Disclaimer: I don't own these characters! Dick Wolf is master of all :)

AN: Okay, so I was watching "Fame", Connie's first episode, and the reporter's stupid remark about her being "nasty" sort of inspired this. What if Mike and Connie didn't get off to a great start? The ending is fluffy and dedicated to everyone that believes in loooove :-D

"First impression are important, but everyone deserves a second chance."- Unknown

...

Mike and Connie's first meeting was not in his office or her office or at the Courthouse. In fact, they were nowhere near the bustle of 60 Centre Street or Hogan Place. He was enjoying his lunch break with a few colleagues at a burger joint several blocks away. Normally, he didn't engage in gossip, but for some reason on that day—maybe it was the summer humidity—he couldn't steer away from the rumor mill. There was talk around Foley Square that Arthur Branch was seriously considering retirement. The whole idea was a bit out of left field, and even more surprising was his prospective replacement. Jack McCoy had many nicknames: Hang 'Em High McCoy, Hippy Dippy McCoy, Pinko Commie McCoy, Don Juan De facto… You get the idea. Needless to say, it was shocking that he was first in line if Arthur did indeed step down.

On any other day, Mike would've kept his two cents to himself and ushered the conversation toward baseball or television—something neutral. He played enough Russian roulette in the courtroom. However, the topic of McCoy's recent dismissal from a high-profile case came up, and everyone had an opinion, including Mike.

Two booths over, Connie nursed a glass of iced tea and plate of French fries, penciling a rough draft of a summation. The alarm feature on her phone beeped gently, signaling her that it was time to head back to the office. As she gathered her files, Jack's name reached her ears. Her interest was piqued, and she listened more intently, recognizing a group of men sitting a few feet away as fellow ADAs from other bureaus. She continued to eavesdrop on her way to the front counter to pay her bill, her annoyance increasing with every comment.

"From what I've heard, the guy has buried evidence, bent, if not broken, all the rules in the book, and I can't even count how many times he's been threatened with disbarment. It seems a little self-righteous for him to get so worked up over a damn murder-mystery novel. He's a hypocrite—his priorities are completely screwed up. I don't know what Arthur sees in him. Not to mention the fact that he uses the DA's office as a dating service! There should be a disclaimer on the application for Homicide second-chair. 'Do you consent to being seduced by Jack McCoy? Initial here.'"

That was the last straw. Connie marched over to the booth, her presence silencing their laughter. "Excuse me, Mr….?"

The wise ass in Mike wanted to respond with, "Who's asking?" But when he turned to see a drop-dead gorgeous brunette hovering over the table, he reconsidered his reply. "Cutter. Michael Cutter. Can I…help you?"

"Hi… Connie Rubirosa." She extended her hand to shake his, and he noticed how perfect they were. Her watch was one link too big, accentuating her delicate wrist, and she had no wedding ring. Her blouse was impeccably tailored, and her skirt fit her like a glove, drawing his attention to her slim, yet defined legs. The only fault he could find was that she was wearing too much make-up; it was obvious that she was beautiful enough without it. She looked familiar, but he couldn't place where he knew her from, until she elaborated, "I'm Jack McCoy's assistant. I'm sorry to interrupt your meal, but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation."

Mike closed his eyes and grimaced, ignoring the sniggers from his associates. He firmly believed that Karma was a proverbial bitch, but did she really have to react so quickly? And so publicly? And in such an attractive form?

"I have to ask. Do you enjoy your job, Mr. Cutter?"

"Yes, of course. I wouldn't be here if I didn't..." Mike stammered, unsure of where Connie was going and how she planned to get there.

"You know, Jack has been serving this City for almost 30 years," she boasted, leaning against the red leather partition separating the tables. Her movements were deliberate, and her expressions were exaggerated. "I have a feeling that one of the reasons he's been so successful is that he doesn't sit around, finding fault with everyone else. He takes initiative…he takes risks. The bottom line is: he takes action. If you want to stick around, I suggest that maybe you learn to do the same. After all, you know what they say. Those who know, don't speak, and those who speak, don't know."

Connie smirked and sauntered out of the restaurant. Mike glared at his colleagues, the red flush of embarrassment marking his ears and neck.

...

...

