Title: Come Again To Carthage
Summary: After the events of "Ghosts" Jack McCoy and Regan Markham face a case with legal and ethical challenges. The small town of Carthage, NY, may hold answers to professional and personal challenges.
Rating: T for coarse language and suggestive themes.
Disclaimer: I do not own "Law and Order", nor any of the characters therein. I am making no profit from this.
Characters: Jack McCoy, Arthur Branch, OFC, OMC and extras.
A/N: This story follows "Ghosts" and is another instalment in the same series.
I am not NY native or indeed an American, as my woefully inadequate knowledge of NY geography and the American legal system makes perfectly clear! I do, however, love Law and Order. Down here in Oz, we get the episodes years late and often out of order, which has led to my long-standing confusion between who is in the show when and why and how old they are. My fannish imagination therefore has its own chronology, which differs from the show's canon in only three substantial ways: Lennie Briscoe didn't retire; Jack McCoy was snap-frozen ten years ago (since that's the age he is in the reruns that are all our free-to-air channels see fit to give us) ; and my series kicks off at the beginning of series seventeen, so it is substantially AU to everything from then on.
The title is a quote from "The Merchant of Venice" – the quote and the play don't relate to the story, except that the town of Carthage, NY features. The chapter titles are each lines from songs by the Cowboy Junkies. The songs themselves don't relate to the chapters.
He's Not Noticing That I'm Drowning
Office of District Attorney Arthur Branch
10th Floor
One Hogan Place
5.50 pm Thursday 30th November 2006
"And are you going to get a conviction on Murray?" Arthur Branch asked.
"It's still line ball," Jack McCoy answered. "We've got the continuance we needed, so that's something."
"Good. And McMillan?"
McCoy shrugged. " Adler is trying some kind of Twinkie defence. I don't know if Jamie Ross will let it into the courtroom but it looks likely."
"Don't let that trial turn into a battle of the experts," Branch warned. "Those boys committed a horrible crime and the public want them to be punished, not treated."
"I want them punished too, Arthur," McCoy said. "It was a horrendous crime. But once Jamie granted Adler's motion to sever we had no choice – and the evidence against McMillan is a lot weaker than the evidence against Braxton and Lewis."
"How is it weaker?" Branch demanded. "All three of them broke into Miss Yates's house. All three of them forced themselves on her. All three of them were there when she died."
" Adler is arguing that McMillan was just following the lead set by Braxton and Lewis," McCoy said.
"Well, did he try to stop them?" Branch asked.
"I'm not arguing, Arthur, I'm just telling you where the defence is going," McCoy said, voice rising. " Skoda has seen McMillan. He says that McMillan is of low intelligence and he has a history of drug use. In layman's terms, he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer."
"Neither the intoxication defence nor the stupidity defence is accepted in New York," Branch said.
" Adler's trying for jury nullification," McCoy said.
"Well, don't let him get it! What do I pay you for, Jack?"
"Message received and understood," McCoy said.
"Good. So, tell me, how's Markham?"
"Back at work. Black and blue." McCoy said.
"She holding up okay?"
"How do you mean?" McCoy asked.
"A madman beat her, tied her up and nearly killed her," Branch said. "Some people spend the rest of their lives locked in their bedrooms after that kind of experience. That's how I mean."
" Regan Markham isn't locked in her bedroom," McCoy assured his boss. "She's prepping a witness in conference room four."
"If she comes unglued in the middle of the McMillan trial …" Branch said.
"She's not going to come unglued, Arthur," McCoy said.
"Regardless," Branch said. "I still expect you to win, Jack. I need a result on this one."
McCoy nodded and stood up, accepting his dismissal. Need a result … Branch had done enough press after Louise Yates's body had been found to tie his personal credibility to the convictions he was now demanding McCoy secure. Less than the maximum, and Arthur will lose quite a bit of political skin.
Back in his own office, he picked up his phone. "Regan, can you come in here for a minute? With the McMillan file?"
