Alexandra Borgia eyed the closed door of Jack McCoy's office, and then her watch. 7 pm. Almost an early mark for the District Attorney's Office, and she shouldn't be this impatient to leave, but the last days had been exhausting.
But she really shouldn't leave without checking with McCoy, just to make sure there was nothing he needed her to do. And Arthur Branch had gone into McCoy's office and closed the door. Even though Alex couldn't hear raised voices, she was most definitely not going to interrupt them.
Sighing, she sat back down at her desk. Since she was here, she might as well work. When all else failed, there was always deposition prep.
She was fully engrossed in the meandering and not-very-probable statement of a key prosecution witness in a car-theft case when McCoy put his hand on her shoulder. "Hey."
Alex jumped, putting a hand to her throat. "Jack. You startled me."
"I said your name a couple of times. What's so interesting?"
"Nothing." She closed the file. "Just Helen Ellroy. The Misko case?"
"She's lying," McCoy said. "Not about seeing Misko driving the car on 78th Street. She's having an affair with someone who lives in that block. Or maybe her connection lives there. Anyway, problem for another day. Come on. Let's get out of here."
Alex stole a glance at McCoy as she picked up her jacket and bag, wondering what Branch had said to him. He looked as tired as Alex felt, and no wonder. The desperation she'd felt to find a way to make Jacobs tell them where he'd stashed the girl – the sickening roller-coaster of hope and despair – McCoy had to have felt too.
Except the responsibility for all of it was on his shoulders.
He'd saved her, that little girl. For all the work the police had done, that they'd all done, Jack McCoy had been the one who'd made the deal.
And who'd paid for it.
"Do you want to get a drink?" she asked impulsively, and then felt herself flush when he looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Sorry. You've probably got –" Imagination failed her as to what occupied Jack McCoy's leisure hours, even after working with him for a year. He wasn't exactly the sort of man you could imagine relaxing.
"Actually," McCoy said, "I think a drink is an excellent idea. Two drinks might be an even better one."
He was silent in the elevator on the way down to the lobby, staring at the floor with a slight frown. Alex did her best to make conversation as they strolled a few blocks to Resisting A Rest, the bar that time and custom had made the de-facto clubroom for prosecutors, just as Debarred was for defense attorneys.
By the time they got there, Alex had learned that Jack McCoy didn't watch television, didn't read novels, and hadn't seen a movie in two years.
"What do you do for – for fun?" she asked once they'd ordered their drinks and the bar-tender had set a scotch in front of McCoy and a glass of white wine before Alex.
The corner of McCoy's mouth twitched up. "Surely you've heard the rumors."
Alex riveted her gaze to her drink. Yes, she'd heard the rumors, which were just rumors, the sort of water-cooler gossip that would be bound to gather around anyone who'd worked in the office as long as McCoy had. At least, anyone as tall and compelling and with such a piercing gaze. "I don't listen to gossip," she said at last.
"You should. It can be fairly amusing." He knocked back his drink and raised a finger to the bar-tender for another. "Apparently at the moment I'm carrying on relationships with Ruth Miller, Shelly Kates, and Kelly Gaffney. I'm not quite sure how I find the time."
She looked at him sideways. "But you're … not, right?"
He grinned. "I'm flattered you even need to ask. Clearly you do listen to gossip, at least sometimes."
"And if I believed what I heard, I would have brought a chaperone," she retorted, stung.
McCoy paused, and then raised his glass a little at her. "Point," he conceded. "So what do you do for fun, Alex?"
"I –" She felt herself blush. "Okay, well, this is embarrassing. I like to – to clean my apartment. It's – after a day like today, you know, it's nice to have everything where it's supposed to be."
He raised an eyebrow. "A day like today?"
"A bad day." She hesitated a moment, running her finger around the rim of her glass. "Jack, I'm sorry," she said at last. "What happened in court. I'm sorry."
"I'm not," McCoy said. Alex looked up in surprise. "Jennifer Clark is home with her mother, safe and sound. Dwight Jacobs is remanded into custody, also safe and sound. He'll go to trial, and we'll win."
"But your credibility –"
"My credibility's intact," McCoy said. He leaned forward, elbows on the bar, turning to look at her. "I made a deal. I honored the deal. So I got blindsided. How can anyone expect me to help that?"
Alex blinked. "You expected Judge Hellstrom to refuse to honor the plea agreement?"
"It's happened before," McCoy said. "Laura Kendrick, for one. Judge Jensen over-ruled my plea agreement after hearing her allocution." He grinned at her. "It took a little work, but eventually Pamela took the bait. On this occasion, Arthur did the heavy lifting."
Beginning to feel like she needed something a little stronger than white wine, Alex rubbed her forehead. "Did you know Arthur was going to go behind your back?"
"I didn't expect him to sit idly by while I went behind his," McCoy said. "Now he feels superior. Judge Hellstrom blames him for being the one to twist her arm. The civil libertarians can chase after him for interfering in the operation of the courts "
"And you come up smelling of roses," Alex said slowly.
He grinned. "Arthur thinks he's the one in One Hogan Place who's any good at politics. He might be the only one who needs to get re-elected, but you don't spend three decades in the DA's Office without knowing how the world works."
"So you got everything you wanted," Alex said, not sure whether to be disturbed or impressed.
"Not everything," McCoy said. He winked at her, and then drained his glass. "But the night is young."
A/N: written to address an inconsistency in canon that bugged me. Laura Kendrick was one defendant in the Season 10 episode "Fools for Love"