. “I have no illusions about my chances in this, Mr. Murdoch. More than anything, I would prefer not disappearing again. That would make three occurrences and I don’t know that I could come back from a third. Going about this publicly seemed the best way to avoid that possibility, whatever the outcome of it.” Matt sits back a bit in his chair, and as he does so, he unbuttons his suit jacket, to solve any problems of pulling oddly or looking unkempt and strange. He considers her, in the way that a blind man can, listening closely still, watching the shape that she makes from the different sounds that move through the office: Foggy’s typing, Karen clicking with her mouse while she probably sets up calendars and handles appointments with court. “Have you seen a psychiatrist?” he finally asks, a quiet but point-blank question. After that, he inhales and lets the air out slowly through his nose in a thinking breath. If it was any louder, it would come across as a resigned sigh, maybe. But it isn’t quite to that point. He shifts again in his chair, fingers drumming slowly at the ankle that rests on his thigh. On the surface, it looks like an idle gesture; in reality, he’s using it to keep a more regular picture of his immediate area and her. “Why do you want to turn yourself into the police?” Another point-blank question, and one that a defense attorney probably shouldn’t be interested in asking, but there it is, just the same. “Not yet,” Neve admits. “And there are complications there as well. Some of the...some of what was done to my head was through another person’s mutation. There’s also the matter of the chip that’s still in my brain. There are options for handling that but it might be some time before it can be arranged. While I wait I thought…I thought it might be wise to look into this.” All well and good. A calm, composed reply; she must think she’s doing so well. But the tension still lingers beneath the surface and with the lawyer seeming blind...there are tells. Certainly the quickened thus of her heartbeat. A tang of sweat gathering at her temple, the nape of her neck. Beyond that though, she’s restless. She smooths her skirt out, resettles her hands. Resettles them again. Catches at her lower lip with her teeth. Anxious fidgetings that she needn’t lock under self-control before a /blind/ man. But letting them out means they touch her voice as well, making quiet tones thin and uncertain. “There’s any number of reasons. A man is dead because of me. That’s foremost. Whatever he did, he’s still dead because of me. And I can’t believe that members of Prometheus should be persecuted if I’m not willing to accept responsibility for my own actions either.” She pauses for a beat. “And...and if I’m going to have any sort of life as the person I’d /like/ to be, I don’t want to start out without...atoning for what I’ve done, I suppose.” Matt picks up on these little details, the minutiae of anxiety. Studying people is of particular importance for his line of work, after all, and he can be quite good at it, despite his sight. People sometimes give things away precisely because they think he can’t see them, and he will always, stealthily use that to his advantage. He sits quiet overlong again, back in another considering sort of phase, while he puts different little puzzle pieces together. “If you’re really that interested in atonement, and accepting punishment for whatever crimes you might have committed, then why are you looking for a defense attorney?” he finally asks. From the back of the room, with a tinge of warning, drifts, “Matt…” It’s from Foggy, of course. The blind attorney waves a dismissive hand in his direction. Well, mostly. Mostly in his direction. “People usually don’t actively go looking for a lawyer unless they want to avoid all of that as much as possible.” It’s a question that ramps up both her anxiety and her uncertainty. Neve turns her head, those lenses turning in the direction of the rear of the room when Foggy speaks and then returning to Matt when he’s silenced. Confusion shows in the way she opens her mouth to answer...only to close it again, to gather her thoughts into something coherent enough for speech. “I...apologize, Mister Murdoch. For giving the wrong impression. I have no knowledge of the law or the legal system. I thought...I should retain a lawyer for legal advice. To have someone who understands these things beside me as I go through the process,” she finally says, picking her way slowly through each sentence. “Before...I had intended to turn myself in. Before Prometheus took me the second time. I was told then that to avoid...that it was important I have counsel. I don’t know that my...experience has been sufficient to represent myself.” For his part, Matt stills and manages to keep his expression a slab of slate, solid and neutral and unwavering. A little cool, maybe, but there’s no indication of discomfort or emotion there. Of course, having sunglasses helps. Even the blind can convey things with their brows, the way their eyes shape out, especially if they were once among the seeing. Anyway, he looks impassive. And finally admits, maybe a little grudgingly, “Yes, it’s smart to retain counsel.” Then, he fidgets a bit, for him. He sits forward to shift in his seat, and then sits back again. Apparently unsatisfied with that, he then recrosses his legs the other way, and resumes drumming fingers on the opposite ankle, now that it is the one within easy reach. He doesn’t know what to do with her. Much to the chagrin of