BETAE'D BY MOMO015!

HI guys!

Closetklaine here. Since Glee had ended, I was looking for a new couple to ship (That doesn't mean that I'm not a klainer anymore! I will always be a klainer by heart), and COLIVER showed up. The sexual tension they have on 'How To Get Away With Murder' is so awesome. I just wish Ryan Murphy would have put those kind of CoLiver scenes as Klaine scenes. That would skyrockets Glee's rating. Hahaha.

Anyway, I would be starting a new fanfiction for this new ship, and I really hope you would like it. It is originally a storyline I made for Klaine, but since Glee had ended, I lost interest in continuing it. I actually published two chapters in my account entitled "Stories That I Can't Explain'. It was done too fast and the scenes were too confusing, one of the reasons I didn't continue writing 'T TAKE A PEEK THOUGH! IT WILL SPOIL YOU FOR UPCOMING EVENTS.

Please Read with Caution.

AN AU NO ONE ASKED.


"There are no accidents… there is only some purpose that we haven't yet understood."


"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" the examiner asked the witness.

"I swear," the witness replied and nervously looked around the court room as he sat down.

"Agent Fain," Annalise started as she approached the detective, "why did you decide to inspect my client's container?"

"Because my team was alerted to a discrepancy with the container's weight," the detective answered immediately, almost seems like he anticipated that particular question.

"So this gives you the right to search the container?" She asked sarcastically, her left eyebrows turned upward, provoking the man, who had just taken an oath to tell the truth, to lie.

"Objection, lack of foundation," the prosecutor countered.

"Overruled," the judge replied. "Answer the question," he instructed the witness.

"That's correct. It is within my right," Agent Fain said while he shook his head; an obvious sign that the witness was lying. Only Annalise and her associates noticed this kind of micro-expression, and knew immediately that the man had lied. It's not enough though to win this case; she needed to bring her star witness.

"What was the name of the employee who first decided to weigh the container?" She probed for more.

"Can't say I recall," Agent Fain responded with a nod. A negative statement, but his body language is stating differently; another micro-expression.

'Again with the lie,' Annalise thought to herself.

"His name is Pedro Hortua, and he left his job two days after the incident and disappeared without any forwarding address or information. And once the investigation started, no one could find him," she said with a smirk on her face; Waiting to prove the prosecutors wrong. "Now you all may think that, that was enough time to escape and disappear, but my client is innocent."

She heard the prosecutor snickered on her back; she turned to him and eyed him with contempt. "Thankfully, I did. Mr. Hortua?" She turned to the audience, and anticipated for her star witness to be already standing, but instead, she saw one of his interns, Connor Walsh, gasping and sweating in front of her.

Connor just shook his head, and Annalise knew what had happened.

"Ms. Keating, your witness please," the judge said with impatience.

"May we have a short recess?" Annalise pleaded instead of presenting her star witness.

The judge looked at her wrist watch before announcing, "We'll take a break for lunch," and struck the gavel.

The audience dispersed at once.

"What is happening?" Mr. Lombardo, mob boss and Keating's client, asked the associate attorney beside him. "I thought everything had already straightened out," he stated with terror.

"Just take a break, Mr. Lombardo. We'll handle it from here," Bonnie replied emotionlessly as she gathered their files from the table. She walked out from him, and went to the break room assigned to their team.

"What do you mean you lose Hortua?!" Annalise shrieked at Connor, the intern who was responsible for 'babysitting' their star witness.

"He said that he just want to take a leak, and…" he answered with embarrassment, not even finishing his own explanation, as he heard how pathetic his excuse was.

"A law student who was deceived by the oldest trick in the book," she humorlessly laughed at the irony. "You're in the wrong line of business, Mr. Walsh," she snickered. "Don't make me regret giving you that ring." She pointed at the Golden ring that Connor was wearing on his middle finger. All the students who Annalise chose had been given that emblem. It was customized for each batch that she handles.

All of them, except Bonnie and Frank—who were used to Keating's demeaning personality, cowered at the insult.

