Note: It's been three years since I last updated, and I couldn't be more excited to be writing again! I won't be updating Falling anymore, considering how shitty my writing was back then. I won't be deleting it, but I will be starting over with this story. Premise is similar to Falling, and post-Rubber Room, starting right after Van Buren's fundraiser.
Maybe it was because Jim Benson was behind bars. Maybe it was because Anita was engaged, maybe it was even the alcohol, but Connie hadn't been able to stop smiling all night.
She had a few more drinks than she should have, which was uncharacteristic of her. But there was reason to celebrate, and she spent the night nursing a Scotch and laughing along to Lupo's stories about shenanigans at the precinct, and his retelling of the Benson case.
Connie stumbled a little as she walked out of the bar and onto the sidewalk in search of a cab. She squinted at her watch. It was almost midnight, and there wasn't a cab in sight.
"Connie!" It was Lupo, coming out of the bar.
She turned around, a little surprised. "Leaving too?"
"Yeah, but you forgot your jacket." He handed over her black pea-coat.
She laughed as she slipped it over her shoulders. "Can you tell I've had a crazy night?"
He chuckled and gestured to the empty street. "You waiting for a cab?"
"If I can get one," she sighed.
Right on cue, a taxi came driving past them. Lupo whistled, but the car didn't stop. He sighed and turned to face her. "You know what, I'll drive you home."
"There's really no need," Connie said, waving a hand. "I can wait for the next one."
"No offense, Connie, but I don't think you should be waiting by yourself out here. It's getting pretty late."
He was nice about the fact that she was obviously tipsy. Connie relented. "All right. I owe you."
They walked down the street to his car and he started the engine, the headlights suddenly flashing. As Lupo fastened his seatbelt, he said, "You know, Lieu didn't even want us to throw his party for her in the first place."
"What made her come around?" Connie asked.
"I don't know," he smiled, "but I'm glad I'm not in trouble."
"I can see it already – Cyrus Lupo, the best party planner in the 27."
It was a stupid joke, but Lupo smiled anyway. Connie laughed, massaging her temple. "I think maybe I've had a little too much to drink," she admitted.
"Hey, we've all been there."
"The story about Bernard and the coffee – " Connie trailed off, laughing.
"Mike didn't seem as amused," Lupo smiled.
"Oh, Mike needs to work on his sense of humor," Connie sighed.
There was a long silence as Lupo continued on his way to Connie's apartment building. He made a left turn and slowed down as a few pedestrians made their way across the street. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he turned to Connie.
"Is something going on between…"
Connie raised an eyebrow.
He gave her a knowing look. She scoffed, pressing her face against the cold glass of the window.
"Of course not."
Lupo wished he hadn't asked. Thankfully, Connie's apartment building came into view, and he pulled over.
"Thanks for the ride," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. She wasn't looking at him anymore.
Instinctively, he reached for her arm. "Connie…" he said.
She gave him a look he couldn't quite read.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to bring that up."
She continued staring at him, unmoving. Lupo didn't look away. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, and he was suddenly aware that everything seemed very still. Her breath smelled like whiskey and a strand of her hair was slightly out of place and he was beginning to realize that she had never looked at him like this before.
He didn't know who made the first move, but suddenly, they kissed – briefly, almost accidentally. Connie pulled away, her breath still. Then he closed the gap between them, kissing sliding his hand through her hair. She pressed her hand to his chest, reaching up to run her thumb over his smooth jaw.
Connie drew back, inhaling deeply. She opened the passenger door, fumbling a little, stepped out, and hurried into her apartment building, without so much as a word.
The case seemed simple at first. Cassandra Walsh, a 22-year-old university student, was found behind a dumpster, shot and beaten to death. Her bloody scarf was found in Darren Scott's apartment. Scott had been her boyfriend for nearly two years, but the detectives heard from witnesses that the couple had been fighting the night she died. Lupo and Bernard cuffed the boyfriend, and Mike and Connie diligently prepped for trial, expecting to win. Then, the day before trial began, Cassandra's best friend, Anna O'Connor, came forward with the murder weapon and a full confession. Mike and Connie were still convinced that Scott was guilty, but the jury couldn't agree on a verdict and the judge eventually declared a mistrial.
Now, as the courtroom emptied, Mike muttered under his breath, "I know they're plotting something together."
"I guess we're just going to have to find out," Connie said with a sigh as she shuffled her papers into her briefcase.
They were both silent as they left the courtroom and walked into the elevator. Mike furrowed his brow, checking his watch as the doors dinged shut. Connie could tell he was disappointed – their last few cases at trial had ended up in a string of acquittals and 'not guilty' verdicts. The countless late nights spent at the office, studying police reports, rehashing minor details, prepping for opening and closing statements, seemed to have gone to waste now.
They were in Mike's office for all of five minutes before the defense attorney, Michelle Kates stepped in. Despite her petite frame and blonde pixie cut, her loud, raspy voice and impressive shoulder pads gave her the appearance of height.
"I'm not going to waste your time here," she said. "And I don't think you should waste it either. A retrial won't give you the results you want, Mike."
"I won't take a plea, if that's what you're offering," Mike said.
"Oh, come on," Michelle laughed. "You can't always win."
Mike shook his head. "No deal."
There was some back and forth until Michelle gave up and left, clucking her tongue. Moments later, Jack opened his office door. "Did I just hear what I think I heard?"
"We turned down Kates' plea," Connie said. "We think the boyfriend and the best friend are in it together."
Mike shrugged in agreement.
Jack studied them closely, lowering his glasses. "You know Kates is right," he said.
"Jack, just give us some more time to find out what really happened," Mike said.
Jack sighed. "Why do I feel like we've had this conversation before?"
