Chapter 1: First Impressions

I walk into the office of Crane, Poole, and Schmidt warily, because I've heard stories about this place. These stories have included a midget terrorizing people in the firm, a lawyer nicknamed "Hands" drawing a cake knife on a name partner, and lecherous male lawyers prowling the halls. But I've also heard that Crane, Poole, and Schmidt is the best law firm in Boston, which is why I've come here—I have no choice.

Right after stepping out of the elevator, I see the front desk under the large, bold letters declaring the firm's name, and I walk up to it. I'm greeted by a pretty, smiling woman sitting behind the desk, finely dressed and wearing a bluetooth headset. Her professional impression relaxes me slightly, though of course my nerves are already all wound up.

"How can I help you?" she asks in a friendly voice.

"Um, I'm in need of a good lawyer."

"Can you tell me a little bit about what your case is like so I can see who would be the best lawyer for you?"

Clutching my purse in front of me tightly, I swallow nervously. "Well, I…killed my ex-boyfriend."

Her eyes widen, and then she quickly tries to temper her reaction.

"It was in self-defense," I stammer. "But I'm being investigated, so…"

She blinks. "Well, I can refer you to two of our best lawyers, either Denny Crane or Alan Shore."

I look at the sign on the wall to remind me of the firm's name. "May I see Denny Crane, please?"

"Of course. I'll call him down here immediately."

I thank her and take a seat in one of the couches across the foyer as she dials a number. From where I'm sitting, I can hear her as she tells someone—presumably Denny Crane's assistant—that there's a woman here in need of a good lawyer. I can also see out through all-glass walls into various offices and conference rooms, and many people walk back and forth between them, telling me that this is indeed one of the most sought-after law firms in the city.

After only a moment longer, a round, older man, presumably Denny Crane, walks around the corner and up to the desk with extreme swagger. He wears an expensive-looking, pinstriped suit and a cocky smile, and he says something that I can't quite make out to the receptionist that incites a disapproving grimace from her. He laughs boisterously, and then she points at me and says, slightly louder so that I can hear her now, that I'm the woman who's waiting for him.

When he turns around, his face changes to one of being impressed and highly interested, and he grins with wide eyes and walks up with his, as I'm quickly realizing, typical confidence. I stand up to greet him, adjusting my button-down blouse nervously.

"Denny Crane," he says robustly in a deep voice, holding out his large hand to shake mine exuberantly. "Are you the woman who killed someone? Highly impressive."

Hesitating, I withdraw my hand after a moment and wipe it on my skirt from sudden perspiration. "Yes, but as I told your receptionist, it was all in self defense. And my name is Bella Ramirez. It's nice to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine," he says mischievously. "You know, I knew another Bella once, many years ago. We were engaged, but we never got married. Maybe you're my next Bella." He grins. "Though you're even more beautiful than the first Bella ever was."

Blinking, I breathe out an anxious laugh. "Thank you…. So, as I'm sure you're now aware, I need a very good lawyer." I don't feel like explaining more in the middle of a busy room like this.

"Well, you've come to the right man," he says, practically thumping his chest. "I'm the best there is—undefeated in court—and very rich on top of that. Don't worry, you're in good hands now."

Somehow I don't feel totally relieved.

He puts his arm on my elbow. "Come, let me take you into a more private room so you can tell me more about yourself."

I raise an eyebrow, but I let him lead me away.

Denny Crane takes me down the hall of glass walls and into a smaller conference room, where he pulls back a rolling chair for me and then sits next to me at the head of the long table. Even though I usually run cold, the room is warm enough that I can take off my coat and set it on the back of my chair; up here in Boston it gets cold early, and the calendar on the wall behind Mr. Crane reads November 2006.

"So, tell me all about what happened," he says, leaning in close; a little too close for comfort.

"Um, okay," I say, leaning back slightly. "Well, I had recently broken up with my boyfriend—"

He leans forward even more with an excited expression, and I pause and then make myself continue.

