The Barrister's Apprentice Chapter 1, a bridget jones' diary fanfic

The Barrister's Apprentice

Words: 34,894 (six chapters and an epilogue); this chapter: 5,514
Rating: M / R
Summary: Mark makes an acquaintance that might well change his life.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, but I do love making up situations in which I can make them dance to my tune. (The original/semi-original character/s are all mine, though.)
Notes: Another 'what if?' scenario that I won't spoil for you here.

Chapter 1.

"The law is reason free from passion."

—Aristotle

Before the New Year, Mark Darcy had never really understood the concept of the 'love/hate' relationship. He still didn't fully grasp what it might be to truly love someone and hate them at the same time, but he thought now that he had the barest understanding of the conflict, if being attracted to someone despite feeling that she was the last woman on earth to whom he should be attracted was any hint of that turmoil.

First had been New Year's Day. That's when he'd met her, thought she was cute despite her attire, charming despite her verbal gaffes. However, the thought of being set up by her parents and his own unsettled him; why would a woman need to be set up by her mum if she weren't in some way defective?

Then had been the book launch. The book and its author both had been utterly forgettable; he'd only gone because it was better than going home to a lonely house. She had turned up there, though, drink in hand, far beyond cute and well into sexy, with her hair done up and wearing a little black dress. The verbal sparring in which they had engaged felt more like foreplay than actual clashing. If not for the appearance of the one man he could call enemy, Daniel Cleaver, he might have had the opportunity to talk with her more.

Then he'd learned through common social circles that the two of them had become an item. Mark had had a feeling—and he knew from experience that his feelings when it came to Daniel were not often wrong—that it would all end very badly for her. He hoped he was wrong.

The final straw, so to speak, occurred in May; a day after seeing the pair of them staying overnight in the same country hotel as he, attending a summer fete at a family friends' country home, where Bridget had come (alone, he'd noted) dressed as a bunny girl wearing little more than a bodysuit and fishnet tights. Granted, the party had originally been touted as 'Tarts & Vicars', and clearly she had not been informed of the change of plans, but seeing her on display brought up some very conflicted feelings within him: he was horrified that she would willingly appear in public in such an outfit, but she was so gorgeous and curvy compared to his rather unfeminine companion that weekend, Natasha, a family law barrister from chambers, that thoughts of Bridget nearly spilling out of her outfit stayed with him for days (and nights).

From then on, news of her situation then seemed to drop off, almost as if a media blackout had been issued. The more he didn't know, the more he thought about her. As always, he had his work to occupy him, and he tried to employ it to its intended effect. For the most part, it worked. The cases on which he worked were not overwhelming; as time passed, as the end of July approached (and therefore the end of the school year), it meant the start of the summer work experience placement. It was the first time the partners had participated in the program, and Camilla Parkinson, a corporate law partner in chambers, was to whom the student for the summer would be assigned.

Work was, however, proving not to be fully up to the task of putting her out of his head. As days went on, he supposed that someone or something—God, Fate or the universe—saw this need in Mark and decided to give him something with which to occupy his time.

…

There was a knock on Mark's door the first day into the summer program. Mark glanced up and saw that the student—a boy, tall and lanky, with short, light brown hair and a hesitant smile—was standing just outside. Mark motioned that the boy should enter.

"Hello, Mr Darcy, sir," the boy said as he entered.

"Hello—" Mark said, realising quickly that he didn't even know the kid's name.

"It's Sam," he said. "Sam Eccleston."

"What can I do for you, Sam?"

"Mrs Parkinson asked that I bring this to you," he said nervously, handing Mark a folder.

"Thank you." He took the folder, opened it, began examining the paper within. Movement in his peripheral vision caused him to look up again. Sam was still there.

"Something else?" Mark asked.

"Oh, yes sir," he said. "I'm supposed to wait for you to initial it and I'm to bring it right back."

Mark blinked, then read through the text. It looked perfectly acceptable, so he initialled the corner of the paper, closed the folder, then handed it back to Sam.

"Thank you," Sam said. He then offered another timid smile. "If you don't mind me asking, Mr Darcy, do you also do corporate law?"

"I don't," said Mark, taken slightly aback. "My specialty is in the field of human rights."

Mark saw something very close to a spark of interest cross his features. "Really?" asked Sam. "Do you mean refugees and asylum and political prisoners?"