Annalise studied the four interns in front of her and sighed deeply. "This is pointless. I'll always have to clean up your mess," she took her bag from the seat and trudged forward the door. "I'll ask the judge to reschedule the trial next week. Bonnie, with me," she instructed, and the short-haired blonde obliged.

"Whoever finds the witness, gets the trophy," Annalise said finally as she slammed the door behind her in frustration, that one of her best interns would fall for such a childish trick; but like always, rewards make them work like dogs.


"What do you mean you're going to Michigan?!" Laurel exclaimed as she trespassed Connor's loft.

"Well, that was quick," Connor shouted from his bedroom. He just literally texted Laurel a minute ago that he will be going to Michigan, and she was already here.

"I was already in the neighborhood with your coffee," Laurel placed the two paper coffee cups on the kitchen counter, and went to the bedroom. "What are you doing?" she demanded when she saw Connor packing his clothes in a small luggage.

"I told you, I'm going to Michigan," he responded coolly.

"Seriously, Connor," Laurel said in annoyance, "Stop for a minute and tell me the why you are going to Michigan." She demanded.

Connor sighed deeply, "When I was talking with Hortua," he started but didn't stop packing his stuff, "…where's my toothbrush?" He mumbled to myself and went to the bathroom.

"Connor Walsh!" Laurel shrieked.

"Okay, okay," Connor raised both his arms, hands holding his toothbrush and toothpaste. "Stop shouting. I remembered Hortua telling me about his best man living in Michigan. He was working in the cargo industry before, just like Hortua was, but then he disappeared without any notice. He might know where Hortua is," he explained as he finally zipped his duffel bag.

"Connor, are you insane?" Laurel asked him incuriously. "Do you even know what you are getting into?"

"Don't be an idiot, L," he said as he carried the bag on his shoulder.

"You're the idiot here. You're dumb enough to mess with the mob!" She exclaimed when Connor ignored her completely. "This is not just the mob and the police. It's a mob war, and the police are just merely puppets being manipulated by the enemies of the Lombardo family!" Laurel started to think that Connor might have actually lost him mind from the work and stress of Annalise Keating. For Connor to go around and mess with a mob is one thing, but getting killed in the process is insane. Laurel didn't even know if Connor was thinking this through.

"It will be fine," Connor said once again; he rolled his eyes when he came face-to-face with Laurel, blocking him from the door. "Just let me go. I needed to do this."

"Is this because of that ridiculous trophy—"

"It's not about that!"

"—or because of what Annalise has said?" She asked, but she already knew what would be Connor's answer. "Con, you don't have to take her seriously. She just said that because she was mad—"

"True or not, I still have to find Hortua," he still pressed. "It was my fault, and I have to make this right."

"Just stop for a minute and stop thinking like Annalise' pet," she pleaded once more. "If you persist in finding this witness, there's no guarantee that nothing will happen to you, Connor."

Needless to say, Connor does not need a minute to think as he answered her immediately, "I'll be back," he said and kissed Laurel's forehead.


Connor carefully parked his rental car across the apartment building where Hortua's friend lived. He unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed his phone. He quickly texted Laurel that he arrived alive and safe in Michigan. He then put his phone back to his messenger bag, alongside with the files of the Lombardo case, and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, and began scratching his left thumb fingernail with his right thumb, a mannerism he always had whenever he feel extreme emotions.

"Fuck it," Connor said finally and went out from the car, crossed the street, climb the short stoned stairs and rang the intercom for apt 217.

*buzz*

"Who is it?" The man from the other line asked.

"Is Walter Hernandez there?" Connor asked in a firm yet polite tone.

There was a small pause before the man replied.

"Who's asking?" The man, Connor guessed to be Walter Hernandez, asked nervously.

"My name is Connor Walsh, I'm one of the lawyers who were working for your friend—Mr. Hortua's case. I was wondering—"

"I don't know a Hortua!" Hernandez exclaimed immediately.

