Disclaimer: All rights belong to Wolf Films.
Author's Note: The fanfic below is inspired from "Stay", a Kim Possible fanfic by Eienvine. The timing is in respect to the 10th anniversary of Abbie Carmichael's first season finale, "Refuge" (5/26/1999).
Music Notes: "Wrong Impression", a song by Natalie Imbruglia, serves as additional inspiration.
Update (5/23/2018): I have finally done a long overdue clean-up edit. If anyone wishes to access the original text, feel free to PM me. I'm still perfecting my second person narrative, so I apologize about any outstanding grammar/syntax errors.
"Why do you stay?"
It is your mother's favorite question in your monthly phone call with her. You base your answer on his skill and wisdom. He helps you understand the American criminal justice system in ways you never considered.
It is not quite the truth; it is not quite the lie.
You do not clarify on the measure of the man. He is a living Don Quixote: righting wrongs and facing the impossible. In spite of his successful quests, he warns you constantly to avoid his fate. Nevertheless, you cannot pass up on his professional experience. Your own sympathy also prevents you from doing so. He is as zealous against child abusers, as you are about rapists. He knows his way around a vendetta, as you do.
"Why do you stay?"
A fellow lawyer poses the question while decrying of him and his wild temperament. 'Hang 'Em High' McCoy is said to be as tough on his A.D.A.s, as he is on criminals.
You shrug your shoulders. "Guess I'm a glutton for punishment."
It is not quite the truth; it is not quite the lie.
Prosecuting can be a mind-numbing task, as per all the legalese and red tape. You are an enthusiastic workaholic, yet you cannot top him there. He is the ideal working partner, who enjoys his necessary-though-unpleasant job. What excites you most is the unique professional dynamic you have with him, fueled by incredible personal chemistry. Barring his occasional male P.M.S., he can be amusing, charming and heartwarming.
He never undermines you if he thinks you are wrong. Moreover, your being right does not threaten him, either. Even if the universe keeps you both apart, the separation never lasts. You just laugh at the various quarrels of the day with him. For an old male ex-hippie paired alongside a young female Texas conservative, you two are remarkably in sync together.
Your work is almost fun, because of him. A unique irony for someone paid to make certain people's lives miserable.
"Why do you stay?"
Anita Van Buren centers the question in a discussion of professional motivation. You are sitting inside her office, shooting the breeze.
"I've seen lots of A.D.A.s come and go. The ones who stay usually have some kind of a higher calling behind them, so what's yours?"
You wait several seconds before you reply. "Mine started at college. A friend of mine got hurt, and the perp was able to avoid any justice. I don't want history repeating itself, again."
It is not quite the truth; it is not quite the lie.
There are days where you feel nearly ready to tell Anita the truth. You see her as a potential ally, hoping she can handle a few burdens about your vendetta. You still cannot believe that you first revealed yourself to him. The man is as reserved with his personal life, as you try to be. How could he have elicited such a reaction from you?
You realize the answer: it is easy to confide in someone like yourself. Following your confession at the prison, he shows great respect toward your cause. He is what you have been seeking since college, a kindred spirit who can unburden your soul.
"Why do you stay?"
A scout for the Southern District of New York asks the question in semi-bemusement. The woman is offering a major salary increase, plus an impressive string of titles. It is your chance to enter a bigger arena, as well as break free from his shadow.
"Eh, I move around enough. Sometimes, a girl just puts down roots," you say.
It is not quite the truth; it is not quite the lie.
You recall a recent conversation he had with Nora Lewin. You were searching for your misplaced briefcase, while they talked in the hallway. You criticized yourself over your eavesdropping.
"The Southern District will be trying hard to lure her away, so what are you going to do?" Lewin said.
He sighed. "It's not my place to stop her, if she really wants to leave. All I can do is support her decision, whatever it is."
His tone was of resignation, a natural response about his former A.D.A.s. How many have abandoned him in one form or another? Are you going to add yourself among them (Claire Kincaid's shocking death and Jamie Ross' family drama notwithstanding)?
You then recollect the darkest period in your career: Toni Ricci's murder. He stood against Konstantin Volsky, the courts and Adam Schiff's orders. Not once did he falter. Not once did he desert you. Not once did he deem you weak in your private act of crying. When the Volsky trial had ended, you vowed to repay him for his noble deeds.
Professionally, the Southern District of New York has everything you could desire. Personally, nothing can compare to what he has given you. No bigger arena is worth the price of forsaking him.
"Why do you stay?"
You present the question to yourself. It pops up in your brain often during work, especially after your lovey-dovey gestures toward him in the Michael Sarno case.
"We don't have much of a social life, as it is," was his famous retort at Sarno's father.
Is it the truth, or is it a lie?
You eventually recognize that he is becoming your social life. How can you forget the skeet shooting sessions, the Clash concerts, the Texas vacations and the many ridings on his motorcycle? There are also the small things you share with him, like comfortable silences and coordinated snarky banter.
The other attorneys fail to grasp your true relationship with him. 'Affair' is the standard word they use. You chalk it to human nature and his reputation. Regarding the latter, he never pursues you sexually. He is always within his professional boundaries, as you are. It is for the best, you rationalize. Why jeopardize your best relationship with a colleague, let alone a man?
Nonetheless, you are an attractive woman. Many reckon you more a model than a public prosecutor. You have the 'best legs in Manhattan,' according to Ed Green. What hot-blooded male could refuse you? Despite it all, you wonder about his lack of interest.
He is very striking in his way, even if he is thirty years older. You substitute your physical craving with extra friendship and paperwork. One day, you blush while he stands beside you.
As soon as he is gone, you evoke a classic mantra by Homer Simpson: "Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts."
"Why do you stay?"
He puts forth the question to you in his new office. Arthur Branch is heading for parts unknown, leaving your beloved Don Quixote in charge. His raising the issue actually paralyzes you. If you do not take the position, it goes to Michael Cutter. You fear Cutter's Machiavellian tactics will undercut all you have built over the years. Besides, if anyone deserves the E.A.D.A. promotion, it is you.
You appreciate him in your life. You cherish your long journey with him. Ten years ago, the both of you were intractable people, dominated by personal demons. Ten years later, he releases you from your vendetta while you mend his often-shattered broken heart.
You sense the need for a new direction, a chance to explore what might have been. If you are no longer working directly together, then there should be little-to-no scandal in dating him. You do not plan to be his secret lover nor let the relationship turn into a larger-than-life spectacle. Any sounds of wedding bells you defer to time, if they ever happen.
He eyes you, like the lost puppy he is. His weaknesses and failures are lost on others. Only you can refine them as true strengths and successes. You are simply returning what he has done for you in the past decade.
"Are you going to answer my question?" He toys with his hands, his whole body a gangly mass of nerves.
You shut the door. Without further warning, you kiss your mature gentleman passionately on the lips.
Afterward, you press your forehead onto his. "This is the answer I have for you, Counselor."
Reviews of any sort are welcome.
