BACK AT FRANK'S apartment, Amy lay helpless on the faded brown couch, both hands clutching her stomach as Frank frantically called anyone he could think of — Kurt, Karen — even Matt's nurse-friend Claire.

But no-one was answering. And Frank was panicking big time, hell he was almost hyperventilating, and Amy's labored breaths weren't helping his case. He struggled to think of what to do. With the bullet not leaving an exit wound, it was obvious there'd be some kind of major surgery involved.

Finally, on the seventh ring, Claire picked up.

"Hello?" Her voice sounded through the phone, sounding every bit as collected as Matt made her out to be.  Yet she was on-guard, her voice rough around the edge of the word, not to entirely detach emotion from the syllables, but to fake toughness. He liked it. It was upfront, straight to the point, and he thought that's how everyone should talk. It would get rid of fake flowery sentiments that clog up conversations, and for Frank, that would be a hell of a good thing.

An ache lifted from his chest, and he was so built up with apprehension and worry that it took him some time to answer.

"Look, if your just some prankster I'm hanging up. I got enough shit to deal with as it is".

Frank's eyes widened, caught off guard from the harshness of her words, he rushed out, "Don't go! — I-I need your help." He swallowed, and failed to keep with voice steady as he stammered, and Frank Castle never stammered, or appeared even remotely nervous. Ever.

"Ma-" He started to say Matt's name but stopped himself. He was willing to bet that she only knew him as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, he doubted Matt would share his secret with anyone but his closest friends. So he stopped himself, and momentarily chastised himself before recovering.

"A friend recommended me to call you in an emergency", he added, with extra emphasis on the 'emergency' detail, hoping she'd instantly join the dots. She didn't, of course. But Frank knew the world rarely worked in his favor anyway, and chastised himself again for the sudden optimism.

"This friend?", she started, curiosity balancing on the tip of her tongue, "Who is it?".

He knew she was at least considering it, so he took a risk, but it was the only option they had — Amy still in immense pain, with no aid from the 3 painkillers he made her take beforehand.

"The devil of Hell's Kitchen," He rephrased it, "I-I know his real identity and he told me to contact you. He would've done it himself but ..." He took a risk, hoping she could read between the lines "he's out doing what he does best".

She understood perfectly.

"I'm on my way, keep me on the phone." He heard keys clanging somewhere in the distance and knew she was prepared to drive to him.

He told her his address. God he hated this. He hated putting all his faith into someone he'd never met — hated being reliant on others, in his experience it only leads to bitter disappointments and cruel revelations. It never ends well.

"How bad is it?" She asked, already in full nurse-emergency mode. He analyzed Amy's condition grimly, "Not good" he whispered, his mouth stretching into a thin line.

Amy looked up at him, her irises seemed to be as big as the universe, and Frank swore that he could see stars swirling in them -- her irises were as big as the moon. He wished in that instance that the universe in her eyes could swallow them up, not to hell or death, but to a better place. Somewhere far away from Hell's Kitchen, where they could live without the fear of constant danger and not have to deal with situations like this.  But fairytales don't change anything, and they certainly don't make your wishes magically come true — optimistic outlook or not.

"Sh-" he swallowed his worry down before starting again, hoping it would bring some clarity to his words. "She's got a bullet wound in her stomach. I tried to patch up the blood but it won't hold long. The painkillers won't work, she's in agony, a-and I can't — can't seem to help." He trailed the last bit off with a whisper, completely lost as to what he should do. The bleeding had stopped, but for how long? He knew he had to get the bullet out, but needed a general anesthetic so Amy wouldn't be in any pain. Clearly regular painkillers weren't cutting it.

Claire cursed. "Ok, I've got anesthetic I can give to her as soon as I get there. Keep an eye on the blood loss and make sure she stays conscious." Frank nodded along to what she was saying, taking glimpses at Amy in between.

"And keep pressure on the wound." Claire added as an afterthought.

Frank's feet shuffled quickly as he widened the door for her to come inside. Claire nodded, swallowing down anxious thoughts of him decimating her on the spot to focus at the task at hand. Helping people. Doing what she does best.