"Mr. Hernandez, please," Connor begged. "You're the only connection that we have with Mr. Hortua, and we really need to look for him. His life might be in danger."

"Look, man," Walter sighed before continuing, "as much as I want to help, I really don't know where that bastard is."

And the intercom went dead.

"Walter! Walter!" Connor yelled, but Walter didn't reply. "Shit!" He paced around the limited space of the patio.

'Think Connor, think,' He thought to himself. He remembered one of the tricks that Frank, Annalise's associate, used when they're trying to get inside an apartment building before.

From the list of the registered apartment number, he looked for the nameplate that is not yet carved permanently. He then spotted a handwritten temporary nameplate inserted for apt 303 belonging to Mrs. Goodwin.

He buzzed it.

"Hi! Who's this?" A woman's sweet voice answered.

"Hi! Mrs. Goodwin. I'm Walter Hernandez from the apartment below you. I'm really sorry if I have not introduced myself properly when you moved in, but I forgot my keys inside my apartment. And I was hoping if you could buzz me in," Connor asked sweetly.

"Oh, sure darling." She replied and the front door open.

"Thank you, I'll bring you a basket of muffins later," he lied.

"Not a problem."

Connor barely heard the response of the woman since he was already running towards the staircase, foregoing the use of the elevator.

"211… 212… 215… Here it is, apartment 217," he said to no one, trying very hard to calm himself down.

He knew that if he knocks, he will just be shut out, but this was a desperate time. He turned the knob of the door, thankfully it was open, so he doesn't have to break it down.

"Oh thank g**, you're already home, babe," a man—Connor suspected to be Walter—exclaimed in relief when he heard the door open. But his relief was short lived, when it was not his partner who he saw inside the apartment.

Walter who was wearing only a plain black shirt, and denim pants which was too long for his short legs, and might have the same height as Connor. He also has same facial hair as Connor, their chin and upper lip was covered with scruff.

"You're not Ian!" Walter exclaimed from across the hallway, clearly frightened at the man in front of him. He immediately grabbed the frying pan, carelessly resting on the kitchen counter. "Who are you? And what do you want?" Walter demanded ready to strike if the stranger was going to hurt him.

"Calm down," Connor told him, and carefully walked towards the hysteric man, "I'm Connor, You were talking to me earlier."

That statement alone made the other man drop the frying pan, and agitatedly took his cellphone from his pocket and dialed his husband's number again.

"Ian come on, come on babe. Pick up, pick up," Walter said in hysterics, ignoring the intruder in his apartment.

'This might have Laurel felt when I was ignoring her earlier,' Connor thought, letting the man finish his phone call first.

"Ian!" Walter shouted with relief, and Connor can't help but eavesdrop at the one-sided conversation.

"Where are you, babe?"

"Go home after you pick her up, okay?"

"We need to go."

"Y…Yes."

"I love you more."

Walter finally hung up the phone, and took the picture frames hanging around the apartment. One of which was a wedding picture of himself and another man, another photograph was of the same couple, but this time, Walter's husband was holding a baby girl on his arms. The last picture that Walter took was a Iantmas photo of their whole family, including their parents and siblings.

"What are you doing?" Connor wandered when he saw Walter packing lots of clothes; too many for a vacation, and you won't pack picture frames if you are just going on a trip.

"I'm doing what you should be doing," Walter said sarcastically, and continued packing their stuff.

"What?"

"You clearly don't know what you got into, boy," Walter sighed before turning to Connor. "Look man. I don't want any more trouble. I'm happy with my life now. I'm happily married to the most wonderful man, our daughter just turned three, and I don't want to mess things up because of my past. Pedro was a good person, and he was a good friend to me. But he just kept being involved with 'those' guys."

"Walter," Connor started. "I won't dig up your past, and I don't want you to be involved in this—"

"Too late," Walter interjected.

"—all I need is information where you think Hortua is. That's it. Then I'll leave, I won't ever bother you again," Connor pleaded, hoping that Walter will give him any kind of hint of Pedro's whereabouts.