He'd dismissed Branch's concerns. Regan was doing fine. When she appeared at his office door, McCoy told himself that again. Regan is doing fine.
She looked a long way from fine. Her bruises had begun to turn green in places and the abrasions on her face were heavily scabbed. It's nothing permanent. She's on the mend. She's doing fine.
"Where are we on McMillan?" he asked her.
"Same as we were yesterday," Regan said. She sat down in his visitor's chair without waiting to be asked. "Did you speak to Skoda?"
"No."
"You should," Regan said. "He's not about to sign off on Adler's argument, but he sounded a little cautious nonetheless."
"Cautious?" McCoy asked. "About what?"
She shrugged. "About whether McMillan's guilt is the same as Braxton and Lewis."
"That doesn't sound like Skoda." McCoy leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands.
"How about 'The question isn't just how dumb you need to be to know that rape and murder are wrong, it's also how smart you need to be to work out a way to escape two meth-cranked psychopaths.'"
McCoy grinned. "That does sound like Skoda."
"Talk to him," Regan said.
" Arthur wants McMillan to go away for the same time as the other two," McCoy said. "He won't be happy with anything that undermines that."
"You sent Skoda to see him," Regan said. "If we don't call him, Adler will. He scares me a little, Jack."
"He's no fool," McCoy said. "He takes cases where the issue interests him – where he gets the chance to set a precedent. High risk, high reward. He's smart, he's good in the courtroom." McCoy paused, and then grinned at Regan. "I'm better. Don't worry about Adler."
"Is it okay with you if I ignore you on that?" Regan said.
"I'll talk to Skoda tomorrow. Can you ask – "
" Colleen to set it up? Yeah. Anything else?" Regan asked.
"What else do you have on your plate this week?"
"Not a lot," Regan said. "And I appreciate you keeping my desk clear, but I can take on more if you need."
"We'll talk about that on Monday," McCoy said. "Sit in on Skoda tomorrow."
"No problem," Regan said, and got up.
McCoy studied her. She holding up okay? It occurred to him that he really had no idea. "You got dinner plans?" he asked her.
"Yeah," Regan said. "Actually. Rigallino's. Do you need me to stay?"
"No," McCoy said. "No, not at all. Go. Enjoy your – date?"
"Thanks," Regan said with a smile. "I will."
.oOo.
Regan spent a good fifteen minutes in the Ladies trying to make her bruises and grazes look better with concealer and foundation. Eventually she gave it up as a lost cause, but the effort made her late enough to the restaurant that Ben Strickland was already seated when she got there.
He jumped up and held her chair for her, which made Regan feel like she was in an old movie – a feeling she didn't mind at all.
She was less thrilled about the amount of time Strickland seemed to feel necessary to spend exclaiming over her injuries. Regan told him that yes, her face was still sore, but it was mending, she let him run his fingers over the rope burns on her wrist. She gave him the bullet points on what had happened when he asked but when he pressed for details she shook her head.
"I don't really want to talk about it, Ben," she said. "I don't want to – to dwell on what happened."
"You know, you shouldn't bottle it up," Strickland said. "That stuff – you gotta deal with it."
"I'm dealing with it," Regan said. It came out too sharply. She smiled at Strickland and repeated more softly: "I am dealing with it."
"Because, you know, I've seen a lot of things, in five years in Narcotics," Strickland said. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here for you."
"Sure," Regan said. "Good to know."
"It must have been terrifying for you, to wake up and find you were so helpless."
"Yeah," Regan said. She took a gulp of wine and then pushed her plate a little away. "You know, I'm kinda less hungry than I thought."
"You need to keep your strength up," Strickland said.
"Sure," Regan said. She picked up her fork again. Another fifteen minutes toying with her pasta saw Strickland finish his own meal, and then Regan gave him an apologetic smile. "You know, Ben, I'm really tired."