"We'll be in here all night," Connie said, "starting from scratch. Jack, you know we'll figure this out."
"Ganging up on me, now, aren't we?" Jack scoffed. "Fine. I trust you both to clean up this mess. If not, take the plea. Let the next one be a winner."
With that, he shut his office door. Mike and Connie shared a look.
"Thanks for sticking up for me," Mike remarked. "Let's just say, he's been frustrated with my conviction rate, lately."
"You mean our conviction rate?"
Mike chuckled. It was moments like these that he really appreciated Connie, moments like these when he wondered if he had a chance. That familiar old thought flickered through his mind, but, as usual, he pushed it out.
"I guess we'll be here for a few hours," he said, reaching into his desk drawer for the takeout menus. "Italian or Chinese?"
They were still working hours after Jack left, even after the rest of the office had cleared out. Finally, Mike checked his watch and yawned. "I need a drink," he said.
Connie looked up, surprised. Mike met her gaze.
"Coffee isn't going to cut it for me tonight," he said.
Their favorite bar was only a block away, so they walked, navigating through the noisy New York traffic.
It began to rain. Connie had her umbrella in her purse, and they huddled under it as they waited to cross the street. She caught a whiff of Mike's cologne and it made her uneasy, but another part of her appreciated the familiar smell.
They entered the bar and took a seat at a booth in the back. They ordered two Scotches on the rocks and began going over case details for the millionth time.
"I just know Darren and Anna conspired something," Mike muttered. "We just have to find a way to prove it."
"Think they were lovers?" Connie asked, raising an eyebrow.
"They had to be," Mike said. "That's what always happens – the best friend is secretly seeing the boyfriend. It's the ultimate act of betrayal."
"We don't know that," Connie murmured. "They went to the same school, but she's studying English and he's majoring in Computer Engineering. They don't have any of the same classes. There's no evidence they ever even crossed paths."
Eventually, it became clear they were just going in circles. Without any proof, it was all just speculation. Once their drinks arrived, Mike changed the subject.
"We can't do any more work at this point," he said, and took a sip of Scotch. "Tomorrow morning we'll go back to Cassandra's parents."
Connie sighed and bit her lip. Mike looked up, his brow furrowed.
"The more often we lose, the more I wonder if it's worth it," she said, staring into her drink. "If any of it is worth it."
"We all get disillusioned at some point," Mike said. "It's part of the job description."
She smiled in spite of herself. "You think that after three years, I'd get used to it."
To her surprise, Mike reached out and patted her arm. "I know I say this every time, but we're going to win this one, Connie. You're on my team, aren't you?"
She smiled and put her hand over his, instinctively, briefly. His hand was cold but smooth, and the movement felt almost natural to her.
Then, as if realizing what she was doing, Connie pulled away. Mike dropped his hand to his waist and cleared his throat.
"You're not thinking of leaving again, are you?"
She chuckled. "No. I think I've become too ingrained here to leave. Or maybe I'm just getting too attached."
"Counselors?" It was Bernard, with Lupo trailing behind him.
Connie felt herself stiffen at the sight of Lupo, and the memory of the other night came rushing back. She was flooded with guilt at the realization that she'd run out of his car without so much as an explanation. The truth was, she had never done anything so reckless before. Getting drunk at a work function, kissing a colleague – thinking back, it felt as if it had happened to someone else.
Since that night, she had been doing her best to forget it and act as normally as possible. And although she still didn't know what had come over her, but a tiny part of her didn't regret the kiss at all.
Connie wondered what the hell was going on. She hadn't been acting like herself lately. She made a mental promise to herself to regain control of her life. There would be no more hand-holding and make-out sessions with her co-workers – it was time to start acting like an adult.
"I'm guessing you two haven't had an easy night, either," Mike remarked. "Care to join us?"
Lupo and Bernard ordered beers, and sat down at the booth. Lupo's thigh brushed up against Connie's. Neither of them looked at each other.
As usual, the topic of conversation turned to work. The detectives had discovered a body earlier that day, a middle-aged woman who was stabbed to death in an alleyway. They had yet to identify her, but since the killer had left behind her credit cards and cash, it was starting to look like a plain old revenge killing.
Mike pretended to listen as he stared into his drink. Although he and Connie had agreed to stop talking about the Walsh case, his mind was still racing – he knew there was a large piece of the puzzle missing, something too important to miss.
Mike glanced up at Connie. As much as work was tiring him out, he almost didn't mind the mountainous piles of paperwork, the greasy takeout boxes from Chef Ho, the late-night bar hops. In a way, he looked forward to them, to it just being the two of them in his office – slaving over files, sharing dipping sauce for eggrolls, dissecting case details into the dead of the night.
He grimaced as he thought back to twenty minutes ago, when he'd touched Connie's arm. It wasn't as if Mike had never touched her before – there had always been friendly pats on the shoulder, elbow nudges, the occasional accidental brushing of their fingers. This time felt different, however – more affectionate, more intimate. This time, she had reciprocated.
Suddenly, Lupo stood up. "I'm going to get another beer," he said.
Connie saw her chance. She slid out the booth. "Me too."
They headed to the bar together. Connie reached for her purse, but Lupo laid a hand on her arm. "It's on me," he said, pulling a few bills out of his wallet. "It's the least I could do."
"Thanks," she murmured. "Cyrus, about the other night…"
"I'm sorry," he said, suddenly looking solemn. "It was completely unprofessional."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "You know, I'm sorry too."
He paused and cast his eyes down, smirking a little. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it before, though."
"Cyrus." Her eyes widened a little.
"I know, I know," he said with a smile. "Are we still friends?"
Connie couldn't help but return the smile.