Hi, all! I do not own anything to do with "Boston Legal." We can thank Mr. Kelley for that! And, this does not center around Alan and Denny, although I did write 3 or 4 balcony scenes - entertaining, to be sure! This probably takes place somewhere in season 4, if you want an idea of such things. Oh, and this isn't half as long as my other fics, so don't let that freak you out or anything.

"Aw, c'mon, Carl! Can't a guy hire his own assistant anymore?" Denny Crane's face settled into the usual pout that got him his way . . . some of the time.

But, not this time. "Denny, there is no way I'm letting you conduct these interviews. This is not a dating agency. It's a law firm!"

Denny's mouth opened in shock. "I'm surprised at you, Sack. I was interviewing assistants long before you even thought about going to law school!"

Carl glared at him momentarily. "And that's why you've never had one stick around very long, either."

"That's not true!"

Carl crossed his arms over his chest, a resume in his hand. "Oh, really, Denny? If memory serves me, as long as I've been here, no one has lasted over ten days."

Denny waved his hand in disagreement. "They weren't up for the job. Assisting Denny Crane is a highly-sought after – but stressful – job opportunity for up-and-coming young ladies." Denny said it almost as if he were reading out of a brochure. He slapped his hands together, his eyes glittering in anticipation. "So, any blondes on the list? Redheads? Know any bra sizes?"

Carl rolled his eyes, asking the powers that be for patience. "To avoid any future sexual harassment lawsuits, there will be no blondes or redheads of any size."

Denny looked confused. "Well, I like brunettes, too . . ."

"No brunettes."

"Then . . . what? What's left?"

Carl managed to control his temper. "You will not – no, you cannot! - have a female assistant. I don't even know why Shirley's agreeing to all this nonsense, anyway! You've gotten along just fine without one this far."

Denny started up on the mantra he'd been stuck on for the last few weeks. "I deserve one. Everyone else has one. You have one. Shirley has one. Even Jerry and Katie have someone who helps them. My name is first on the door and . . ."

"Denny's finally getting an assistant?" Alan Shore sidled up to the conversation as the offices of Crane, Poole and Schmidt ebbed and flowed about them in the hallway.

"Alan, he's hiring a man! A man! What does a man know about filing and answering phones? That's woman's work!"

"Certainly not as pleasing on the eye, that's for sure. So, when do I get an assistant?"

"When you stop taking pages from Denny's book and harassing all of them into lawsuits," Carl answered, fed up with where the conversation was going, walked out.

"Make sure he's not gay!" Denny called out as Carl retreated down the hall.

Carl could still hear Denny blustering as he shut the door to his office, taking a moment to lean against it, pinching the bridge of his nose against the constant headache he seemed to be plagued with lately.

If it wasn't the lack of paying cases at Crane, Poole and Schmidt – where he had the daunting and highly-unsatisfying position of senior partner in control of the firm - it was the constant zaniness surrounding the man whose name was first on the door.

Carl wondering if Denny Crane really had mad cow disease or dementia or whatever it was he claimed to have. Or if it was just a ploy to . . . to get whatever it was Denny wanted. Sex, pity, attention . . .

Probably sex.

Carl tossed the small stack of resumes on his desk.

Who was he kidding? There was only one resume. Out of all of those who applied, he pulled a trick that could get him in trouble with all sorts of government agencies if it was discovered.

He only pulled out the men.

If Denny wanted an assistant – something he didn't believe the firm could actually afford at this point – he'd get an assistant. A male assistant.

It was rare Carl had the last word, but he would this time.

Actually, Shirley usually had the last word. And that could be one of the reasons why their relationship seemed to be faltering. Sure, he'd moved to Boston because of her, but it had become more difficult to compete with the ever-present stream of men she had in her life. They enjoyed the same things and each others' company. But, wasn't there more to life than that? What about passion and exuberance and – sure, even lust? He might be just north of 60, but he didn't always feel it.

He shrugged off old worries and picked up his glasses – a sure sign he was north of 60 - studying the one applicant he had contacted for an interview. Through email.

He'd never get used to all this technology. It was easier to get a feel for the man who'd applied if he could talk to him, but that was they way things were done. Get with the times, Shirley would tell him.

But, he'd be here in a moment, so he better memorize the facts.

Andy Sutherland

Lieutenant with the Boston Police Department for the past seven years

Patrol officer with the Roanoke Police Department before that.

Carl couldn't help but wonder how it might help the firm to have an insider on their side – someone who could run interference with the PD, get information they may need.

Andy might be Denny's new assistant, but multi-tasking was the name of the game at this firm. Cut down on costs.

And, goodness knows, costs needed to be cut around here.

But, why would someone who was with the police force want to work at a law firm? Change of scenery? Maybe he was fired for some sort of misconduct, perhaps?

In general, there was no love lost between the two braches of law.

Carl looked at the bottom of the resume. Yep, there were the mandatory references. One for the Boston PD. He circled it, making a note to call.

Andy tried not to fidget during the elevator ride to the seventh floor. The mahogany trim. The plush carpet. The gleaming metal of the doors.

It took some getting used to after the slip-shod craziness of the Boston Police Department headquarters. Or any police headquarters, for that matter.

The elevator stopped, barely noticeable, and chimed.

Andy was not prepared for what was on the other side, one well-heeled foot stopping mid-stride just out of the door.

A man wearing a snorkel, a wetsuit and fins tromped right in front of the elevators. At his side was an older man, thankfully in a suit, but their argument consisted of lots of hand-waving and shouting as they disappeared around the corner.

Andy looked around the bustling office. No one seemed to notice. Or care. Everyone was going on about their business. Just another day at the office, apparently.

Taking a moment to make sure this was the correct floor – maybe this was a psych ward or something. Nope, right floor - she smoothed her tailored skirt, took a deep breath and headed for the reception area.

The receptionist greeted her with a perfunctory smile and a 'how may I help you.'

"Andy Sutherland. I have a 2 o'clock appointment with Mr. Carl Sack."

After pointing her in the right direction, Andy continued down another hall. Thankfully, there were no other characters like the ones she saw when she first arrived.

Sure, she'd heard about this position through a friend of a friend, and after the PD canned her, she had to have something to pay the bills until her feelers in other police departments across the country panned out. But, just as any government agency, the red tape was a bitch.

So, here she was. Clearly out of her element.

But, she was always good at covering up those sorts of insecurities.

Who knows? Maybe she'd like working for the 'two-faced, dirty lying ratfinks' as her old police buddies called all attorneys. The clean version.

Arriving at the correct door, she was greeted by another receptionist.

"Andy Sutherland." She announced herself in a clear voice that masked any butterflies she may have had.

She was good at that.

The secretary looked momentarily puzzled, but masked her frown by pressing a button.

"Mr. Sack, Andy Sutherland is here to see you."

"Send him in" a deep voice answered.

The secretary looked like she wanted to add something, but instead just answered with a 'yes, sir.'

Andy was accustomed to her name being misconstrued as male. She just smiled sweetly at the befuddled woman. Straightening her jacket and tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear, she walked into the office.

So, they thought they were hiring a man. But, for a secretarial position?

Wouldn't be the first time her birth name confused the hell out of people.