Chapter 13 Whose Bird's Nest? It's the doctor's messy nest, huh...

Allen hadn't expected that he would have to turn back to Ms. Goodman's office again just as he was about to leave the hospital, because Matthew had asked him to.

Besides communicating with the hospital's legal team, the conscientious Matthew's father decided to meet with the hospital's director—based on his understanding of Alan, he was certain that the director would need to see him again soon.

Allen followed the lawyer dejectedly, reluctantly showing him around the hospital.

“I only know the way to the first floor; I don’t know the way up to the top.” Allen said matter-of-factly. “Don’t ask me where the administration office is; I don’t know either.”

Fergie sighed and looked for hospital signs, thinking that this brat still hadn't broken his old habit of getting lost. He hoped that one day when he was pushing a patient to the operating room, he would be careful not to push the person to the morgue.

Allen didn't hear it, otherwise he would have definitely complained that Foggy was using a medical drama to apply stereotypes about hospitals again. They have nurses and dedicated transport personnel; unless there are special circumstances, doctors generally don't need to push corpses themselves.

Matthew is asking Alan about the 'squid'.

He recently discovered that Kingpin had a shipment of a new type of drug from Brudhaven—ostensibly a drug, but actually a narcotic.

That drug grants immense temporary strength, but afterwards, it leads to a violent death. Kingpin has already used it on his subordinates, causing him to watch helplessly as criminals he has captured die in prison on several occasions.

The symptoms are exactly the same as those of recent criminal deaths at the Bruderhaven Police Department.

This made Matthew realize instantly that the source of the problem might be in Brudhaven.

Combined with Allen, he set his sights on a small black gang in Brudhaven.

Matthew felt Allen's steady heartbeat and sighed softly.

“Let Foggy drive you to and from get off work these days, Eren. I’ll be staying here for a while too…”

Allen bristled, glaring at the obnoxious lawyer: "Why?! Aren't you going to take care of your beloved Hell's Kitchen?"

A shrewd lawyer doesn't need to look to know what Allen is thinking.

"The case over there is temporarily closed. Now, the most important thing is you."

Allen... Allen stopped talking.

His bristling hair miraculously straightened out, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance, turning his head away from Matthew.

Matthew smiled slightly.

Before they could exchange another few words, they saw Ms. Goodman walking towards them.

After exchanging a glance, Ms. Goodman and the lawyer from New York, Murdoch, naturally and tacitly entered into an awkward 'parent-teacher' conversation, during which the supervising female intern doctor's glittering legal team dazzled everyone.

If God allows, she hopes that all the doctors who will be doing their internships in the ER in Brodhaven will be trained to meet Allen's standards.

Look at that, what a reliable lawyer!

Oh, of course, I just hope the next intern won't be as infuriating as Allen with his words.

"...Yes, Allen has always performed exceptionally well here. He is highly professional and possesses outstanding communication skills. It is an honor for our hospital to have the opportunity to hire such an excellent doctor." Ms. Goodman, like any kindergarten teacher, skillfully blatantly lied through her teeth.

She had already realized that this lawyer was not only Allen's lawyer, but also an elder of Allen's, so she was happy to chat with Allen's family. "But seriously, he should participate more in his colleagues' gatherings when he has time... Some people have already come to me because they really want Allen's contact information! Oh, Allen, don't be shy, you really are our ER's darling."

The middle-aged woman winked at Allen, her eyes filled with the doting affection of an elder for a younger person.

Allen: ...

Matthew couldn't help but laugh out loud.

To be honest, he's always been worried about Allen's love life. Allen sometimes doesn't quite understand the emotions and behaviors of ordinary people, which is why he's always been uneasy about Allen living alone.

However, it seems that Allen is doing quite well in the hospital, and the supervisor is treating him very well.

Seeing Allen successfully integrate into a group of normal humans was something that made Matthew extremely happy, so much so that he almost gave up the idea of ​​sending Allen back to New York.

**

However, this happiness and relief quickly vanished.

An hour later, in Allen's shabby little apartment.

After a long and awkward conversation at the hospital, Allen was finally able to go home for a break. He no longer had to listen to two uncles and aunts, whose combined age was over 80, standing in the corridor praising him for his diligence, hard work, serious study, and superb medical skills, while simultaneously mocking others to the point of perfect mastery.