"Yes," Mark said. "Sometimes." After a moment, when it became obvious Sam Eccleston was not about to leave of his own accord, Mark added, "You had better get that back to Mrs Parkinson."

"Oh, sorry, sorry," he said. "Thank you."

On Wednesday, two days after his encounter with the student worker, a second knock landed upon his door. Another partner and friend, Jeremy Roberts, was standing just outside with a strange look on his face. He came in and closed the door behind him.

"Mark, there's been a car accident," he said. "Camilla's husband."

"Oh, no," said Mark, saddened terribly at the thought of her loss. "I'm so sorry to hear."

Jeremy was quick to correct the obvious misapprehension: "No, no, he's alive, and he'll be fine, but his injuries mean he's in hospital and will be for the foreseeable future. She's taking a leave of absence until he can come home."

"I'm relieved to hear that much," Mark said. "Thank you, and let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"Funny you should mention that." Jeremy sat down in a chair on the other side of Mark's desk. "There's the question of the work placement student."

The boy, Sam Eccleston. "Well, certainly another of the partners will need to take over."

"I thought about taking him under my own wing," said Jeremy, "but I know his mother, so…" Jeremy didn't have to finish; Mark knew that Jeremy couldn't do it and risk seeming prejudiced for the boy when it came to evaluating Sam's work, risking the success of the program. Jeremy went on. "He's very interested in human rights law, Mark."

It occurred to Mark just then what Jeremy was intimating. "You want me to take him on?"

"You're the best one to do it."

"Jeremy," said Mark, "I'm rubbish with kids."

"He's not a kid. He's sixteen, he's very good with following instructions, and quite bright to boot."

Mark narrowed his eyes. "You know his mother, so you're not exactly unbiased."

"I don't think I am being biased. I've seen him working with Camilla, Mark. He's eager and earnest and frankly, of the lot of us here, you could use help the most. And he's wants to know more about your legal speciality."

Mark could not well mount any argument to this. "Fine," he said. "Even though I don't have the faintest as to what he's supposed to be doing."

Jeremy chuckled. "You'll figure it out. I suspect by the end of the program you won't know how you managed without him."

Mark chuckled. "You're probably right. Well, might as well send him in."

Jeremy smirked. "He's in after lunch. He can only work half-days."

"Oh." Mark pondered a moment. "Is there anything else he can't do?"

"Write your briefs for you," Jeremy said with a wink, then stood again. "I'll send him in when he gets here."

"Thank you," Mark said, then, as Jeremy departed, sank into his work once more. He had to admit that he was a bit distracted, though, due to both the news of the morning—he and Camilla might have had their differences, but he could only imagine the day she must have had, the anguish followed by what little relief she'd had—as well as the sudden added responsibility of minding a student worker.

The latter became a slightly more terrifying prospect during lunch, which he spent with Natasha. "So very noble of you, Mark," she said, picking at her salad, spearing a cornichon then raising it up. "Taking on a teenaged boy. The things I've seen them capable of doing... they'd turn your hair grey." She then took a neat bite off of the end of her quarry.

"I've already met this boy," Mark said, mindful of her speciality in the law. "He's perfectly pleasant."

"Mmm," she said forebodingly. "In my experience, that's no indication at all. Smile at you one minute, break a mirror, punch a hole in the wall, try to push you down a stairwell the next."

"I should think that Camilla might have mentioned if her student was behaving in such a manner."

"It doesn't mean they aren't calculating for the right time to take advantage," she said. "I don't mean just physically. They can be little sociopaths."

"Well," Mark said, "I think I'll not make premature judgments."

"Forewarned is forearmed," she said with finality, then had another bite. "So how are you fixed for this evening? Care to have dinner?"

"Can't," he said quickly. "Heading to Grafton Underwood." It wasn't true, but it made for a handy excuse when trying to evade her obvious attempts to get him alone, something she'd been trying since that weekend in the country, the so-called 'Tarts & Vicars' soiree.

"Mid-week?"

He shrugged nonchalantly.

"You spend a lot of time there," she said, suspicion evident in the tone of her voice.

"My parents live there," he said, then considered he'd need a new excuse very soon.

The remainder of lunch consisted of moderately dull conversation about recent politics, after which they returned to chambers. Mark found his new charge already waiting, talking with Giles. "There he is, your new boss," said Giles. "I believe you've met Sam here, Darcy?"

"Yes, I have. Sam Eccleston," said Mark with what he hoped was a friendly smile. "Is it all right if I call you Sam?"

