A/N-Standard disclaimer, don't own them, they belong to Tim and Allan and the crew at NBC/Tailwind. I just am borrowing them. This idea had been niggling around in the back of my brain since the first time I saw Wrong Place Wrong Time and Garret mentioning that he ran off to try and pursue his musical career...The title comes from a song by the band Filter (of Hey Man Nice Shot fame) and the song's called Consider This...
He stalked through the halls, wondering what the hell could be so important to drag him out here when he had work to do. "Rene, why am I here? Whatever it is, it had better be good." He didn't like the grim look that he got from the woman. He didn't like the way her lips were set into a very tight line, the way that she looked up at him with eyes that seemed to echo with disappointment.
"Would you care to explain this?" She handed him a file. He opened it and looked at the photos inside, draining of color as he looked at each of the sets of pictures inside. He hadn't seen these pictures in twenty years; he was hoping never to see them again. He thought he had gotten rid of them.
"Rene-" He started and she glared at him.
"Eight. Any more that hasn't been dug up yet?" He looked at the sets, each of them, one from the front and one from the side, standard procedure. He shook his head.
"That's it."
"That's eight too many." He frowned. These were supposed to stay a secret. These were part of who he used to be, not who he had become.
"Rene-" He began and she cut him off with a glare. He sat in one of her chairs, trying to think of something to explain them away.
"Eight. You were arrested eight times, under six different names. In five different states. And I'm only just finding out about this?" He stared down at the desk, avoiding the file that held pictures of him from his youth.
"I tried to-"
"You covered it up. You covered it up so no one would know, so that you could go on to become the chief and live your happy life while other people who are every bit as qualified-in fact more so because they don't have a criminal past-are stuck in low level jobs."
"It was a long time ago." It was. He changed. Cleaned up his act. Fixed his life. Became what he was.
"I'm having the records sent in; would you like to tell me what you were in for before I find out?" He stayed silent. "Garret, tell me now before I look at those reports and find out myself." He looked at her.
"I changed, I stopped being the stupid kid I was when I got into college and I covered that all up because I didn't want to taint the man I am with-"
"You didn't want to taint the man you are? I worked my ass off to get you back and what do I find out? That I've got a convicted felon working as a high-appointed official. What else did you cover up?" He was silent again. She didn't need to know. "Tell me, because I will find out." He looked at her and opened his mouth when the door opened and her clerk came in with a stack of files. She glared at him as the clerk left. "Now are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to read them off?" He stared her down, hoping vainly to stop her.
She reached for the first file and flipped it open. "Defendant, Garret Macy, charge, public drunkenness." She frowned. At least that was the first one that she got. That one wasn't that bad. That was a misdemeanor. A night in jail and some community service cleared that one right up. She picked up the second one. "Defendant, Daniel Macy, charge, criminal possession of an illegal substance." One eyebrow quirked upwards as she looked at him.
"Rene-" He shifted in the seat.
"There's six more, would you like to tell me them?" She picked up the next folder. "Defendant, Garret Headon, charges, criminal possession of an illegal substance, and disorderly conduct." He shifted again as she looked at him again, picking up the next file. "Defendant, Daniel Macy, charge, criminal possession of an illegal substance with intent to distribute." She slammed the file down on her desk. "Not only were you a two bit junkie but you-" He glared at her.
"I told you, it was a long time ago. I was a kid-" She flipped through some of the files.
"Twenty two? Twenty four? Hardly a kid-" He frowned.
"It was half a lifetime ago." She shook her head and reached for another file.
"Defendant, Garret Jones, charge, soliciting the services of a prostitute." He had forgotten about that one. She picked up another one. "Defendant, Daniel Jones, not very creative with the names, were you? Charges, criminal possession of an illegal substance and driving while impaired."
She picked up the second to last one. "Defendant, Garret Macy, charge, misdemeanor battery." She looked up at him.
"It was a bar fight." that one was somewhat acceptable. More so than some of his others. She picked up the last one.
"Defendant, Garret Jones, charge-" She paused. This one had to come last. "Accessory to murder?" He sighed and shifted again. "What the hell did you do?"
"I told him where to find the guy he killed. They wanted to put me away so they found something they could get me on. Look, I know I fucked up, but I've changed-" She looked at the stack of files.
"You may have, but you think the public's going to care if you have or not? They're only going to see high public official and eight crimes. Not all little misdemeanors, either. We're not New Jersey, we don't tolerate corruption, you can't just cover your tracks and buy your way out of this again. Someone knows, someone sent me the mug shots, someone knows all about your sordid past and I'm sorry Garret, but I have to cover my own ass before this one becomes public." He looked at her.