Furrowing my brow, I continue, "We were together for two years, but he became—unlike what he used to be…" I take a deep but shaky breath. "So I broke up with him. Then he wouldn't leave me alone, stalking me when I was at work, never leaving my apartment, constantly calling me on my phone. I tried getting a restraining order on him, but it wouldn't go through because the courts couldn't prove violent or life-threatening behavior, even though he started getting violent. So I went to confront him myself to tell him to leave me alone—and I see now, it was stupid—but he…"

When I can't continue, Mr. Crane inclines his head towards me and says quietly, "Tell me: did he hurt you? Sexually?" He nods to enunciate his last word.

I blink, surprised, and say, "Um…"

Suddenly he turns his head to his right, out the glass walls, instantly distracted by something or someone. I'm grateful for that, but then I look too to see that another man is walking in our direction. He is also dressed in a sharp suit and walks with a purposeful confidence, telling me that he's also a lawyer here.

Denny Crane waves emphatically at him before he can round the corner, making a motion as if he should come to the door, and so the man does. As he nears, he catches sight of me and smiles slowly, his head inclined slightly. When he makes eye contact with me, it's a little unsettling for some reason.

As soon as the stranger opens the door, Mr. Crane says, "Alan! Come in and see my new client. She killed a man." He's almost childish with glee.

"Denny, I'm sure she had good reason." His voice is smooth and deep, a smile playing on his lips, and he closes the door behind himself and takes a seat on Mr. Crane's other side. As he settles in across from me and unbuttons his suit coat, he smiles directly at me, a gesture I'm immediately compelled to return. As he reaches across the table to shake my hand firmly yet comfortably, I realize that he's unconventionally attractive. Even though he's slightly rotund, he isn't fat, and his blue-grey-green eyes are at once kind and piercing. Under a delineated nose, his expressive mouth moves slightly as he looks at me, even though he isn't speaking—but it isn't in a bad way.

"Bella Ramirez, Alan Shore," Denny intones, gesturing from me to the other man.

I realize that I recognize the name Alan Shore from what the receptionist said before: he is one of the other great lawyers here. I find myself wishing that I'd asked for him instead of this overly-friendly Denny Crane, even though his name is on the door.

"Tell Alan what you've told me, Bella," Mr. Crane says, beckoning to Alan, who I can tell is Denny's good friend by their body language towards each other.

"I…" I say, suddenly baffled and embarrassed at my own speechlessness. I just don't know if I'm comfortable sharing personal details with someone else who could end up being just as insensitive as Denny Crane already seems—although I can already see that this Alan Shore is different.

"It's all right," Mr. Shore says, his voice comforting. "If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to, although I can't be your lawyer then."

"I thought Denny was my lawyer," I say, embarrassed at my own slowness.

He smiles ever so slightly. "We can both be your lawyers, if you wish. Don't worry, it won't cost extra—we can both represent you together."

"It won't cost anything at all," Denny interjects forcefully. "I'm doing this one pro bono. I mean, just look at her." He makes a strange, secretive face at Mr. Shore, who makes a humorously disapproving one in return.

I look back and forth between them, surprised. "Really?" Denny nods happily. "Wow, thank you so much. I mean…I really appreciate that. Greatly."

"Of course," Mr. Crane says, patting my hand on the table. "I'm happy to help you in any way I can."

Alan Shore gives Denny Crane a funny look, although I can tell it isn't one reprimanding him for offering me free representation.

"So, tell him your predicament, then," Mr. Crane urges me, patting my hand again, and I smile breathily before removing my hand and looking over at Mr. Shore. He looks at me with a comfortable ease, inviting me to speak.

So I tell him everything I told Mr. Crane, then continue with the rest of the story. "I've told every police officer and detective I've spoken with that I killed him in self-defense, that he was abusing me to the point of…"—I swallow—"…killing me, but they don't quite believe me, and they're considering taking me into custody." I fight back the sudden tears in my eyes, and sniffling, I say, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be…"—I laugh—"crying like this when I've just met you and I'm not even in that bad of a situation."