"Yes, sir, Mr Darcy. I was really sorry to hear about Mr Parkinson," he said, "but I'm really glad to be working for you now." Mark's brows shot up. "I mean—" Sam faltered, turning an spectacular shade of crimson. "I don't mean I'm glad not to be working with Mrs Parkinson."

Mark chuckled. "I understand. Come on with me to my office."

Upon entering the office, Mark realised he ought to have taken the time to find a place for Sam to work. "Sorry I'm not quite ready for you," said Mark.

"It's all right," said Sam with a grin. "I don't take up much space." Indeed, he had only a backpack with him.

Within a few minutes Mark had the far side of his very large desk cleared of books and folders, which he then set on the side table in his office. "There," he said, then looked to Sam. "Well. I suppose I ought to get you working."

"Okay," he said.

"Okay," Mark echoed. "Perhaps you can begin with…. Hm."

"I can put the books away," Sam suggested.

Judging from the layer of dust that Mark had noticed (with some horror) had accumulated on the books as he'd moved them, it was clear that he was no longer actively using them. "Yes. Very good idea. Thank you. They just go there."

"On the shelves," Sam confirmed.

"Yes. Actually," Mark said, standing again, "there's a bit of a system here. The legal codices are over there." He gestured. "Then for reference books with specific topics like asylum, rights abuses, history, they're organized by author and title. The books have labels on the top of the spine for topic. Most of the authors are under the same topic, so… that should make it a little easier." He stopped. He realised there were only five books to return.

"I… think I'll be able to get them back where they need to go," he said sheepishly.

"Excellent," said Mark, resuming his seat and returning to work. He glanced up again a few minutes later when he realised Sam was not moving, and saw that he had plucked a book off of the shelf to page through it. He drew his brows together. "What are you doing there?"

Sam started as if poked. "Sorry. I just read another book by this author and it caught my eye."

At this Mark was truly surprised. "Sanders? Which have you read?"

"One World Justice," said Sam, allowing a shy grin to play upon his lips. Mark wasn't surprised at the title he named; that was the more mainstream of the tomes by Anthony Sanders, whose legally oriented book Building Equality Into the System Sam had chosen to peruse. Even still, One World Justice was not something he'd expect a sixteen year old boy to read willingly; the fact that he had was quite astonishing.

"Was that a school assignment?" Mark asked, suddenly curious to know.

"No, sir," said Sam. "My mum had got a copy from work, and I thought it looked interesting."

"Ah," he said, wondering if Sam's mother was also a barrister, and if so, if he might have known her. Before he got a chance to ask, however, his phone rang. "Pardon me," Mark said, reaching for the receiver, then realised he ought to give Sam something more to do. "Just… sort those folders into alphabetical order, please."

"Yes, sir," said Sam.

On the phone was his client, Kafir Aghani, for whom Mark was handling his court case to decide whether he would be able to stay with his wife in the UK, or be forced to return to his home country (and to an almost certain death). They spoke for a long while about the case, which was due to return to court next month; Mark was outlining the strategy when he realised that Sam had finished his sorting duties and had returned to the Sanders book. From the look of it, he was completely engulfed in the subject.

The telephone conversation wound down and Mark hung up the call. Sam still did not move, just continued reading. "Sam?" Mark asked.

"Yes? Oh, sorry." He closed the book, then after a moment of thought he stood and put the book back into place.

"It's all right," said Mark. "Actually, you may borrow that if you wish."

"Better not," he said. "I'll probably just lose it."

"Well, it's here for when you don't have anything active to do. Now. For the folders." Mark stood and went to his filing drawer, giving Sam instructions on how to file them away. "By the way," he said in conclusion, "I'm sure you are very much aware of this, but anything in chambers that you overhear, such as that conversation I just had with my client, or may see, like what's in these files or to which client they belong, must be held in the strictest of confidence."

Sam nodded. "I had to sign a paper."

"I expected as much," said Mark, thinking Sam must have meant a non-disclosure agreement, "but I'd rather say it twice than not at all."

"I understand," Sam said. "Privacy is very important to your clients. They rely on you for it."

"You do understand," said Mark, "and I need not mention the subject again." He considered this boy with whom he would be in close quarters for the foreseeable future, thought it might be nice to know a little bit more about him. "So what are your interests in school?"

"I do pretty well in English literature, but I'm really interested in history and current events. This stuff, human rights, you know."