"The truth is, I really don't know where he is, because if he is here, I'll kill him myself," Walter said, and Connor knew that this man was serious with the threat. "But I remembered that his ex-girlfriend lived in Columbia, Georgia… Gloria.. Gabriela… I forgot man, but that's the only place that I can think of."

"Thanks, that was really helpful," Connor said with sincerity, and raised his arms to initiate a handshake. The clue might have been vague, but at least it's not a dead end. He just needs to find Pedro's ex-lover.

"Sure," Walter shook his hand. "Good luck; you'll be needing lots of it."


*shutter*

*shutter*

*shutter*

"Yeah, I have my eyes on him," the man stated over the phone as he took pictures of the target.

"Good," a deep scruff voice replied. "Make it… accidental."

"Understood," the man who was taking pictures replied and hang up the phone. He continued taking pictures of his target.


"Hampton speaking," Oliver answered his cellphone in a rush. His hands were too busy repairing the old junk of a computer that a customer brought in earlier, so he used his wireless earphones to answer it.

"O-man!" Asher exclaimed from the other line, making Oliver cringed from the loudness of his best friend's voice.

"Asher, I'm working," he said immediately. Knowing full well his best friend antics, Asher will just ask him to hang out.

"Come on man, it's my big day."

"Your big day, it's a week from now, Ash" Oliver retorted. "Shit!" He cursed himself when he saw a spark from when the pliers touched the micro disk. 'That should not happen.'

"Come on man, it's been a long time since I haven't seen you," Asher reasoned out.

"You saw me this morning, and you lived next door. What are you talking about?" Oliver explained while fanning out the small fire on the dashboard.

"Oh come on man," Asher pouted, even if Oliver can't see it. "Don't kill my beat man. It's Friday, and we both deserve a night out.

"I'm working."

"I have something to tell you…"

"Why can't you tell me over the phone?"

"Because our phone call may be tapped," Asher stated like it was obvious.

"You are ridiculous, you know that? Fine. I could also use some time off," Oliver finally relented, recognizing the hint of seriousness on his friend's voice. "Let's meet at Scandals—"

"The gay club?"

"—It's not a gay club!" Oliver retorted. "I just have to fix something thereand I'll be finish in an hour. So let's meet by.. 9pm."

"Yes sir," Asher answered mockingly, mimicking the voice and accent of a soldier responding to his superiors.

Oliver smiled as he hang up the phone, he wondered for a second what was bothering his friend, but dismissed it immediately since he will know it later when they met. He then just concentrated in fixing the trash in his hands.


"For another $80. I'll change the speed to 50 mbps," Oliver negotiated with the manager of Scandals.

"That's a hard bargain," the manager, John, looked at Oliver who was on top of the steel ladder, repairing the bar's Wi-Fi, inconveniently located on the hanging stand in the center of the resto-bar.

"$60, and a Maker's Manhattan," Oliver stated, while separating the blue wires from the red. "Is that a deal?

"Deal," the manager finally agreed. He strode towards the bar and instructed the bartender to give the technician—Oliver—the service fee and the alcoholic drink once he was finished with the repair.

"I'll leave it here," John shouted to Oliver before going back to his office.

"Sure, thanks!" Oliver yelled back, and took him eight more minutes before he fixed it. He closed the lid of the modem, and carefully climbed down.

"O-man!" Asher shouted form the entrance, making Oliver be startled and slipped from the ladder.

Oliver was expecting for a hard concrete table top to cause him pain, but he only felt a warm body against his back and soft hands gripping his forearms.

"Be careful there," the man, who saved Oliver from embarrassment and extreme pain, said.

"Thank you," Oliver said sincerely, still clutching the tools to his chest. He stood up firmly, and turned around to say thank you again, but he was too mesmerized by the man's beauty. "Uh…gri...kyu."

"Excuse me?" the stranger, — the Greek god— as Oliver's mind supplied, said.

"Ahh... Uhmmm..." Oliver stuttered, hands fidgeting on the sides, his face has started to redden, and his heart started to pound in his chest. "Yeah… Uhmmm.. Okay."

