Author's Note: My first attempt at writing anything Law & Order related, so... yes. Take that how you will. Anyway, I decided to write a tag to By Perjury because I totally have a fangirl crush on Lupo and Cutter and want them to not fight—unless it's over me. (Yes, I am that nerdy. But I loved the pair of them in that hotel room in Knock Off, like whoa. Shh.) Anyway, yes. Un-beta'd, so apologies for any errors (grammatical or otherwise). Cheers all!
Disclaimer: Characters mentioned are used without permission and are trademarks of NBC/Dick Wolf. I do not own them and am simply borrowing for my purposes. Please don't sue.
all's well (that ends well)
by, Caliente
"Those who would mend the world must first mend themselves." – William Penn
It'd all happened so fast. One second Michael Cutter was facing down a distraught Winston and the next he was caught with his pants down (far too literal-like) looking down the barrel of a gun. His last coherent thought had been an ironic (and slightly crass) one about dying with his dick out and what the headline might say. Not exactly a shining moment of eloquence for him.
Then everything just… happened. The shot was fired. Bernard and Lupo were there. (Or had that happened in the other way around?) Winston was staring shocked at him. Bernard was slapping cuffs on his would-be murderer. Lupo was dragging him out of there and speaking to him, though later Cutter wouldn't be able to recall his words. Somehow he remembered to zip himself up again.
It was like he'd blinked, and then he was standing in the hallway of the courthouse with Lupo. "Counselor? Counselor." Lupo had a somewhat concerned look on his face. "Are you all right?"
Cutter was distracted by the uniformed policemen rushing toward them—and the bathroom. (The bathroom? Seriously? Had that just happened? It was like a bad dream.) He managed to finally snap out of it (somewhat) and focus his attention on the detective staring at him. "What? Yeah." Dubious was the word that best described Lupo's expression. "Or I will be."
That was apparently more convincing. Lupo gave his shoulder a pat and nodded. "All right, I'm going to have someone take you down to be checked out by the EMTs—just in case." Cutter didn't even have it in him to object just then. "We can get your statement later."
"Thank you." Cutter meant it and yet… the words sounded almost hollow to him. (He was still on autopilot.)
Nodding distractedly, Lupo signaled one uniformed men to join them.
Cutter thought about the words they'd exchanged not so long ago and suddenly it seemed important that he understood. He put a hand on Lupo's arm and the detective turned back to him. "I mean it; thank you, detective." This time the sincerity came through. "You and Bernard—you didn't have to take an interest. You didn't have to follow Winston." Didn't have to save his life.
Lupo had a look on his face like maybe he did understand, after all. "Of course, counselor; it's our job." He smiled slightly as the uniformed man joined them. "Besides, we're all on the same team, right?" Even though it was a question, it really wasn't.
Cutter nodded. (Under any other circumstances, he thought he'd probably smile back—at least a little.) "Yeah. We are." Then he let the man lead him away.
Later—much later, after the EMTs checked him out and Connie stopped fussing over-slash-scolding him and his statement was given and Winston was taken away in handcuffs and he'd been taken back to the DA's office—Cutter was sitting in his chair, throwing his baseball between his hands. He didn't bother looking at it; he'd begun the action mostly to keep his hands busy. His mind was elsewhere.
Connie knocked once on the door, then stuck her head in. "I thought you were going home," she chided, a small frown on her face.
"I am," he replied, looking at her. She gave him a Look complete with a solitary raised eyebrow and he shrugged. "I spend more time here than my apartment, anyway."
Rolling her eyes, she entered his office fully. "That is not a good reason for still being here. You need a drink, after today." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Actually, I think we both do. Come on, get your jacket. We're going."
There was no question there and Cutter didn't really consider not doing as she instructed. Mike knew he didn't have it in him to argue with a determined Consuela Rubirosa right then.
That was how Mike Cutter found himself sitting in a bar with his assistant staring at a beer. Connie nudged his shoulder and smiled. "Come on, we should be celebrating!"
Mike raised his brows as he looked at her. "I'm not sure how I should feel about that being your first inclination."
Connie laughed, shaking her head. "And they say you have no sense of humor." Mike was poised to ask who they were when something behind him caught her attention. "Oh good, they're here." She waved her hand and he looked over his shoulder.
There, standing by the door, were Lupo and Bernard. Not quite what he'd been expecting.
He turned back to face Connie. (And didn't even have to ask the question; apparently his expression said it all.) "I thought we could buy them a drink as a thank you for their help today," she explained simply. What was more important was what she didn't say, though. Mike Cutter was smart enough to see this for what it was—an attempt to mend fences and put the past to bed.
They both stood to shake hands with the men as they joined them. "So, detectives, I believe I owe you a round—or two," Mike said by way of greeting, signaling the waitress simultaneously. "Maybe even drinks all night." There was something of a smile on his face and it was returned by Lupo.
There. Hatchet buried. All it'd taken was burying the man who'd humiliated him before nearly being shot by him. (See, he really was fine. Already making light of the day's events.) And, sure, mistakes had been made—plenty of them; more than a few of his own making. But when the end result was justice being served and a murderer finally being put behind bars? Well, Cutter didn't mind toasting to that.