Mark smiled. "Yes, I do." He considered again what it was he could have Sam do, and thought about the notes for Aghani's case that he'd yet to transcribe from his legal pad into the laptop; since they weren't needed just yet, he'd been putting it off. "How are you on a computer?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm okay, I guess."

"Can you type?"

"I can type better than I write," he said.

"Then I have a project for you," said Mark.

Sam took to the transcription like a duck to water; Sam only had to ask Mark a few times for clarification on a notation or to translate what it was his writing said. "Well, it's Latin," said Mark on one such occasion. "I'd be surprised if you did understand it. Impressed, but surprised." This elicited a laugh from Sam.

It was the sound of Sam digging into his bag to retrieve his iPod that brought Mark back to the present from his work. He glanced at the clock on his desk and noted the time was just after five. "I made good progress," he said, hanging his headphones around his neck. "Middle of the eighth page."

When Mark considered his own propensity for writing in a very condensed fashion, this was remarkable progress indeed. "Thank you," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Sam nodded. "After lunch." He slung his bag onto his shoulder.

They walked out of the building together. At the door, Mark asked, "Would you like dropping off home?"

"No thanks," said Sam. "I've got an Oyster and the Tube takes me straight home."

"You're sure?" he said.

"I'm sure. See you tomorrow."

After an exchange of goodbyes Mark and Sam went their separate ways; as Mark drove away, he pondered this new responsibility of his. Based on a single day, which he fully realised was hardly enough a sample by which to truly judge, he thought he would like having Sam around very much.

It wasn't until much later in the evening, as he was lying in bed and thinking further upon the day, that he realised he had never actually asked Sam about whether his mum was someone Mark might have known. He tried but couldn't think of any female barristers by the name of Eccleston, but he supposed she might have, like so many professional women, not taken her husband's name. It wasn't that it was at all important; it was more of a curiosity to him than anything else, and if he never remembered to ask it wouldn't be the end of the world. Turning everything around in his head, however, did help him to fall asleep.

…

Mark was not in the office that next morning due to court; it was a minor, routine hearing for which he'd prepared while Sam had been transcribing for him. It was so routine that he hadn't thought it necessary to mention to Sam, because he thought he'd be back to the office well before the boy would.

He hadn't expected to be stuck in court for an extra hour beyond the allotted time, giving him scarcely enough time to pick up a sandwich for lunch. He then went straight to chambers with just enough time to eat at his desk before Sam was due, only to find that Sam was already sitting at the desk reading the Sanders book.

"Hello," Mark said in his surprise, startling the book out of Sam's hands. "You're early."

"I'm sorry," he said sheepishly, spying Mark's carrier bag. "I take after my dad that way. I can, er, go if you want to eat on your own."

Mark chuckled. "If you don't mind that I'm eating, I don't mind you staying."

"I had lunch before I came so I'm not hungry."

Satisfied he wouldn't offend or break his long-ingrained rule never to eat in front of someone who was without, he pulled back the white butcher paper in which his turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich had been wrapped, then took a bite followed by a sip of his coffee. He quickly set it down, once again feeling rude. "Are you thirsty?" Mark asked.

"I'm okay. I've got my water bottle." He reached down and pulled out of the bag what seemed an almost impossibly large stainless steel sport bottle, then set it down on the desk. "I mean, that's okay, isn't it?

"That's fine," he replied, then picked up the sandwich and took another enthusiastic bite. Sam read for a few minutes more before he closed the book then turned to look at Mark with obvious apprehension, but didn't speak.

"What is it?"

"If you have the laptop I can continue with typing."

"You're not due to start yet," said Mark. "Go on and read."

It was just shy of one when Mark finished his sandwich, folded up the butcher paper and set it aside for recycling. Taking his cue from that sound, Sam again closed the book and looked up. Mark reached into his attaché and pulled out the laptop, opened it to input the password, then handed it to Sam. "I had a chance to look over what you've done so far. Really great job."

"Thanks," he said; the tone of his voice spoke of both pride and humility. "Hope I can finish this today."

"If not, that's all right too," said Mark.

With that Sam resumed his transcription, while Mark picked up his telephone to call to verify reservations for a dinner meeting that evening. Once that was squared away he reviewed the papers from court that morning, re-organising them for filing later. It must have taken him a lot longer to do that than he thought, because when he finished, he realised Sam was back to reading.

"Sam, are you done?"

