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“We have to do something.” Peter cries out, finishing another lap of pacing around the tiny room before slamming a newspaper down on the table roughly and quickly scooping up whatever had fallen off in the process.
On the newspaper, in big, tabloid letters screams: “BRUCE BANNER EX-AVENGER RELOCATED TO PSYCH FACILITY”
Frank picks up his bowl and scoops up the last of his chili, eyeing the headline of the paper with disinterest as he finishes chewing.
“Have you read the article? They’re saying it like they’re never going to let him out again. Never.” Peter jabs a finger at the photo on the front page; it’s Bruce Banner in a stretcher, being carried into the ambulance. “We—”
“Heard you the first time kid. Also I’m hearing a lot of this ‘we’ talk going around here, what's up with that?”
“Well, um, it’s.. me and you?” Peter pulls off his mask, smiles awkwardly, clasping his hands and leaning away ungracefully.
“Woah woah woah woah woah there, slow down. When did I ever say we were working together?” Frank scowls, glaring at Peter and raising an eyebrow.
“…You didn’t, I just assumed—”
“Well— ugh, don’t give me that look. You know what? Fine, dammit. Fuck this. Alright we work together. Then what? What exactly are we gonna do?” Frank crosses his arms.
Peter frowns at Frank, beginning to pace around again. “I don’t know.. something! We can’t just let him get taken and put away like that.” He runs a hand through his hair and exhales loudly. “Mister Stark would’ve never let him get sent there.” He mumbles to himself, ignoring the raised eyebrow it gets from Frank.
“Okay,” Frank nods, pretending like he didn’t hear the second sentence from Peter. “Got a plan? Anything?” He gets up and takes both their bowls over to the sink and begins to clean them.
Peter stops in his tracks and turns to face Frank, he hadn't expected the older man to agree so easily. He crosses his arms casually and shrugs. “Well, um, we could ask? Call in some favours? It’s not like it was his fault—“
“Yeah Jean was controlling him, sure. But nobody’s gonna believe that, the whole thing got covered up.” Frank interrupts him as he places the bowls and cutlery back into its respective cabinets. “We could break him out?” He suggests with a shrug.
“What— No!” Peter yells, bewildered. He looks almost scandalized, causing Frank to snort and chuckle. “C’mon Frank, I’m serious.”
“Wh— Hey don’t look at me, you’re the one that started this. I got no idea how this is supposed to work. You figure something out. Heck, why not go get Jean? She’s the one that put him there, makes sense for her to be the one to get him out as well. She owes us more than one and you know that.”
“I know, but she’s already left and I think it’s for the better. Last time a lot of innocent people got hurt, I’m not too sure I want to risk any more people than I already have.”
Frank sighs, exasperated. “Well what the hell am I supposed to do? Find a lawyer or something?”
“That’s it!” Peter exclaims, clapping his hands once before scurrying off to fetch his laptop. Frank settles back into his seat, sinking into worn leather, absently tapping at the beaten up table as he waits for Peter.
Peter returns shortly, setting his laptop down on the table and bending over in an awkward position to look at it properly, missing the odd look it gets from Frank. “Um,” Peter begins slightly awkwardly, pausing his fingers just above a few keys, “a few years ago, something happened to me so I had to get a lawyer. I— my memory around then is a little foggy so I don’t remember his name but I’m sure I can find him.”
“You remember what it started with?”
“Umm, I think so? I think it started with an M.” Peter freezes as he notices the sharp intake of breath from Frank, the way his fingers twitched, rhythmic tapping now disrupted. “Uh, are you—”
“Yeah yeah, don’t worry ‘bout it.” Frank waves a hand and scowls, suddenly finding the dilapidated walls and cabinets very interesting. “Anything else notable about your counselor starting with M?”
“Yeah actually, there was this one time. Someone threw like— a brick at me and I’m pretty sure he caught it with one hand… Which is pretty crazy because I’m pretty sure he was blind.”
“Oh my god.” Frank groans, burying his face into his hands.
“What..?” Peter pauses completely this time, finally taking a seat across from Frank and poking at him with a concerned and confused gaze. “Frank?”
“Did he wear these um— red circle glasses?” Frank takes his head out of his palms and cocks his head to the side.
“Huh?”
“Your lawyer. Did he wear red circle glasses? Brown hair with a bunch of stubble? Blue ties and suits?”
“Oh! Yeah… How did you…”
“I knew him.” Frank sighs, shaking his head with exasperation. “What’d you say you needed a lawyer for again?”
Peter swallows, suddenly avoiding Frank’s eyes. “Ah, um. I was accused of doing something that I didn’t do. Well, I did but not in the way that others had said, so.”
“Yeah that sounds about right. Sounds just like something he’d take.” Frank mutters the second half under his breath, shaking his head again.
“You know him? Like— personally?” Peter asks, incredulous. It really is a small world, isn’t it?
Frank grunts and nods, “Yeah, I know him alright.” Peter can’t help but take notice of the way Frank begins to act differently after that realization.
He’s stiffer, twitchy and buzzy with an odd energy that’s entirely new to Peter. He’s tense. Not in a way that suggests he’s ready for a fight, instead he seems… almost giddy.
Peter pretends not to notice, but can’t stop flicking a few looks over to him. “Okay well, we have our lawyer now. Do you know where to find him?” He opens his laptop again, already beginning to type into the search bar before getting stopped by Frank who gently tips the screen down. Peter pulls his hands away from the keyboard and lets Frank push his laptop closed.
“You see the news a few months ago?” Frank asks, now with a cup of coffee in one hand, the other hand still splayed over Peter’s laptop.
“Um, maybe? Why?”
Frank looks around like there’d be people watching him, before sighing once again, taking his hand off Peter’s laptop to run it through his hair. “Nevermind then.” He grumbles.
“Oookay, so, what’s his name?”
“His name’s Matt. Matthew Murdock.”
“Where is he?”
“...It’s complicated. Say, how much of a rush are we in to get him out?"