The Greek god scrunched his nose, trying to figure out what the other guy was trying to say. "Are you alright?"

"Oliver!" Asher shouted from the other side of the room, and strutted forward his best friend and the stranger. "It's time to release the Kraken!" Asher exclaimed, tongue out as he humped the air, embarrassing his friend and the stranger.

"I'll just go," The Greek god excused himself, and left the bar.

"Oh my g** Asher! Stop it!" Oliver said, ashamed of his best friend's antics. He went to the bar, took a sit, and pocketed the service fee that the bartender gave him. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"Oh come on, you were totally drooling over that guy," Asher explained, and sat on the stool beside his friend. "I actually saved you from looking like you're having an epilepsy attack."

Asher then mocked him; with his left hand twisted weirdly in front of his face, the other slightly below his chest, and his head twisted to the left. "Uhh.. Uhmmm…. I'm Owiver and I wuv you," he said while his whole body was twitching.

"Stop it," Oliver said, obviously pissed at the imitation.

"Fine, I'm sorry man," Asher apologized sincerely. "Come on, we're here to have fun."

"No," Oliver started but not continuing until he took a sip of his drink, "we're here because you wanted to tell me something. So, what is it?"

"The thing is…" Asher started; he took a deep breath, and faced his best friend. "I… I have a…"

"You have a…?" Oliver persuaded him to continue.

"Ughhh. Fuck it!" Asher slammed his fist on the counter. "One Bourbon," he ordered.

"Hey, I thought you will be the designated driver tonight?" Oliver asked him, still in the right mind to be responsible for both of their lives.

"Just one drink," Asher pleaded. "I need liquid courage to say this."

"You change teams?" Oliver said with humor to lighten to the mood.

"Oliver…"

"Fine, but just one drink," Oliver warned him with his pointed finger. "If you order another one, then we'll have to grab a taxi instead."

"Fine," Asher relented and finished the whole glass of Bourbon with one gulp.

"So?"

"So what?" Asher asked.

"What do you want to tell me?" Oliver laughed at Asher.

"Oh! Oh…" Asher looked at his friend's face again, "I have… I'm…" He breathed deeply. "I'm in lo..love," Asher confessed lamely. Oliver knew that it wasn't what Asher wanted to tell him. Every time that Asher lies, he'll bit and chew his side lip, and that's what he was doing right now.

Oliver knew that his best friend was lying, he let it go though, he won't pry until Asher was ready to tell him. So instead, he just went along with the fake story.

"Is that the nurse you're always talking about?" Oliver asked him earnestly.

"Yes," Asher answered with a smile.

'It probably wasn't a lie though.' Oliver thought when he mentioned the nurse and Asher's face lit up.

"So when will I finally meet her?" Oliver asked. "And don't give me that crap that I cannot meet the girls you're 'casually' dating coz' you don't want them to think that you're serious with them. You are obviously serious with this Michaela, so it's time for me and her to meet," Oliver said in one breath.

"You'll see her at the reunion. She's my date."

"So you really are serious with her!" Oliver exclaimed, and nudged Asher's side with his elbow. "But you know I won't be going to that reunion."

"Come on, man, It'll just be one night."

"Do I really have to go?"

"Yes, it'll be nice to see our former classmates." Asher recalled his great high school experience.

"Well, easy for you to say. High school was great for you. Me, not so much," Oliver grumbled, not really excited about the upcoming high school reunion.

"At least, it was great in your senior year- you've met this awesome dude." Asher boasted himself.

"Yeah it was," Oliver admitted. High school was never the best part of his life. It was full of trash dunk, wedgie-pole, cold slushies and homophobic slurs. The only thing that came out good of his entire high school experience was when he met the transfer student Asher Millstone.

First day of senior year, and the football jocks have already locked him up in the portable potty. It was Asher who helped him from being trapped. Ever since then, they were inseparable. They treat each other like they are brothers.