Mark's voice obviously startled him and he slapped the book shut again. "Yes, sorry," he said, "but you were so busy I didn't want to bother you."

It wasn't as if Sam was goofing off, but he felt obliged to say, "I really don't mind if you let me know when you're done. If I don't want to be disturbed I'll let you know." Belatedly he thought he might have sounded a little too harsh, so he added, "You're very quick—I never expected you to be done already, or I would not have immersed myself so thoroughly."

That elicited a smile. "Thank you, sir."

Mark glanced to his clock, saw it was half past three. He didn't have anything more to do there in his office, didn't have anything for Sam to do, but he didn't think he was supposed to send Sam home early. He thought of his consideration the previous day regarding getting to know Sam a little better, since they would be working together for—well, he wasn't actually sure exactly for how long; he'd have to find out. "So," he said. "Do you live in London?"

Sam nodded. "Just near Borough Market."

Not too terribly far from where he lived, though over the bridge; he made a mental note should the occasion rise to offer Sam a lift home. "That must be nice."

"It can be kind of noisy. Sound travels right into our flat."

"I bet," said Mark. "Especially in the summer."

"Oh, yes," he said. "The trains run right by us too, though, so I'm used to it being a little on the noisy side."

Mark was grateful more than before for the relative quiet of his neighbourhood. Remembering his earlier mention of school subjects, Mark probed, "What's your favourite subject at school, English literature or… the history class you mentioned?"

"Probably history," he said. "I find it really interesting, and that's what I like about this book too."

"So you must be thinking about university," said Mark.

Sam grinned lopsidedly. "I have been, yeah. Mum wants me to think about here or in Wales. Dad wants me up north."

"And what have you been thinking about?"

"I haven't really, not yet, though I know I should," he said. "How about you? How did you decide?"

The question took him aback. "There wasn't a time where I thought of going to anywhere but Cambridge, to be honest."

"Really?"

He nodded. "My family's been going there for generations."

"Your mum too?"

Mark felt a bit brought up short; he had only been thinking of the Darcy men. "She didn't," said Mark. "She married my father when she was quite young."

"Didn't go to uni?"

Mark chuckled. "It wasn't as common in her time for women to pursue an academic career. They were expected to marry and start a family."

Sam looked both horrified and extremely puzzled.

"That's not to say that they never did," Mark added. "Just… well, it was a different time."

"You can say that again," Sam said. "Even my mum went to uni, and she married young too." He sighed. "Cambridge, though. Wow. I'm not even sure I could get in."

"Because of your marks?"

"Oh, my marks are good. Solid," Sam said confidently. "It just seems like an impossible task. It's really competitive, and…" He trailed off. "I don't think I could get enough scholarships to afford it."

"Surely your parents would help?" Mark asked.

"Sure they would," he said, "and they'd bend over backwards to do it. I don't really want to put that burden on them, though, if I can help it."

Mark understood. The cost of university was higher than ever before. "Just don't rule it out completely. I'm sure there are resources out there that might help."

"You're probably right," Sam said. "Just have no idea where to start."

"I'll be sure to keep my eyes and ears open," Mark said. A quick glance at his clock surprised him: it was now quarter past five. "Well, looks like that's it for the day, so what do you say we wrap things up until tomorrow?"

Sam nodded as he rode and slung his bag onto his shoulder. "Sounds good. Busy night ahead. My mum's taking me out."

"That sounds quite nice," said Mark. "I've only a dinner meeting to look forward to."

"I don't understand that about adults," said Sam. "Turning a perfectly good dinner into work."

Mark laughed out loud at this. Sam turned scarlet red.

"Sorry," Sam said.

"Don't apologise," said Mark. "You are absolutely correct."

"If my mum were here, she'd tell me to watch my mouth."

"That wasn't so bad."

"Most of the time she'd be right. She's not so great about that herself," admitted Sam. "Suppose she wants me to develop better habits than she did."

"We all want things better for our children," said Mark.

"Oh, do you have kids?" asked Sam.

"I don't, no."

Sam looked quite confused. "You don't know?"

Mark chuckled again. "I meant no, I don't. I was just speaking in general terms."

"Oh. That's too bad. I think you would've been a great dad." Again Mark was startled by the frankness of his opinion; he hadn't known the boy a week. Sam glanced to the door. "Better go or I'll miss my train."

"See you tomorrow."