She took one look at Amy before grabbing her equipment, immediately getting to work. Frank stood awkwardly in the corner, he noticed Claire rolling her eyes. He fidgeted with his hands, nervously wracking them.

"You can at least be helpful and get me some supplies".

He stared at her, obviously not liking being bossed around, but in his current state, he was in no position to argue so he got everything she asked for and set them beside her.

She got the bullet out in no time, Amy out cold due to the quick work of the anesthetic, and Frank felt relieved. Still not entirely relaxed, but he wasn't as antsy, and he swallowed, calming himself down. It was better than nothing, he told himself.

She'll be alright.

And she was, with Claire's help. The only thing she didn't bring with her was the stethoscope, so she couldn't guess whether Amy's heartbeat was at a normal pace. She chided herself slightly, wiping her gloved hands on her face before taking them off.

Claire sighed. "Good news is the bullet's out. The blood's stopped, which is good. She'll have to wear the bandage for about a week." She huffed, threading the brown hair that escaped from her ponytail back behind her ears.

"No physical movements, no running, jumping, you get the idea."

Her expression got clouded before she looked at Frank. Her eyes got dark again as she threatened him.

"She breaks a stitch I ain't fixing it. Got it?" She kept a stern gaze on him, eyes awaiting his answer.

He nodded immediately, "Yes ma'am."

She looked down at the mess that was her equipment beside her and huffed. "Good."

"And you can tell that friend of yours that I won't be able to clean up his messes for awhile. I'm going away. Tell him to lay low for awhile, God knows he won't listen, but I don't need him dying on me again".

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, along with the sound of a cane being balanced on the timber frame. Frank silently cursed, she'd definitely be able to piece the two identities together.

Instead, she cursed. "Speak of the devil", she whispered, knowing full well Matt could hear her.

Frank swiveled his head to look at her, hand inches from the doorknob. But chose not to act on his suspicion, thinking it to be better than to give away his identity.

He greeted to Matt before gesturing towards Claire, as if to say "Be careful".

But frank didn't know the extent to which the two knew eachother, and was suprised to say the least when Matt walked in, and greeted to Claire like it was the most normal thing in the world.

She gave an exasperated sigh, hands already working on ridding the carpet of blood. "You know, normally its your blood I'm cleaning off floors, but yet, here we are."

Matt hung his head, ashamed he'd passed his guilt onto someone else. So he smirked instead, "Yeah, you'll start to miss it when you're away. There's no bloody carpets in Norway."

She scrubbed harder, "Thank God." She was about to begin wiping another pacth before Frank stopped her.

"You don't have to, it's fine. You've done enough already."

He unwound his hands from their tightly gripped position on the medicine bottle she had him hold, before handing it back to her, Matt loitering near Amy's figure on the couch, he touched her forehead.

"Still hot. It'll take about 3 hours to drop."

Claire nodded, understanding what Matt was staying, even if Frank didn't.

"Fever", Matt simplified to Frank, "Her heartbeat's fine though." With a sure nod, he quickly sniffed the air, cautious not to be too obvious with his motions.

However, Frank still noticed, and looked at him with distaste, "What are you doing?" while Claire packed her bags, and gathered the rest of her supplies.

Matt rolled his eyes, obviously Frank hadn't been around him long enough to see the extent of his abilities.

"I have a good sense of smell, too. Like for instance, I can tell that she doesn't have internal bleeding, which is good. Her vitals are good, no sign of any blood clots in her arteries."

Frank raised his eyebrows but thanked him nonetheless.

"God you're weird."

"Tell me about it." Claire seconded, before lining up a handful of medicine on the counter. She pointing to each one before rattling off the names and how many Amy should take of each per day, before saying goodbye to both of them.

Frank thanked her for her work and let her out, Matt following close behind, insisting he had work to catch up on.

And with that, Frank was alone, the only sound occupying the room was Amy's steady breaths, which he reenacted. He crouched down and tucked loose strands of hair away from her face, before planting a kiss on her forehead, briefly closing his eyes in the process.

He sighed yet again, "Sweet dreams Kid."

With that, he drifted off to bed himself, leaving nothing but nightmares to plague his sleep.