Allen really wanted to turn around and leave, but he had to politely say goodbye to Ms. Goodman because of the annoying lawyer's presence, and wish her a pleasant life.

He felt that the shrewd Ms. Goodman had caught him red-handed, and he had a premonition that he would probably never be able to curse at Ms. Goodman again.

Allen, with a sour face, led the two up the narrow, dilapidated stairs and finally stood at the apartment door.

After a 40-minute subway ride, Murdoch's lawyer had already gained a preliminary understanding of Ellen Baby's current "survival" situation.

But he still couldn't withstand the intense shock that Allen's chaotic apartment brought him.

Alan stood by the door and saw the veins on Matthew's forehead throbbing.

He casually turned his head to look at the ceiling, as if the spider web in the corner were the sacred spider web that inspired Descartes to invent the Cartesian coordinate system.

"...So this is how you live now?! My God, I feel like I've been having trouble breathing since I stepped into this room! Alan, baby, don't you get oxygen-deprived sleeping here?" Foggy stared incredulously at Alan, whose outward appearance was impeccable but whose room was littered with trash: "Good heavens, you...you..."

He stammered for a long time, feeling that he couldn't find a suitable word to describe his rebellious child.

Finally, he managed to stammer out, "...I thought all doctors were germaphobes, but I didn't expect you to be an exception."

Allen: "That's just your stereotype."

The bedroom bed was cluttered with pajamas, hats, ties, and thick books. A combination of scalpels, sutures, syringes, and kitchen knives was haphazardly placed on the blackened kitchen cutting board. In the corner of the living room stood a human skeleton model and a model of half-disassembled internal organs. On the wall was a human meridian chart written in Chinese, covered with densely packed needles.

There was also a large, irregularly shaped hole in the wall, big enough for a person to pass through, through which one could vaguely see an even more chaotic scene on the other side.

A rope ladder was strung across the balcony, descending all the way to the first floor. Matthew had reason to believe that Allen had developed the 'good' habit of not using the front door.

Allen looked around his room with satisfaction, not understanding what exactly Foggy and Matthew were unhappy about—everything was clean, and he disinfected it frequently.

Fergie pulled out what appeared to be a human thigh bone from the messy pile of clothes on Allen's sofa.

The texture of that single bone piece looked quite different from the skeletal model in the living room.

"...What is this?" Fergie picked up the long, white object with two fingers and examined it closely.

Murdoch solemnly received the femur from Nelson, and after touching the bone, he raised it with a serious expression and turned his head toward Allen.

Allen snatched it away: "This is my collection!"

Matthew: "These are human bones."

Virgil let out a strange cry and began frantically rubbing his hands on his clothes: "A human thigh bone? Not a model?!"

Matthew sighed, "Where did you get this from?"

Allen: "It's from a legitimate source! I bought it myself! And it's been sterilized by high-temperature steaming, so it's safe and healthy. Any problems?"

This precious bone cost him almost a month's salary. He had gone to great lengths to obtain a leg bone from a late-stage bone cancer patient at a high price from a private clinic.

"So you just sleep with it every night?!"

Matthew's fist clenched and unclenched repeatedly.

Finally, he let out a long sigh, his expression resembling that of a mother of a rebellious high school student who had just had a big fight with her son. "Go and tidy up your room!"

There was nowhere left for them to put their feet down!

Allen plopped down on the sofa and casually replied, "...Oh."

The doctor's buttocks were glued to the sofa, and he was dozing off, leaning crookedly against a stack of newspapers and magazines, showing no intention of getting up.

Fergie sighed and advised, "Alright, alright, let him get some sleep first. He looks like he hasn't slept for three days. I know that interns can work up to 80 hours a week, but you seem to be working 24 hours a day. Tell me you're not doing that."

Fergie had heard Matthew say that when Alan was in the lab, he often went for days and nights without eating, surviving entirely on nutrient solutions.

Allen: "..." Bullshit 80 hours, that's just another stereotype!

That annoying lawyer has no idea what a doctor's profession is.