He watched Sam depart as he packed the laptop back into his attaché. After a brief stop at home he'd be heading to the restaurant for drinks prior to the dinner meeting. It was odd to consider he rather would have spent more time chatting with Sam.

…

"You know, I've been very pleased with your work," Mark said; after about a week of having Sam around, Mark was beginning to understand why Jeremy said he wouldn't know how he got along without Sam's help. Mark had said it to cheer Sam up, but the boy still looked a bit down, so he added, "I'm glad you seem less intimidated by me, too."

"Thanks, sir," said Sam.

"You're welcome," said Mark, even as he pondered that he hadn't heard Sam address him as 'sir' in at least two days. "Is something wrong?"

Sam shrugged as he continued sorting for Mark. "Not really."

Mark didn't buy it for a moment. "Are you sure?"

Sam set the paper down. "It's my mum. She split from her boyfriend a bit ago and… though he turned out to be kind of a creep, I thought she was okay now… but I think she might still have feelings—"

So stunned was Mark that he hardly heard most of what Sam had said, and he interrupted, "Your mother had a boyfriend?"

"Well, yeah," said Sam. "Why wouldn't she?"

"What about your father?"

Sam drew together his brows. "Well, they're divorced. Have been since I was a kid."

"Divorced?"

"Yeah."

Mark sat back in his chair. Why had he assumed that Sam's parents had been married when so many marriages end in divorce, as his own had done?

"It's okay, though," said Sam. "They're still really good friends, and they take good care of me. Dad lives in Manchester now, but I still see him all the time. It's like he never left."

"It's… it's okay," Mark said. "You don't have to explain it to me, of all people."

"You looked a little shocked, is all," said Sam.

"I was, a little," Mark admitted. He suspected Sam wanted to talk about it and perhaps had had no one with whom to do so, he asked gently, "So he was a creep?"

Sam nodded. "He seemed nice, has a really shiny new car, and all that, but he just had a sort of… I don't know how to explain it… a kind of smarmy vibe to him, but I don't know. She seemed really happy, though, so I was glad for her. But then they split up."

"I'm sorry," said Mark. Sam looked quite emotional. Mark added. "It's not like it's your fault."

"But I think it was," confessed Sam. "I could tell he wished I wasn't around. That he was tired of having practically a stepson around."

"I'm sure that's not true," said Mark, even though he wasn't sure at all; some men did not want what they perceived as another man's baggage. "You don't really know why they split; your mother is hardly going to confide in you."

"She usually does though."

Mark doubted any adult woman was going to confide her romantic endeavours to her teenage son, but he had already made enough assumptions about Sam's family, so he asked, "Did you try to talk to her about it?"

Sam pulled the corners of his mouth down. "She laughed, hugged me, and told me not to be a daft cow… that she was just fine."

Mark held in a chuckle at what was evidently a term of endearment. "So maybe breaking up was her idea."

Sam didn't respond right away. When he did speak, his voice was very quiet. "We saw him when we were out on Sunday. She acted like she wasn't affected at all, like she hadn't even noticed him, but I could hear her in her room crying that night. So I think he chucked her. Because of me." He sighed. "I just want her to be happy, 'cause she's been on her own for a long time."

He felt for Sam and for his mother's situation. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"I appreciate it," said Sam. He picked up the papers again, squared the edge down against the desk surface, then sighed once more. "I just wish there was more I could do."

"You're a pretty perceptive young man; you'll know what to do when she needs you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he said with the first hint of a smile Mark had seen all day.

"If there's anything I can do, don't hesitate to ask," said Mark.

"Not sure what you could do," said Sam. A bit of his usual spark shone through as he added, "Maybe some kind of indictment or something, being a jerk in the first degree?"

Mark smiled. "If only I could, I would have issued those many times before."

Sam laughed a little again. Mark was glad he could brighten Sam's spirits a little. Sam said, "I just hope she can get over it sooner rather than later."

"Either way, she's got you, and I wager that counts for a lot."

Sam smiled again. "Yeah, she does."

As Sam went back to his sorting, Mark could see that Sam unloading the burden he'd been carrying had lifted his spirits noticeably. Mark was glad. He liked the boy; in Sam he saw himself at the same age and found his enthusiasm and passion for the legal field a breath of fresh air amongst those pursuing law solely for the money and prestige. He also found, much to his surprise (given the relatively scant amount of time during which Sam had been working in Mark's office), that he was starting to care about Sam and his future.