"It is a bad situation," Mr. Shore says, concerned compassion affecting his face. "You need not try to mitigate how it sounds."

I nod, choked up, and look down at my purse in my lap before they can see my face reddening again. I didn't realize how much I needed to hear that my situation is completely valid.

I feel a hand on my forearm, and I look up to see Denny Crane leaning over the table towards me, an earnest look on his face. "I'm going to help you out," he says. "I won't let you go to prison."

I can feel my face contorting in a strange frown-smile as I say hesitantly, "Thank you." I push on the floor with my toe a little, gently sending my chair back just enough to pull away from Mr. Crane's fingertips.

Looking over at Mr. Shore, I see him watching me with a look like he's used to this behavior, and with something else unidentifiable. Then he draws in a breath and looks at my eyes. "How old are you, Bella?"

I don't know why, but I like the way he says my name. "21," I say, a little flustered.

I hear a sharp breath to my side, and I turn to see Denny hunched over with pursed lips, looking like he's been both wounded and aroused. I turn helplessly to Mr. Shore, who raises a questioning eyebrow at Denny.

"She's only—" Mr. Crane begins, turning excitedly to Mr. Shore, who interrupts him.

"Denny, behave." He looks like some disapproving uncle, even though I'd guess he's over twenty years younger than Denny Crane and in his mid-forties. If I weren't the one going through this, I'd laugh at the spectacle.

Turning back to me with a weary look that quickly dissipates, Mr. Shore addresses me again. "Do you have family living with you?"

I swallow, looking away. "No. They died earlier this year. Otherwise I'd be with them, and I wouldn't have this problem."

Mr. Shore looks at me compassionately. "I'm deeply sorry."

I thank him, taking in a breath to compose myself.

"Then do you live alone now?"

"Yes. I had an apartment here in Boston, but my boyfr—Daniel took it over, and after…. I just can't go there anymore. So I'm staying in a hotel, for the time being."

"You don't live at college?" I wonder what makes him automatically assume I'd be in college, even though I was.

"I actually graduated this past May, and that's when I had to move in with my now-ex-boyfriend."

Mr. Shore exchanges a slightly surprised look with Mr. Crane—people are usually surprised when they find out that I graduated at a young 21, but that's what skipping two grades gets you—and then he looks back at me. "All right," he says. Standing with a breath in and buttoning his jacket, he walks around the table and continues, "We'll need to give you some paperwork to fill out, detailing the situation and specifying that we're doing this case pro bono, but after that we can get right to setting a court date and begin prepping for that date." Then he looks at me seriously, standing above me prominently. "Bella. I want you to know that Denny and I will do everything in our power to keep you out of prison and prove your innocence. Soon enough, you will be free of this oppression for good."

Suddenly I don't know what to say, and after only a moment he's walked out the door. I desperately wish I'd thanked him, because I'm so grateful that someone is finally going to help me.

I stand, and so does Mr. Crane. He moves up to me suddenly, arms outstretched like he wants a hug, but I sidestep, swiftly moving into a motion to grab my coat. When I straighten again, he looks slightly frustrated and confused, as if it's unfathomable that his affection could be rejected. He resolves to shake my hand again.

"We'll give you a call as soon as the paperwork is ready," he says, "but I'd recommend staying here in the firm—it only takes a few hours to prepare." He grins, quickly back to his joyful self.

"Eh, I think I'll go out and get some lunch, but thank you."

He nods, a little disappointed, but turns towards the door to leave.

"Mr. Crane?" I call after him before he can exit the room. He swivels back to look at me, hand on the doorknob, eagerly awaiting whatever I'm going to say.

"Thank you," I say after a moment. "Very much."

His face suddenly sober, he nods firmly and says, "Denny Crane." Then he steps through the door and closes it behind himself.

Furrowing my brow, I allow myself a little laugh under my breath.

Author's note: Thanks to all who have read this first chapter of my Boston Legal fanfiction! I love the show, and I also love writing about it, so I hope you like this story! I should be uploading a second chapter in the next few days, so stay tuned!