"And don't you want to see your first boyfriend again?" Asher teased him.

"Ughhh…"

"Don't ya miss him?"

"If we're going to talk about him, I need more than this," Oliver jiggled the empty glass on his friend's face, "Scotch please, I need something harder."

"That's my man!" Asher exclaimed and orders a drink for himself. Needless to say, no one was allowed to drive the car back to their apartment building.

It was already 1 am when they stopped drinking, and it took them another hour to become sober again by drinking lots of water and coffee.

They just exited the bar, Asher assisting Oliver to sit on the passenger's seat, but Oliver was still trying to convince Asher to just take a cab instead of driving home.

"Let's just take a cab, Ash."

"No worries. I got you," Asher assured. "I'm a better drinker than you are."

It's true that Oliver has low alcohol tolerance, but it's not enough reason for them not to be responsible drinkers.

"I'm sober enough to drive, dude." Asher assured him, and buckled Oliver's seatbelts. Oliver was too tired to argue with him, so he just nodded his head.

Asher then walked around the car to sit on the driver's seat. He positioned himself, double checked the mirrors, before starting the car. As Asher backs up the car from the parking lot, he noticed the look on Oliver's face, a look that clearly says IM-SORRY-IM-GOING-TO-RUIN-YOUR-CAR-WITH-MY-VOMIT.

"No, no, no, " Asher exclaimed and took Oliver's bag and handed it to him. "In here, in here," Asher exclaimed, and accidentally stepped on the gas pedal instead of the breaks.

*bump* with the *Blaggh*

Asher stopped the car immediately, when he felt the bump at the back of the car. Even Oliver, with his alcohol-induced mind, noticed it too. They both looked at the back of the car for any other cars or light post that might have caused it, but unfortunately for them, there was none. This only means one thing...

"Did you just…?"

"Did I just..,?

They asked simultaneously, but not looking at one another. They just sat there for another second before they hurriedly exited the car and sprinted over the back.

"Please be a cat, please be cat," Asher repeated, but his wish was not granted as there was a man who was lying on the concrete; wounded and unconscious.

"Asher," Oliver gasped, "It's the Greek god."


Summary: I don't know who I am or where I am. But there's only one thing I'm sure of, I'm supposed to be irresistibly and irrevocably in love with Oliver Hampton. Amnesia AU!

STORY TITLE:

" IT WASN'T EXACTLY LEGAL " – It is Canon-Connor's line on Season 1 Episode 1 – Pilot. It was his dialogue when Annalise asked him how he got the secretary's personal email. Well, we all know how he got it and that's how we started this ship. J

Chapter Title:

"It's the Greek god" Is what Oliver used to describe Connor (extraordinary beauty and charisma) since he still don't know the latter's name.

Story Outline:

-Character Study: Connor and Oliver's personality

-Connor and Laurel's conversation about the ongoing case

-Connor flying to Michigan

-Subtle stalker shots

-Oliver's tech support business

-Hangout with Asher

-Missed Encounter

Scenes Included:

-Connor's habits and mannerism (sweet-hater)

Chapter Reference:

-The first court scene is taken from Season 1 Chapter 12 "She's a Murderer"

-The micro-expression is from the series "Light To Me" Watch it! It's a great series too.

-Michigan is where Canon-Connor previously lived, but in this fic, Connor never lived there. I just needed a place that will still be connected with the series.

-Mrs. Goodwin is Jynnifer Goodwin who played Snow White in Once Upon a Time. And yes I'm also a fan of that show.

-Scandals is the bar Kurt, Blaine, Sebastian and Dave frequently went to.

-Another easter egg is the slushies from Glee.

Correction:

Guys, this is my first time to write a law-based fanfiction, so I'm not really used to the terms. Google was no help, or I wasn;t looking hard enough. Anyway, please PM me or like put on the comment section if I make a mistake. Like for example, I know it should not be the 'cross examiner' who was holding the bible to the witness and asked those questions. So if you know what they are called, please tell me, Thank you, I will really appreciate it.

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