Foggy, Matt’s moral compass drives his decisions with clients. But he doesn’t quite know what to do with her. “Off the record, and not to be construed as real legal advice, I’d highly recommend you see a psychiatrist. I can walk you through what I’m pretty sure another attorney would try to do for you, if you’d like. But I don’t represent guilty people. I’m sorry.” Something clatters in the back, and Foggy disappears from view to pick up whatever it is that he dropped. “I mean to, yes.” She has to be disappointed--it’s there in the way she lowers her chin and lifts a hand, briefly, to touch one temple. But Neve keeps that emotion /strictly/ clear of her voice, which maintains a quiet and level tone. An audible cue comes a moment later when she hitches in a breath-and then forces her lips to take on a curl that approximates smiling. “Do you happen to know anyone who /might/ represent me? A referral. I would appreciate even just...a phone number. Or a name.” Then she’s rising, before he would even have chance to answer. The bag is picked up, its strap slipped over her shoulder. “And of course, I appreciate you taking the time to meet me, Mr. Murdock.” He had, maybe, expected her to argue with him. For at least some kind of challenge to surface with his line about not representing guilty people. Although her response to what he says should make it patently clear, Matt decides to just haul off and ask, anyway, “Do you believe that you’re guilty?” After that, he rises, as well. Being a step over the line into unkind does not mean he has to be impolite, of course. And he still isn’t entirely sure what to do with all of this, although she can certainly make that choice herself. While waiting for her answer, though, he moves a couple of steps over to Karen’s desk. “Karen, can you get Barnaby’s card.” He never turns away completely from Neve, keeping an ear tuned in on her. Another unexpected question! Neve, unknowingly, joins Matt in the camp of doesn’t know what to do with this. She rolls her lips in against each other and looks off to the side, considering. Then, quietly, “I’ve had people tell me I’m not, because of what was done to me. Or because they feel he was...a horrible man. He tortured children. He tortured /my/ child. If I could take that day back, I would, though. It was wrong and that makes me guilty. No matter that I...didn’t want any of this.” That seems to be it, the best answer she can muster. That Neve isn’t entirely satisfied with it shows in another of those ghost smiles. But she steps forward, to take up a place beside the lawyer next to the desk. Karen is accorded a small, polite nod. As Karen fishes through a large box of business cards, she does her very best to act as if she hears nothing and sees nothing, besides giving a smile in return to Neve. The things she’s probably had to keep quiet on with this job… Anyway, when she produces a card and hands it Matt’s way--carefully pressing it into his hand--Matt does not immediately give it over to Neve. Instead, he winds up tapping the edge of it against the top of Karen’s desk, in the one clear spot. Taptap. “I’m not talking about Whelan,” he says. He narrowly avoids knocking over that dastardly pen cup with his tapping. “I’m talking about your work with Themis House.” And where he has been carefully monitoring her this entire time, to try to read how she reacts to things, now he’s positively shrewd about it. Focusing as much as possible on her, and her alone, that quiet tapping helping to shape her out before him, albeit somewhat crudely and irregularly, due to the way the sound bounces. Neve releases the death grip she’d had on the bag’s strap, poised to reach out for the card--only to see it go elsewhere. That’s cause for hesitation, a glance sliding between receptionist and her boss. And when he clarifies? She goes very, very still. There’s no swallowing past the sudden knot in her throat, or blinking past the sting that affects her eyes. Thank goodness for dark glasses--and of course, for blindness! This time though, her answer doesn’t come after a moment spent thinking. “I would have done anything, Mr. Murdock, to not be taken into that room again. Where they…” She pauses for a beat. “I feel sick with guilt for that but it’s true. If that doesn’t make me guilty, I’m not sure what would,” she finishes. And so saying, she extends her hand, hesitates, then taps fingers against the desk as well to mark her hand’s position before it’s turned palm up. Despite not wanting to, Matt’s thoughts wind up spiraling outward from this conversation. She does not have many friends right now, probably, he believes. She’s probably managed to upset two very polarized groups of people. What would it mean for many of his other clients, were they to represent her? And what level of responsibility does she bear, anyway, for what might have been going on? He winds up scowling, just a little, but also just enough so that it’s visible there, in the way the corners of his mouth pull down, and the way his brows seem to succumb to that same, sudden drag of gravity. He hands the card back to Karen, instead of Neve. His aim in this is not even a millimeter off. “All right,” he says, and half of him muses on this change in himself, even as he speaks. “Please, let’s sit back down and talk things out. This will be an uphill battle.” He gestures back to their seats. Mostly. That’s maybe a little off. It’s easier to fake composure in the face of signs of apparent disapproval. Neve’s posture lifts when the man frowns, she swallows