This profession, like that of a vigilante, is 24/7. Five working days a week, they spend every day at the hospital making rounds, admitting patients, writing medical records, working night shifts, and performing surgeries. When they finally get to their day off, they still have to prepare for hospital assessments, try to write papers, and deal with the endless invitations to parties from their colleagues—heaven knows where those people get such boundless energy and seemingly endless reasons to party.

However, he has never stepped into Dr. Brudhaven's favorite lakeside bar.

During this period, he usually spent his days at the hospital and his nights reading literature, essentially living like an ascetic. He didn't know why doctors were so busy, but every day as soon as he opened his eyes, an endless stream of things rushed towards him.

The investigation into the reverse triple helix was making no progress whatsoever, and then Andy Miller demanded that he sew a Nightwing out of catgut to demonstrate his suturing skills.

To say that he lives worse than a dog is to insult dogs.

Otherwise, why would his temper be worse than it was in New York?

Matthew turned his head, silently reached for the bedside, and together with Foggy, lifted the four corners of the sheet, then swept up all the messy things on the bed in one go.

When he saw a thin booklet lying under the sheets—a compilation of medical laws that he had given to Allen—he finally couldn't hold back anymore.

"Is there some special meaning behind you hiding the books I give you under your butt every day?" Matthew asked, holding the crumpled booklet, speechless. "Or is it that the legal terms and I have already disgusted you to this extent?"

Allen: "...The mattress is too old, and one of the springs keeps poking my butt."

Matthew was speechless for a moment.

He was speechless after touching the old mattress and the hole in the cover of the law booklet.

A sudden pang of sadness welled up in the old father's heart.

It's like seeing your carefully raised kitten not only run away with stray cats and refuse to come home, but also go from having shiny, healthy fur to having dirty fur, barely able to eat, rummaging through street corner trash cans every day, and in winter it might even have to hide on a car engine for warmth!

He should have brought Allen back to New York sooner!

Matthew knew that Alan had always been well taken care of by his mother and the family's butler and servants, and Norman Osborn had never mistreated Emily and her two children materially.

Especially Allen.

For some special reasons, everything about Allen was firmly in the hands of Norman Osborn, and he was not even allowed to leave the Osborn family's old house.

His every need was taken care of, and he never had to worry about fixing an old mattress or tidying up his room. He could get almost anything he wanted—except for personal freedom and freedom of thought.

As he thought about it, Matthew's mind was filled with the scene of his first meeting with Allen.

The chubby-cheeked boy left the Osborne family for the first time, holding his mother's hand and standing quietly behind her without saying a word.

Only after Emily's repeated requests did the boy reluctantly greet her, then cautiously looked around like a kitten that had wandered into unfamiliar territory.

Matthew's heart melted instantly, turning into a soft orange jelly.

The little bird that left its nest built a pitted, leaky nest here on its own. How can he blame it?

He had initially thought that Allen would return to New York soon after leaving, but it turned out the kid had been there for almost half a year. Living like this must be the result of his hard work and struggle; he couldn't ask for too much.

Matthew sighed and resignedly searched the room with Fergie for a long time, but apart from a bunch of books with curled corners and a blackened pot, they couldn't find even a hammer or pliers.

Finally, he had no choice but to place the law booklet on the raised spring again, press it down hard, and then find a soft cushion to put it on again.

Just like when he first saw the bewildered boy beside Emily, he gently patted Allen's head. "Go to sleep, goodnight, Allen. Sweet dreams."

Sunlight streamed through the dirty glass window, casting a hazy glow on Matthew Murdoch's face. His eyes, which appeared somewhat dull, were fixed intently on Allen, his concern almost overflowing.

The devout Catholics, like priests emerging from a church, instantly calmed Allen's heart.

Allen glared at him defiantly, his mouth, which had been able to argue with the Black Gang in Ms. Goodman's office, now seemed to be stuck with sticky maltose.

He pursed his lips and ultimately said nothing.

The doctor stood there silently fuming for a while, and finally, in a moment of self-escape, he threw himself onto the bed and grabbed the blanket to cover his head.

Matthew thoughtfully drew the curtains, plunging the room back into darkness.

The lawyer gently stroked Allen's head through the blanket, then stood up and tiptoed away.

Just as Matthew and Virginia were about to close the bedroom door, Murdoch, with his keen hearing, heard a muffled voice coming from under the covers:

"It's already afternoon. Good afternoon, Matt."