I thought I'd write something shocking about Mike's personal life. Hope y'all like, so enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own 'Law and Order', nor do I own its characters. I do not own Chanel, Mercedes Benz, or Versace. Lydia and Miss North are mine.
Rating: T, for language and themes
Note: 'Innocence' spoilers
Now It's Personal
By LTP-girl
The long drapes fluttered apace as a soft breeze entered through the opened window.
He felt the air fuse into the balmy atmosphere.
The shapely blonde lay provocatively on the bed, with one leg arched, and her arm reaching towards the backboard.
"Come on Mikey," she said seductively. "What, are you scared?"
"N-no, Professor Ryan," the young man stuttered. "It's just that, I um, I... I've never done this sort of thing before."
She chuckled to herself.
"I thought as much," she replied patronizingly. "Well, don't worry Mikey, I'll teach you everything you need to know."
"I don't think this is exactly right." He spoke softly, almost like he had been caught driving through a red light.
She smiled wickedly, almost iniquitous.
"My husband won't be home for hours. We have all afternoon," she reassured him. "He won't suspect a thing."
A distinct chill filled his body, despite the mugginess of the warm atmosphere.
Her tone turned serious. "Now remember, we have a deal here," she began. "You can only stay here during the summer if you give me some sort of payment. And since you don't have any money..."
He looked down at the floor, almost shamefully.
"Oh, Mikey, don't you want to pass your bar exam?" She said teasingly.
He looked up at her, almost coyly. He felt perspiration starting to trickle down his back, and he wasn't sure whether it was because of the heat, or because he was nervous.
She kicked her legs in a scissor like motion and then sprawled herself across the bed.
"Get into the bed before I fail you all together," she threatened.
Mike didn't know what else he could do. He undressed, an approached the four-poster bed.
***
Mike looked over at Connie, noticing the sudden shock that had spread across her face after telling her his story.
"Oh my God Mike," she said, both outraged and sorrowed. "This woman used you, violated you, and now she's come back to torture you even more? What kind of depraved person does this?"
"Emily Ryan," he replied discrepantly, taking a long swig of his drink, his voice dark.
It had turned to night now, and after the day he had, he certainly needed a stiff drink. He looked distantly out of the bar window.
Connie was still recovering from what Mike had just told her.
"To have someone come along and take advantage of your innocence and vulnerability, it's sickening, Mike," She continued. "And to then have the mordacity to place herself as your mentor?"
Mike shrugged. "I was too young and stupid to see through her farce," he said softly. "When an attractive, older, woman approaches you in that way, it kind of gives you a feeling like you're important. All sense goes out the window."
Connie gazed at him sympathetically.
"My mom was never home. She was a social worker, and of course she was always too busy for me," he began. "She gave more time to those homeless drug-addicts and juvenile delinquents she worked with, than she did her own son." His tone was vengeful.
He took another long sip from his drink.
"She used to come home from work each night after putting in a fourteen hour day at the Welfare Centre, and rant on about how lucky I was to have a mother like her, when I could have been out on the street dancing for quarters," he continued. "I think she kind of resented me because I reminded her of the man who assaulted her and got her pregnant with me, and that's why she spent so much time away from home."
He looked down, avoiding eye contact. He knew Connie was giving him that compassionate look of hers. The look she often gave victims' families they had encountered in their line of work.
Connie reached her hand out to touch Mike's. "I'm sure that's not the reason, Mike," Connie soothed. She noticed that the alcohol he had been knocking back all night had suddenly hit him.
"I'm not saying she wasn't a good provider, because she was, she paid for everything. My grandparents had money," he explained. He paused. "It's just that she wasn't a mother. She alienated me."
"I see," Connie nodded understandingly. "She neglected you. It happens to rich kids too."
"Being brought up by all kinds of nannies throughout your life, there's just no permanence in it," he said, his penetrating blue eyes sorrowful. "I guess I kind of found a parental figure in Emily Ryan."
He signalled to the bar tender for another round of drinks.
"My mom was hardly ever there for me, and when she was, she always got distracted by her work," he hung his head. "She had priorities, and I certainly wasn't one of them."
Mike thought back to a particular day in his childhood.
***
Seven year old Mike waited patiently outside the front of his classroom, his teacher standing beside him. He sat with his head in his hands, waiting for his mother to come and pick him up. His nanny, Rosa, was off sick, and so couldn't pick him up from school that day. His mother had arranged to pick him up from school later that day, but she was later than he had anticipated.
"It's okay, Mike," his teacher, Miss North, said as she patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sure your mom will be here soon."
Suddenly, a black Mercedes Benz came screeching around the curb, and jerked to a halt outside the small building.
A small statured brunette woman dressed in a Chanel suit emerged from the lavish car. Lydia Cutter made her way toward Mike and Miss North, nearly caching a Versace stiletto of hers in a crack in the pavement.
Shit! Goddamn heels, she thought to herself, continuing to walk with disgruntlement.
"I'm so sorry," she said to Miss North, removing her sunglasses. "A crisis came up, and I was held up longer than I expected. Again, I apologize."
"It's alright," Miss North reassured her placidly, knowing too well what Ms Cutter's busy work schedule was like. "It's been fine, honestly, these things happen. I've just been helping Mike with his homework."
"That's good to hear," she said, approaching Mike.
He stood as his mother took his hand in hers, and they made their way to the car.
"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, Michael, but you know how busy I am with work," she said, opening the car door for him. "I'll make it up to you. Hey, the Yankees are playing next week, how about I get Rosa to take you and your friend Dale?"