past that thickness in her throat and pulls in a breath through her nose. It would be an excellent facade, even if he had full use of his eyes--though it doesn’t do a damned thing to hide the way her heartbeat lurches, to see that shift in his expression. That might explain why she slides past surprised into shocked territory when frowning doesn’t lead to an immediate order to exit the premises. “But…” Neve glances towards the door, then towards the card tucked safely away with Karen. Now it’s her turn to frown, brow furrowed. “All right. I...thank you. If you’re sure.” He’ll be given ample opportunity to change his mind--she waits for a silent ten count before stepping past him to take the same chair as before. Matt does not change his mind. At least, not now. There’s no sudden realization that he’s maybe had a mental break, or is overly tired and not thinking straight, none of that. Instead, he waits for her to make her move, and when she does head back to the seating instead of for the door (which, honestly, he would not have put past her, all things considered), he follows, with the cautious gait of one who is in familiar surroundings but can nevertheless not see everything. It’s mostly an act. Their footsteps on the wood give him ample view enough to avoid bumping into anything that might be out of place. “Hey Foggy, can you send an e-mail to Dr. Hogan and see if she has an opening this week?” Matt asks as he goes. Foggy retorts with, “See, this is why we could use an assistant. Do you think we could hire an assistant who would be willing to be paid in /painted kites/, Matt?” “Don’t start about the kites. Just do it, okay?” And, after regaining some composure, the blind attorney reseats himself while the not-so-blind one grumbles but types away. Oh, banter. The polite thing to do is smile at it, and Neve is certainly good at following certain forms. She smiles but uncertainty still lurks just beneath the surface as she shifts attention between Murdock and Foggy’s desk back there. The bag, which she’d resettled on her lap, is gripped a little more tightly--and then inspiration strikes. Something to /do/. She opens it. Inside is a plain manilla folder. “I have a little money. I...managed to set it aside. Before they froze my account,” Neve says--because talk of payment surely means that’s her cue, right? “And I have...ah. Newspaper clippings. Some...written accounts. I tried to write down everything I could remember.” Foggy’s snarking had not quite meant to act as a cue, but. The mention of a frozen account draws serious interest out of Matt, his brows pulling together with a slight frown. “Who froze your account?” he asks. This, after all, could be a legal or illegal freeze. “What are they about?” he asks, for the newspaper clippings, written accounts, all of that. His curiosity certainly has kicked in, now that he’s made a decision. He does not hold out a hand for anything, of course, as that manilla folder wouldn’t really do him much good. “My…” No, wait, strike that. First impulse is not /right/ impulse. “Doctor Leone. He...when I left. The apartment that Themis was renting for me. I was given an allowance, he deposited for me and I suppose...he felt that money was theirs.” Neve is ignorant on these issues, which might explain the tentative nature of her answer. As for the newspaper clippings and writings, she sets the bag aside and opens the folder in her lap to leaf through its contents. “I found...clippings from when it...she. Ah. When a Prometheus test subject escaped into the sewers and was killing mutants. Children. There was some involvement there. And...the fighting ring articles. The officer’s death. The, ah. Announcement of the raid in which she was declared dead.” It is no easy thing to juggle disassociation with talk of one’s past deeds. Her cheeks heat as she stumbles through the explanations. “And I’ve been writing down everything. From when I manifested to what happened in the labs...both times. To Doctor Leone approaching me and after...I...can record it all, if you’d prefer.” Settled in, Matt crosses his legs once more, and yet once more, his fingers start drumming, although this time they do so on his knee. It’s also an honest, absent gesture this time, done while he thinks, rather than to help crystallize a clearer picture of his direct surroundings. “I don’t suppose you actually had some kind of contract for your work with Themis House, huh? Even just one on the surface, for show? We’ll look into the account,” he says. The finger-drumming stops, though, with the rest of what she says. What the newspaper clippings detail. He opens his mouth to say something, and then claps it shut when he thinks better of it. Then, after another moment of thought, and with another shift in his seat, he says, “Dr. Hogan is a psychiatrist I’m hoping you might like to talk to. If you don’t see her, though, you need to see someone like her /before/ going to the police, if it’s possible. A court psychologist will no doubt also be brought in to talk to you, and they may not agree with each other.” As for the various clippings and notes, he says, “Karen or Foggy will be able to transcribe it all.” And he smirks in the direction of Foggy when he overhears some more grumbling about them needing an assistant, though honestly, Neve probably won’t hear it, it’s so quiet. “I never signed anything. There might be something in his records but he...he, ah. I’m not sure if you’ve heard that...he was murdered. And Themis burned.” Neve takes in a breath and upon