They were being proper adults for once, sitting at a fancy table at a fancy restaurant – the sort where the waiter unfolds your napkin for you and they were safe from weird looks – holding hands, arms precariously close to the candle, Oliver's thumb running gently over the back of his hand, when it happened.
Connor's phone buzzed.
"I swear to God, I am going to bury that woman and use all the skills she taught us to defend myself in court," Connor growled – mostly under his breath – but Oliver's mouth quirked up at the other side of the table.
"Annalise?"
Connor sighed, waving a hand at the waiter for their cheque, thoughts of chocolate soufflé melting before his eyes. "I'm sorry."
"No, it's fine, I get it…"
He looked shattered, focusing on his hands as he folded up the napkin. Yet again, Connor felt that guilt, jarring right into his stomach. Oliver deserved better than this. Oliver deserved someone who wasn't battling to take just a few hours to have dinner with someone… On a whim, Connor reached out. "Fuck her."
"What?"
"Fuck her," he repeated, eyes twinkling. "If she's going to interrupt the only time I have where I'm not trying to claw my eyes out… she's going to have to deal with the consequences." He shrugged on his jacket. "I barely have any time with you, and she's not going to take away what I have left."
"Connor…"
"Come on!" Collecting his card and signing the bill, he raced to the other side of the table, pulling out Oliver's chair and helping him with his own coat. "You're always asking about my workmates. Why don't you come meet them?"
"This isn't a good idea…" The programmer sighed, allowing himself to be pulled to the door. Why did these nights always seem to descend into madness?
Connor just laughed, kissing him passionately before they jumped in the car.
The car-ride itself was mostly silent, the radio cutting through Connor's occasional rambles ("this better be good", "I want that damn trophy", "someone better have died for this"…). Traffic was low and they were only a few miles out of the city, but still the journey dragged. Oliver sat in the passenger seat fiddling idly with the piping of his jacket… This whole thing was new. Not just the date – though that was its own ballgame – but being taken somewhere? To meet people? And to interrupt them at work? What the hell was Connor thinking?
But then, a blink and they pulled up into a driveway, close to the university.
"… You work at her house?"
Connor just shrugged.
"Why am I here, Connor? Am I just part of your rebellion? Are you trying to prove a point with me?"
"No, I…" He reached out, fingertips brushing Oliver's cheek. "I meant it when I said I want more time with you. And if this is how that happens, then…" He sighed. "She won't care. Asher… may or may not be vocal, but he's got to get used to the whole gay thing. It's a JD, gay men aren't exactly a rare breed."
"I… I don't know about this…"
"You'll be fine." Connor smiled, stretching over arm rests to press his lips onto Oliver's, tongue dashing in ever so briefly. And that's all it took to reassure him – like self-assurance or confidence was passing between them instead of just carbon dioxide. They pulled apart gently, Connor's eyes searching deep in his, flicking over his face. "Let's go."
And into the chaos they went.
Almost literally chaos. The door was answered by a pretty woman, gold flashing against her dark skin, a box balanced on her knee. "About time, Connor."
"Well, it's lovely to see you too, Michaela."
The change was subtle, but it was there. This was lawyer-Connor, worker-Connor – no-Achilles-heel-Connor. And his front was built to match hers, two magnets of the same polarity that couldn't help but repel. That explains a lot.
"I'm Oliver," he said, holding out a hand, but Michaela clearly was preoccupied. She barely grunted a response, giving him a once-over with her eyes before twisting and marching into the study, box safely back in her hands.
"Don't mind her – she's got more shoved up her ass than me," Connor whispered to him, and Oliver grinned.
"Is this the boy-toy?" Another girl wandered over, a books-worth of stapled sheets tucked under her arm, with her right hand outstretched. "Oliver, right? I'm Laurel."
"Nice to meet you."
"And you. We've heard so much about you."
"Only good things, I hope."
Connor just rolled his eyes, but he could see the tiny specks of pink appear on his cheek.
"Annalise or Bonnie's around here somewhere – they're leading the charge… I'd fill you in but," she sighed deeply, nodding towards the files, "they're making me go through lab reports. I haven't done science in years…" She laughed quietly – must have been her way of relieving stress; better to laugh than cry. "God knows why she can't just employ an actual scientist to check out her defence but, you know, we're here for the impossible, right?"
Connor raised his eyebrows, and they all seemed to understand the acknowledgement. How much time have these guys actually spent together?