"Um, sure," he answered, appearing preoccupied.
The sound of the car door closing echoed through the empty car park.
She got into the car herself, and started the engine.
"It's okay, Mom," Mike answered, a little weary. "I know you're busy."
"So how was your day?" she asked, as she drove onto the main road. She looked at him in the rear view mirror.
"It was good. I had a spelling test today, and I got all of the words right..." he beamed, perking up a little.
Lydia had just remembered that she left an important report on her desk that she needed to take home and analyse before work the next day. Frustration spread across her face. She had stopped listening to what Mike was saying, and had her mind on something else.
"Shit, shit, shit!" She exclaimed, cutting him off. "Fuck! I forgot to pick up that file! It's sitting on my desk! Oh, fucking hell! I'll have to go back to the fucking office and pick it up."
The tires screeched as she U-turned.
"I'm sorry, Michael, but I have to go back to work to get something. This won't take long."
Lydia pushed her foot down on the accelerator, the needle on the speedometer heightening.
Cars honked, and tires screeched. Angry drivers raised their fists out of their windows, as she skipped three lanes.
She unwound her car window and started yelling at the driver behind her, who was yelling obscenities at her.
"OH, SHUT YOU FUCKING MOUTH. I'VE GOT A FUCKING KID IN THE CAR, MOTHERFUCKER!" Lydia yelled back.
Yep, that's Mom alright, Mike thought to himself, as he peered out of the car window and watched an angry woman in the red station wagon next to them. It never ends.
***
"Well it seems your mother really wasn't a motherly type," Connie began, taking a sip of her margarita. "So it's understandable that you tried to fill that void with the attention you received from Emily Ryan."
Mike told Connie about his second liaison he had encountered with Emily Ryan while attending law school.
***
Mike knocked on the wooden door of Professor Ryan's office.
"Come in," a woman's voice called out.
Mike entered the room, his legs almost shaking.
"Oh, Mike," she said, a pleased smile spreading across his face. "What can I do for you?"
The smartly dressed law professor sat eloquently at her desk.
He approached her desk. "Well, Ms Ryan, I've come to ask you for an extension on my paper," he began. "You see, my mom's been in a car accident, and I was travelling back to Boston this week to visit her in the hospital."
Crazy drink driver, he thought silently to himself. I bet they'll find she'll need a liver transplant as well.
He continued on. "And so, I don't think I'll be back by the due date, and I won't have time to finish it before hand," he explained.
"Oh, Mike, I do hope your mother's alright," she said sympathetically.
"She should be fine," Mike reassured her. "Just a few broken ribs and a concussion. They're keeping her there for observation."
"Oh, well that's good to know," she answered, relieved. "Now, about the extension on this paper, I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement."
She reached into her desk drawer and removed her planner, and placed it on the desk in front of her.
He took a seat on a chair in front of her desk.
She looked at the dates in her planner. "Okay, the paper's due on the 17th of January, so how about we make it for the 27th?" she asked, looking up at him from her planner.
"Well, that's generous of you," Mike said gratefully. "Thank you, Ms Ryan. That should be plenty of time."
She closed her planner and watched as the budding young lawyer headed for the door.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked mischievously, as she got out from behind her desk. She removed her jacket, and threw it on the leather couch to the side. "Don't think you're getting this extra time on your paper for nothing. Haven't you read about negotiation in your law books yet?"
He turned around to face her. "Is there anything I can do for you, Ms Ryan?"
She stood with her hands on his hips. "I think we both know what this act of generosity calls for," she said, sounding a little impatient. She walked towards the door of her office and locked it. "If you remember our summer together, I'm sure you'll know what I'm talking about."
"You want to do it in your office?" he asked, a little shaken. "Ms Ryan, I have a class in ten minutes."
"Good, well, this will only take five," she said, her tone demanding. "Knowing you young guys, this won't take long at all. Unlike my husband, who can hardly get it up anymore."
She began to unbutton her blouse, as she pushed him towards her desk.
"Don't worry, Mikey, I won't tell anybody," she whispered huskily.
***
"It continued from there," Mike explained to Connie. "Every assignment, term paper, report I had trouble with, she helped me... with a price."
"She's a predator, Mike, no matter how many times it happened," Connie retorted. "She took advantage of you."
Mike finished his drink.
"Well I think I had better call it a night," he slurred, as he got out of his chair.
Connie noticed he was swaying a little, struggling to keep his balance.
She rushed towards him, taking his arm in hers. "Come on, let's get you home. I'll call you a cab."
***
Mike woke the next morning in his bed, and not in Emily Ryan's bed, thankfully. He figured she could weevil herself into any situation with him, despite the wool finally being removed from his eyes after she exposed him to his superiors.
His head was spinning, and his mouth was dry. He had one hell of a hangover.
He sat up, the light from outside his window hurting his eyes. He reached for his blackberry in his jacket pocket, which was thrown on the chair beside the nightstand.
He punched a number into his blackberry, doing what he should have done a long time ago. He waited until the phone picked up, and heard a recorded message.
"Hi, you've reached Lydia Cutter. I'm sorry I can't take your call right now, but leave a message and I'll get back to you."
He sighed exasperated, though he wasn't surprised.
"Hi, Mom, it's Michael. I know we haven't spoken in a while, but I thought we had better talk. I'd like to see you some time."
He hung up his phone, and placed it back in his jacket pocket. He got out of bed and made his way to bathroom, ready to embrace what the day saw ahead.
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