exhaling, forces another smile to her lips. “The unspoken understanding that I had was that I did as I was told or I would be returned to the labs. But he never said that outright, he just...implied that he was all that stood between me and them. Nothing went on paper.” Try as she might, that game smile can’t stay on at mention of a psychiatrist. No surprise, perhaps, given her track record recently. But she nods when he explains the whats and whys. “I’ll speak with her, of course. And I’ll leave this here,” she says as she closes the folder. Its cover is smoothed down. “Well, that’s perfectly legal,” Matt says, his sarcasm like a venom, though definitely not directed at Neve. That’s going to be one area he’ll try to tackle with a vengeance. Because what. With a gentler note to his tone, though, he acknowledges, “Yes, I heard.” The attorney definitely would never in a million years be in that man’s fan club, so the tone change is more in deference of his conversation partner. After all, he has no idea how she’s taking that news. “Dr. Hogan is very nice. And professional,” he says, of the psychiatrist. “Also, ahh I’m not trying to say you’re crazy or anything. Don’t take it that way. But you are kind of dealing with a double personality… thing.” Is Matt a little uncomfortable? Maybe a tiny bit. It’s hard to maintain composure when you are suggesting to a person they aren’t crazy but they maybe have a thing going on that most people would classify as that and… well he gives up. “And a psychiatrist can really judge emotional stress, things like that. You know, an assessment. Thing.” Neve is most excellent at setting things aside. Thoughts, feelings, unpleasant associations. So too goes the news of the doctor’s passing--she swallows but otherwise maintains outward composure. It helps that she seems to find a small spark of humor in what he’s just said. It keeps that smile in place, maybe even deepens it slightly at the corners. “Please, Mr. Murdock. It’s all right. I’m not offended. I know my...my grip on sanity has been tenuous at best in the past year. After they got us out of...out of the fighting ring, I was not in a healthy frame of mind. At all. And...Doctor Leone schooled me in some techniques to help me focus but I can’t be sure how many of those were.../genuine/ and how many were intended to help him get the results he wanted.” Her hand strays from her lap, fingertips rubbing at her temple again. “While I was trying to write everything down it was like transcribing dreams, sometimes. I think speaking to your doctor would help. A great deal. Right now I’m getting by on just...trying to stay in control. With mixed results. Thank you. For the referral. And for taking me on.” “I’m hoping that Dr. Hogan will be able to help you with a lot of it.” And also give Matt something to work with. He has been toying with the idea of a plan while they talk. But a lot will hinge on what the psychiatrist has to say about everything. That’s why he wants their own doctor involved, instead of relying only on the one from the court system. As a truck rumbles by outside, Matt takes a moment to study the murky picture that it brings, thinking again on all of this. No, he will be very interested to hear what Hogan has to say. It will hopefully help him on some choices. “Well, we’ll also see if we can help you or not,” he says. It’s a reserved response for her thanks. He still has the right to change his mind, of course, if anything smells the least bit funny to him. “Can you make sure to include your contact information with all of that, by the way? So we can reach you.” “I’m hopeful,” Neve says, though it’s a soft enough remark that it may well have been more for her own benefit than his. There’s a note of caution in even that quiet tone though--hope? Maybe that’s too strong a word. But she leaves it at that, for now. She reaches aside to take the strap of the bag, slip it over her shoulder before tucking the folder up in the crook of an arm and standing. “On the inside cover, I’ve jotted down my phone number, and address. Thank you, Mr. Murdock. I know it’s...difficult but I feel like at least now I have a direction to go in. That means a great deal. I’ll leave this with Karen and give Dr. Hogan a call, first thing. As soon as I’m home.” She must mean it too because she forgets to overlook offering him a closing handshake--that he might not see anyway!--and retraces her path back to the receptionist’s desk. And it’s true...she’s walking with renewed energy, no longer small cautious steps but quick ones. Well, for whoever’s benefit, Matt hears it. And he stores it away. They will have to see. He’s still a little wary. He wants to believe that he is doing the right thing, but. Well. Once he’s had the time to do some research, and hear from Dr. Hogan, then he’ll feel better. When she stands, he does as well. “Your direction should always be forward,” he advises. Matt is maybe not a philosopher for a reason. It also serves as parting words, apparently. She turns and goes before he can be the one to offer the handshake. But that’s all right. He’s half-used to it. Karen, meanwhile, favors Neve with that warm and welcome smile again, and trades her the folder for information she’ll need: the law office contact information, and Dr. Hogan’s card, with the promise of a follow-up call sometime soon. And then, well, that’s about it, isn’t it? Matt heads back to his desk with a questing hand, no doubt headed right back into another verbal spar with Foggy. Hopefully not about painted kites.