Disclaimer: They're not mine. At some point I'll return them.
Author's Note: This is a post-ep to "Showtime," the final episode in the 3-part Judgment in L.A. trilogy from season 7.
Someone to Go Home To
"Can I have some bread?"
"What do you say?"
Olivia rolled her eyes.
"Please," She sang, and Deborah handed the plate of rolls across the table. She looked over at Rey.
"So, you haven't told me how the sentencing went." She said, and Rey nodded while he finished a bite of his rice.
"The jury voted for the death penalty," He said, "It was a success all around."
"Good," Deborah said.
"Mommy?" Olivia asked, tugging gently at Deborah's sleeve.
"Yes, baby?"
"I'm glad Daddy's here."
"Me too!" Serena crowed.
"Me too." Isabel echoed, clapping her hands.
"Me too," Deborah said, smiling at her husband. Under the table she reached for him, and he smiled back as he squeezed her hand.
***
"I'm so glad you and I were able to get together tonight, Lennie," Judy said as she studied the menu, "And this is such a nice restaurant."
It wasn't really, Lennie thought, but it was the nicest one he could afford without having to worry about what she would order. And what fun was that? This was a night to do a little celebrating. A successful sentencing, a pretty woman across the table – for one night, at least, things looked pretty good to Lennie.
"I'm glad you think so," He replied, "The steaks are good."
"All right," Judy said as the waiter approached.
"Good evening, Ma'am. What would you like?"
"I'll have the t-bone, medium rare." Judy replied, handing the menu back to the waiter, "and a side salad, please."
A woman who could appreciate a good steak? Now Lennie knew he was dreaming. This seemed too good to be true.
"Same for me," Lennie told the waiter, "But I'll have soup instead of salad, and a club soda."
The waiter nodded as he wrote their orders down, then disappeared with the menus.
"So, Lennie," Judy said as soon as the waiter was out of earshot, "You mentioned a case you were working on?"
"Yeah, we had the sentencing today."
"How did it go?" She asked.
"Pretty well." He nodded.
"Good," She said, "Then maybe you're in the mood for a little more tonight, after dinner?"
She smiled at him in a way he hadn't seen in a long time, a smile that indicated this would not be another night spent alone in front of the television, and he couldn't help but smile back.
***
"Good night, honey." Jamie shut the door of Katie's room behind her, blowing a kiss to her little daughter, who was already sound asleep. She walked down to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of tea, then returned to her bedroom, curling up in her easy chair with the book she'd been trying to find time to read.
Such a quiet night, she thought to herself, it's so good to be home. Just Katie and I, all the upheaval of the trial over – at least until the next one.
And it had been somehow been so satisfying to defeat Neil – especially after he had pulled the ultimate in dirty tricks by trying to take custody of Katie from her.
Right now, everything was peaceful. Jamie could feel her body start to sink back into the overstuffed cushions of her chair, relaxing for the first time in weeks. Months. She savored the moment, knowing how rare it could be.
As she sipped her tea, she remembered Jack's hopeful invitation and felt a sting of guilt. Why hadn't she thought to invite him to share dinner with her and Katie?
But… it was so nice to have that time, just the two of them. Jack was a parent, surely he could understand. Jamie opened her book and began to read, forgetting about Jack as she lost herself in the plot.
***
Jack set down his glass with an unsteady hand.
This was too quiet, too empty. He wished he'd had enough energy to go to the bar.
Instead he had downed a few drinks in his office while watching the trial wrap-up on TV, then made his way home, where more scotches followed.
A year ago this would have been different.
A year ago no one would have left him alone.
But this was not a year ago. That was then, this is now.
Then was better.
She wouldn't have celebrated a death penalty conviction. It probably would have ended in a big argument, complete with those dark eyes of hers nailing him with a reproachful stare.
It didn't matter. He would give anything at this moment to have that argument. Anything to hear her call him an insensitive, uncivilized Neanderthal. Anything to see those eyes again.
But that was impossible.
He wished, not for the first time that night, that someone had taken him up on his invitation to go out for a drink.
But they all had someone to go home to.