"Of course," he said. "Of course you are. You're still recovering. Come on, I'll take you home."
Out on the sidewalk Regan looked around for a cab. None was in sight. She hunched her shoulders against the cold and Strickland put his arm around her shoulders.
"Let's walk up the block," he said. "Might have more luck."
"Sure," Regan said. Strickland's arm around her shoulders was warm and reassuring, and she began to feel better. "Hey, look – McMurty's. Wanna get a drink?"
McMurty's was warm after the cold of the street and crowded this early in the evening. Regan took off her coat while Strickland went to the bar.
Although she'd wanted a drink when she'd spotted the bar sign, the first sip of tequila turned Regan's stomach. She pushed the glass away and saw Strickland look at her with concern. Before he could say anything she grabbed his hand.
"Wanna dance?" she asked.
The music was jazz, which Regan didn't usually like but which was suitable to this kind of classy establishment. She and Strickland weren't the only couple dancing, but in Regan's opinion Ben Strickland certainly the best looking and the best dancer of all the guys there. He pulled her close and Regan put her arms around his neck and let him lead. As they swayed slowly to the music she let herself forget how awkward she'd felt over dinner. Strickland's fingers rubbed a small circle on her hip and Regan sighed and put her head down on his shoulder. She'd known when Strickland had called her just what his agenda would be – and she hadn't been entirely sure she shared it. He'd asked her out and she'd accepted almost as a challenge to herself. Don't screw up maybe a good thing. Don't be an idiot. Time to get over your hang-ups, long past time.
Here in Strickland's arms, Regan thought she might just share Strickland's agenda. His hand moved lower, his other hand running up and down her spine. Regan ran her fingers through the close-cropped hair at the nape of his neck and leaned into him.
After a few more moments Regan realised Strickland had steered them to the edge of the tiny dance floor, into the shadows behind the jukebox. He moved her up against the wall and put his fingers under her chin to tilt her head for a kiss. Regan let him, let him open her lips with his tongue and explore her mouth. She tried not to compare his touch to Robbie's. That's unfair. Strickland didn't know her very well. He was doing a pretty good job, considering. Mmmm…
Then she felt his fingers tug her shirt free from her waistband and creep beneath it. His fingers brushed her skin and Regan felt as if somebody had yanked on the handbrake while she was doing a hundred miles an hour.
"Hang on," she said, or tried to with Strickland kissing her. She pushed at his shoulders and turned her face away.
"What's the matter?" Strickland asked. His hand was still warm on her waist. Regan was excruciatingly aware that if he moved it an inch in either direction he'd find scar tissue and the possibility struck her with panic. Regan tried to move him away from her without pushing him too hard. Strickland didn't take the hint. He leaned close to her, lips brushing her cheek, and whispered: "It's okay, honey, we don't have to go – "
"I know, I – just – " Regan didn't want to be rude to him. You can't say I didn't lead him on. "I'm sorry – just – " She managed to get her arms in between them but didn't want to just shove him. Another few seconds and she wouldn't be able to help herself. Stop it, stop it, stop it! she thought, not sure if she meant it for Strickland or herself. Stop, stop, stop.
"I thought you were enjoying yourself," Strickland said.
"Yes – I – just – " Regan couldn't get enough breath to explain herself.
Suddenly a hand landed on Strickland's shoulder and dragged him backwards. Regan blinked and gasped and saw –
God help me Jack McCoy
– pushing Strickland away from her. Strickland caught his balance and McCoy put a hand on his chest before he could step forward. "Learn to take no for an answer," McCoy said harshly.
" Jack, it's okay," Regan said, her pounding pulse slowing a little. McCoy didn't let go of Strickland and he didn't look away from the younger man either. Regan took a step forward, meaning to get in between them but her knees were trembling and she had to brace herself with her hand on the wall. " Jack – "
"It'll be okay when Romeo here heads for home," McCoy said.
