Danielle Melnick closed the book she was reading, finger between the pages to keep her place. Reasonable foreseeability applies exactly as in private negligence. she recited silently This is established in Wilson versus the State of Texas and others, which –

A clipboard appeared in front of her, derailing her train of thought, and a voice said, "I'd like you to sign this, please."

The voice, low and flexible, was familiar from her Criminal Law class. Jack McCoy. Always sat at the back of the class, just as Danielle herself always sat at the front. Smart, that was a given for everyone who'd gotten into New York University Law School, but a little too full-of-himself. Tall, dark, and very well-aware of how good-looking he is.

Danielle took the clipboard and looked up at him, having to admit that he was very good-looking indeed. Since she was sitting down, she had to look even further up that the difference in their respective heights usually dictated. It also gave McCoy the perfect vantage point to look down the front of her blouse, and she gave him points for the fact that his gaze stayed steady on her face.

She patted the bench beside her. "Have some manners, Jack, and stop giving me a crick in my neck. What's this you want me to sign?"

He sat. "A petition. To get Professor Patricks fired."

She scanned it. We, the undersigned, being students in Professor Patricks' classes, do apply … The ruled lines for signatures was blank, except for McCoy's own name. "I see it's a popular one."

"You're the first person I've asked," McCoy said.

"I'm flattered." She came to the meat of the complaint. Did, on March 3, in front of the students of his second year Criminal Law class, state that prosecutors must be careful not to bring charges of assault if they cannot satisfy themselves it isn't 'just a domestic'. This distinction is incorrect in law, and demonstrates an attitude which falls far short of the expectations of professors of this esteemed institution.

McCoy offered her a pen. "If you sign it, Barbara and Jenny and Ron McClosky will too."

Danielle took it, and tapped it against the page. "Barbara and Jenny will. I don't know about Ron McClosky."

McCoy grinned at her. "He follows you around like a puppy. He'll sign."

"Who else?"

He shrugged. "I can get Louise, Bobbi, and Anne-Marie."

"Of course you can," Danielle said dryly. Each of those young women had arrived for one or more classes on the back of Jack McCoy's motorcycle this year. "How about Tony Fraser? Can you persuade him? If he signs, half the jocks in our year will be knocking each other over to get their names down."

"I can try," McCoy said.

"You need more men on the list, Jack," Danielle said. "If it's just the angry feminists and their friends, the university will ignore it." She tapped the pen against the page again. "Tony's going out with that blonde nursing student, isn't he? The one with the curls?"

"I think they're more staying in than going out," McCoy said dryly. "At least according to Tony."

Danielle snorted. "Men. Anyway, she's final year, I think. So she'll have done her rotation through a local E.R. She'll have seen a few broken noses and black eyes, I'd expect. Why don't you talk to her and ask her to ask Tony to sign?"

He nodded. "And you?"

"Of course." She scrawled her name and address and signed with a flourish. "The last thing women need is the next generation of A. learning to ignore battered women." She offered the clipboard back to him with a smile. "Enough is enough."

McCoy nodded, face grave. "Enough is enough," he said. "Thanks, Danielle." He paused. "Do people call you Danielle? Or Dani?"

She frowned. "Do I look like a Dani to you?"

He studied her a moment, head cocked to one side, and then gave her a grin with what she was certain was carefully practiced charm. "You do, actually," he said. "Dani."