Disclaimer: Dick Wolf and NBC own "Harry Potter". I don't.
A/N: At like 2am, some point during the wee hours of the morning when I was laying there in bed trying to fall asleep, I randomly decided I wanted to write a one-shot based on "Submission". So I re-watched it, and here's the result. C-:
For June, Angie, Linus, and Alana. 3 Abby
No Comparison
Mike was sitting at his desk, carefully reading over some paperwork. He looked up when he heard footsteps.
It was Connie.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey," Mike returned sweetly.
"What're you working on?" Connie asked.
"Plea agreement paperwork," Mike replied.
"Ah," Connie said, smirking. "Mike, you do know that any visits to your favorite journalist would constitute a conflict of interest, right?"
"Connie," Mike began with a small, embarrassed smile on his face.
"What?" Connie asked in a joking innocent tone. "You asked if we could 'do this another time'. Well—this is another time," she added with an impish smile. "It's all right, Mike. I can see the appeal. You're both ambitious go-getters. You both want the truth to be known, justice to be served… Except she has no integrity and is a complete disgrace to her profession, as well as a total embarrassment to professional women everywhere when we're all negatively stigmatized enough as it is. And that's not counting the fact that she's manipulative, a user, a liar, and an accessory to murder. Sad. There was real potential there," she added in a tone of fake sorrow. "Oh well," she said, smirking again. "You'll get over it. You're resilient like that."
"There's nothing to get over," Mike said truthfully.
"Really?" Connie bantered. "I saw that star-struck look you gave her during the grand jury hearing. And she looked pretty taken by you. And wow—she called you by your first name. That must've been a nice conversation you two had over the fraudulent wine."
"And I heard the snarky comments and saw the dirty looks you were giving her during the grand jury hearing," Mike said with a shrewd smile. "She's definitely not your favorite person."
"Definitely not," Connie agreed.
"Why did she annoy you so much?" Mike asked her.
"You have to ask? I don't respect her—at all," Connie replied.
Mike wondered if she was being completely honest with him. Was she? Could it be at all possible that she was—dare he even think it—jealous? Or was this just a foolish bout of wishful thinking on his part?
Suddenly unable to help himself, he looked her in the eyes.
"Is that all?" he asked softly.
Connie's heart began to race when she returned his gaze.
No, she thought.
"I…I guess I just don't get what you saw in her, I mean…you know, look at everything she did," she finally said. "Look who she really is."
"I know that," Mike said gently. "She's repulsive. You're right, Connie—you're absolutely right. It was completely meaningless, anyway—skin deep and meaningless. And stupid. I can see her clearly now. I would've thought the way I spoke to her when we caught her and Carlin would've shown you that," he added, his tone of voice still gentle but now carrying a note of sadness.
A pang of sadness hit Connie.
"Mike, I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "You're right…You handled her perfectly. It was actually pretty satisfying to watch her sniveling pleas—like she can just talk her way out of punishment. The way you handled her was perfectly done. She turned on the faucets, and you didn't buy it for a second. You never do whenever someone tries to pull that with us…Just one of many things that make you such a brilliant attorney."
Mike smiled sweetly at the compliment, making Connie feel weak.
She smiled back at him.
"So can you forgive me?" she asked.
"Of course," Mike said warmly. "You know…" he added softly, "I definitely don't think she's as beautiful as…other people…"
At those words, his blue eyes focused on her face for a split second before looking down at his favorite baseball, which he picked up and began idly tossing from hand to hand.
"Actually, she's not even beautiful. She's decent…" he said quietly.
You're the one who's beautiful, he thought towards Connie. She could never compare to you. Not in looks, not in intellect, not in kind-heartedness—not in anything.
Connie felt weak again.
Was he saying what she thought he was saying?
"She's a criminal. I don't respect criminals," Mike went on. "But I know who I do respect."
"Who's that?" asked Connie.
Mike looked up, and their eyes met
"You," he answered.
Connie melted.
Mike began, "But I wouldn't be surprised if that feeling isn't mutual—"
"It is," Connie cut him off.
Mike's handsome face bore a pleasantly surprised expression.
"Really?" he asked.
"Yes," Connie replied truthfully. "Hey," she added, "I'm going out for a drink. Would you like to join me?"
"I'd love to," Mike said without hesitation.
Flattered, Connie couldn't help but smile.
"Are you all right with leaving now?" she asked.
"Yeah," Mike said, now smiling himself.
With that, he set down his baseball, arose from his desk, and then put on his suit jacket and his coat.
He let Connie leave his office first, and then he left and locked the door behind them, before the two of them left together for the nearest bar.