"Mr McCoy, with all due respect – " Strickland said.
"A little late for due respect," McCoy said tightly. Strickland tried to take a step forward and McCoy tightened his grip on Strickland's jacket. "Walk away, Mr Strickland."
"It's Detective," Strickland said, but he took a step backwards as he said it. "Detective Strickland."
"For the moment," McCoy said, and neither Regan nor Strickland could miss the threat.
" Jack!" Regan cried.
Strickland put his hands up in surrender. "I'm going. I'm going."
McCoy watched him all the way to the door and then turned to Regan. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm okay," she snapped. "I was okay before your attack of misplaced chivalry and I'm still okay." She took a step towards the table where she'd left her coat and purse and realised how shaky her knees still were.
McCoy steadied her. "Yeah, you're completely okay," he said.
Regan pulled her arm free. "Excuse me." She turned away from him and headed into the Ladies.
Splashing water on her face made her feel better although it was the final death blow to her efforts to disguise the marks Edward Walters had left on her face. Regan studied herself in the mirror for a moment. The harsh fluorescent lighting didn't do her any favours. It was a minor miracle that Strickland asked me out in the first place. She didn't have any illusions there'd be a repeat. No doubt she'd given him the impression she was some kind of neurotic mess. And god knows what impression Jack McCoy's given him.
Regan sighed. She tucked in her shirt and made a futile effort to smooth down her hair. She'd neatened it up after the ER nurses had cut Walters's electrical tape out of it but it was still a disaster. Matches my face. And my romantic future.
When she left the washroom she nearly walked straight into Jack McCoy leaning against the wall.
"You're stalking me now?" she asked.
"Not up until five minutes ago," McCoy said. "This is my local, remember?"
"Yeah," Regan said, realising that she had remembered when she'd seen the sign. "Sorry." She pushed past him and started towards her table to get her coat and purse.
"Hey," McCoy said, and when Regan turned he held her coat and bag out towards her.
"Thanks," Regan said.
"You're welcome," McCoy said a little acerbically.
"What, you also want thanks for saddling up your white horse when I'm making out with my boyfriend?" Regan snapped.
"If it'd looked like you were making out with your boyfriend I would have left the white horse in the stable," McCoy shot back.
Regan shook her head. "I appreciate the concern but it's none of your business." She started pulling on her coat, winced as the movement pulled at sore muscles in her side and tried again.
McCoy grabbed the coat from her hands and held it for her. "For chrissakes, Regan, you and I both know that 'no means no' is everybody's business."
"That's not what happened," Regan said. She would have liked to have stormed out but she had to let McCoy help her on with her coat. The minute her arms were in the sleeves she pulled away. "That's not what happened."
"So what happened?" McCoy asked. Regan started for the door, buttoning her coat, and McCoy followed her. "Because you didn't look like you were having a good time there."
When she realised McCoy had followed her out to the street, pulling on his own coat, Regan knew she was going to have to do more than evade his questions. "Look, I – "
I can't possibly tell him.
"Look," she started again, holding his gaze to make him believe she was being entirely honest. "I just – for a minute I felt like it was – Edward Walters touching me. I freaked out. It wasn't Ben's fault. It was mine. Okay?" She saw a cab up the street and held up her hand to flag it down.
McCoy opened the cab door for her, and when she'd gotten in he held it open and leaned down. "There's two things wrong with that story."
"Lady," the cabbie said. "Do you want to go somewhere?"
"She will in a minute," McCoy told him.
"Close the door and I will now," Regan said.
"Two things," McCoy said. "First of all, I counted to twenty five before I put my drink down. I don't care what the hell was going through your mind, that's at least ten seconds longer than 'your boyfriend' should have been trying to change it."
"And the second thing?" Regan asked.
"Don't lie to me," he snapped. "I'll always know. And it pisses me off!"
He slammed the cab door on her and slapped the roof. The driver took off before Regan could frame a response.
.oOo.