The second time Mike and Connie met, it wasn't in his office or her office. It was outside the Courthouse, near the coffee stand. He turned around with his extra large cup of freshly brewed roast and bumped into her, sloshing hot coffee all over her sweater and open briefcase. She'd been rummaging through her bag for her wallet and, consequently, not watching where she'd been going. He apologized, and she silently screamed, rejecting his offers to help her clean it up. She pulled a soiled file from the bag and groaned. "Seriously, who doesn't put a lid on their coffee?"

"Who walks around with an open briefcase?" he retorted, put off by her hostility. "You know, you catch more flies with honey."

"Thank you," she snapped, "for your brilliant commentary." She ripped the napkins from his hand and dabbed at her shirt.

Mike gaped at her in disbelief. He handed her his coffee and gruffly declared, "Here. You're obviously having a bad day, and I think you need this more than I do."

He disappeared up the steps and into the Courthouse.

...

...

The third time Mike and Connie met, they were in the library on the 10th floor of the DA's office. She held a stack of reference books in her hands, ready to get to started on the preliminary research for a case. She rolled her eyes when she saw Mike standing in front of the copier, gazing off into space as the machine whined away. She cleared her throat and announced, "Excuse me; some of us actually have work to do. You can day dream at your desk."

Mike studied her for a moment, and then furrowed his brows. "What is your problem? Seriously, is it just me or are you like this with everyone?"

Connie narrowed her eyes, concocting a snide comeback. In a tenor glutted with sarcasm, she quietly conceded, "You're right, I'm sorry. It's just... I have to act like this so that Jack won't want to sleep with me."

"Oh, wow… Okay," Mike chuckled bitterly, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Okay, fine."

He abruptly canceled the print job, retrieved his documents, and slammed the lid of the copier back down. "It's all yours."

...

...

One month later, there was a complete shift in regime. The rumors came to fruition, and Jack took over Arthur's empty chair. He searched swiftly and diligently for a new Executive ADA, and when he'd made a decision, he called Connie into his office. He told her that he was appointing Mike Cutter for the job.

Connie tittered nervously. "I'm sorry, did you say Michael Cutter? No, Jack. No way. Absolutely not."

Jack arched his brow in surprise. "So, you two have met?"

"Once or twice," she shook her head dismissively, "and that's all I can take. You can't expect me to work with him. He's incorrigible, arrogant, tactless… And you should hear the things he's said about you!"

"I'm hiring him to try murderers, Connie," Jack reasoned, "not to go on vacation with me. I don't care for him much either, but his record speaks for itself."

"That may be true, but is he really the best choice? How can you be sure that you can trust him? There are a lot of people out to get you, and you're taking enough heat as it is for being the 'compromise.'"

Jack placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. "I appreciate your concern, but I think you should give him a chance. I have a feeling that this will be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Connie smiled weakly.

...

...

The first time Mike and Connie met as new partners was in late 2007. A strategic paint job and rearrangement of furniture gave office number 1012 a new life. Mike set a cardboard box atop his desk and began lining the empty credenza near the window with mementos from his past cases. A sharp, unexpected voice startled him, fracturing the soothing, meticulous rhythm of his actions. The voice belonged to Connie. "We need to establish some ground rules."

She made a beeline for the table in the center of the room and set down a piece of paper and a pen. Mike gingerly approached her, one hand in his pocket, and the other turning the paper so that he could read it. He scarcely contained the urge to laugh, choking, "A contract?"

Connie folded her arms over her chest and shrugged. "Legally binding."

Mike scanned the list of Connie Commandments and read them aloud incredulously. "'No slanderous or perceivably negative comments about Jack McCoy in the presence of Connie Rubirosa'? 'Coffee must have a lid on it at all times'? 'Connie will be in charge of making all photocopies'? 'When in motion, briefcases must remain closed'? Is this for real?"

"It's only fair," she concluded.

Mike complaisantly signed at the bottom of the page, stifling the urge to grin. He handed the pen to Connie, and their fingers brushed. She added her autograph next to his, and their eyes met. She smiled pleasantly and backed toward the doorway, her gray skirt swaying with the motion. "I'm just going to make a copy of this for you, quickly."

"Right... Well, you are legally obligated to do so. At least that's what the contract states."

"Right," she nodded playfully. "I'll be back in a minute."

She vanished into the hallway, and Mike returned to unpacking his belongings. He gave one last parting glance at the corridor and Connie's desk, knowing that he was in serious trouble. He was in love.