"So, yeah, these aren't gonna read themselves and I've apparently got to learn all about the effectiveness of certain types of STD protection and other modes of transmission… Wish me luck."
And she was gone and over came a familiar face, even if the voice were questioning. "Oliver?"
"Frank?"
Connor smirked at them. "You two know each other?"
"Yeah, uh… Long story," Oliver mumbled, pressing closer to the body beside him.
Connor seemed to notice the discomfort, arm snaking behind Oliver's back and squeezing him closer. "What's going on, Frank?"
"Oh, you know, doctors going around sleeping with patients, criminal negligence, the usual," the lawyer sighed. "I think he's a family friend – we don't normally get called this late and this urgently unless it's death row or, well, something relevant."
"Some doucheby's gone giving HIV to a few of his patients," a man – probably an ex-footballer, from the look of him, though he clearly held some intelligence – yelled from behind the couch at them.
The two stiffened, but rather than let off a stream of abuse back, Connor just whirled Oliver around, kissing him again – harder, more urgent… more showy. It was strong, passionate, more like the first time they'd met, like he had to convince himself as well as everyone else that this was meant to be, that their lips were made for each other, that the closer they were together the greater wall they could build to keep the world out… or at the very least, to show up some of the ignorance out there.
"God, I didn't mean it that way," the voice continued.
"That's Asher," Connor muttered into his ear as they drew back apart. Oliver could feel his cheeks burning.
"It's, uh… it's n-nice to meet you," he stammered.
"You too," Asher bellowed back before disappearing again into a textbook.
Oliver looked at the face beside him – though Connor seemed more interested watching the movements of the people in the room. "Isn't there another? Where's… Wes?"
"Right here." A dark-skinned boy materialised just like the others had, right before their eyes – which was saying something, considering how incredibly tall he was. "You must be Oliver." He stepped back, palms outstretched – with two stacks of folders balanced on top. "I'd shake your hand but…" He sighed. "Pick a pile, Connor."
"Where's Annalise?"
"She's around somewhere…" Wes looked uncomfortable. "We haven't settled on a strategy yet so don't wait for her, just read through the old case files. If you think of anything… well, you know the deal by now."
Oliver grabbed the pile on his right, holding it up to Connor's stomach (not with the ulterior motive of feeling those abs, no, not at all).
"Thanks, Wes."
… Since when does Connor thank people?!
They moved into the centre of the living room, standing in front of the couch. "So, everyone, this is Oliver… my boyfriend…"
His world dropped underneath him, though nobody else batted an eyelid. Did he really just call me that?
"Oliver… Meet the Keating Five…"
"Well, Four, really…" Oliver smiled. "I know you by now."
"That you do," Connor said, lips twitching.
"So… is there anything I need to know? Or do? Or should I just… I'll stop talking now."
They dropped down onto the white leather. "You're adorable…" Connor whispered, picking up a casefile and beginning to read. There was an intense look of concentration playing across his cheekbones, but Oliver could see the smirk buried underneath – the twinkling in his eye.
"But, seriously. Do you guys have rules…?"
"You're in a room full of lawyers," Laurel pointed out.
Meanwhile Michaela rolled her eyes over in the corner. "Just one. Be careful what you say in here."
"The walls have eyes!" Wes laughed, throwing over a handful more files.
"And ears, Mr Gibbons; thank you for that frank analysis." Finally, Annalise Keating herself stood in the doorway… her eyes settling right on the couch where they sat. "Why do we have company?"
"Uh…" Everyone seemed to stop where they were, which was really something considering the amount of paper that had been flying through the air just moments before.
"He's with me," Frank spoke up. "One of my IT guys…"
If Annalise caught sight of their hands – in the rush, Oliver had somehow managed to worm his into Connor's – she did nothing other than say, "Great. Put him to work. Those files aren't going to read themselves, you know."
Connor laughed, handing over a couple of the manilla folders from his pile. "Welcome to madness, Oliver."
Hey guys! Yet another tumblr prompt - they wanted Oliver to meet the Keating Five. I'm actually sort of loving this... I think my mind naturally bends in so many frustrating directions that it's kinda cool writing these really intense PRESSURE STRESS STRESS interactions with so many people? I dunno.
Like it? Hate it? Want me to mistake my fingers for broccoli florets? Please let me know!
Keep smiling! :D