"Rene-"
"I brought you back without even thinking to dig up whatever I could on you. I thought it was just one big mistake, but I guess it's not, now is it?" He frowned.
"You weren't the DA when I was hired, you weren't the DA when I was appointed chief, I passed both background checks then-"
"Because all the major identifying factors were changed. In fact, the only way they could get you was from the inmate numbers on the mug shots. But there's no denying that mug shot Garret, yeah, it may be you thirty years ago, but it's still you." He looked at her.
"Who knows?"
"You, me, and whoever sent me the mug shots. How much time did you do, total?" He thought for a minute.
"A year and a half when you put it all together. Plead down most of them, a month here, two months there, got released on good behavior, the longest I did was six months for possession with intent." She looked at him. He was trying to be cool about it, trying not to let the utter sickened feeling that was sitting in the pit of his stomach at the knowledge that his past had finally caught up to him show.
"Great." She took a deep breath. "There goes my bid for being DA again. No chance of winning the election now." He looked at her. It was one thing that he had fucked himself over; he wasn't going to bring her down with him.
"I'll resign. Or fire me, or whatever needs to be done." She looked at him.
"I don't want to, but I can't let you-" He understood. "I have to think about who's going to replace you-" He just hoped for the sake of the rest of the morgue that it wasn't going to be Slokum.
"I suppose I should go clean out my desk." She nodded and he could see the slight trace of pain in her eyes. She really didn't want to do this. It had been a matter of time, he knew it. He had started to think that maybe he had cheated the clock and would not be found out until he retired, but that obviously wasn't the case.
The walk back to the morgue was a considerably more solemn affair. The job was all he had left anymore. He sighed in resignation. He had enough nested away to last him for a while. A few years. Until he died, if he really wanted it to. He found a package waiting on his desk, a rather large box that contained a small manila envelope. He opened the envelope and found it to be even more pictures along with a few documents he never wanted to see again in his life. There was a letter with them and he read it over slowly.
Dr. Macy,
I thought I'd send you the box, save you the trouble of finding one to clean out your desk. If you're getting this, you've undoubtedly been fired. Now I'm not looking to blackmail you, but I just thought you might want to go down easy and leave your dignity intact, I'm sure you don't want yourself smeared all over the front page, although I'm sure you'll wind up there anyway, too many people have a habit of talking. I've kept quiet on everything else though, but I thought you might want some reminders of your past. I'm sure you don't want your ex-wife, the only one you acknowledge as your ex, at least, finding out about Christie and Serenity. Or any of your friends finding out about some of your bad habits. And you certainly don't want the medical board to find out about that little problem with your records, now do you? It might be best for you to just leave before the scandal strikes, at least then you don't wind up in the middle of it like the poor governor of New Jersey did. There's still more than your job that stands to be affected by all that I've found out once you start to dig, and I suggest you keep quiet or else I won't. Have a nice day.
He wanted to break down. His entire past had come toppling down on top of him. He had made the mistake of opening the wrong door and all the skeletons he had piled in his closet came tumbling out. He sighed and began methodically removing the contents of his desk. Pictures, personal effects, his records, his CD's, everything. He was interrupted by a knock on the doorframe before Jordan walked in. "You're not doing what I think you're doing." He looked at her.
"Walcott's going to be announcing my replacement." He told her, continuing to pack his desk, afraid that if he looked at her, he would snap.
"What the hell happened?" She asked and he kept his focus on the desk.
"Let's just say that the Moreau case is just the tip of the iceberg."
"What do you mean?" He took a deep breath and looked at her, not quite meeting her in the eyes.
"I mean certain things that I've done have caught up to me, and I'm getting out now while I still can." The last thing to go into his box was the Victrola, placed on top of the other carefully stacked items. He pulled out the bottle of scotch from his desk and the two glasses, pouring them each a measure.
"What did you do that got you fired?" He gave a small snort of laughter as he downed his glass with one long gulp.
"Stuff that should have stopped me from getting hired." He looked around the office one last time before downing his second glass. "Look, I'll see you around, OK?" His voice had that slightly nervous quality; he was talking faster than usual, she saw it before when he was stressed.
"Garret-"
"I never really liked this job. I suppose this is a blessing in disguise." He picked up the box and walked out the door, leaving her behind.