Summary: After the events of 20x05 "Dignity", Jack gives Mike an assignment concerning old cases to make a point about why his soul shouldn't reside in the umbrella stand.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Soul in the Umbrella Stand – Chapter 6

Mike was staring at the door to Jack McCoy's office that held his whiteboard. In five minutes time, he had a meeting with his boss behind that door. When Mike had woken up on Jack's couch yesterday morning, he'd felt embarrassed and furious at himself for being so unprofessional, childish almost. Jack had sensed his discomfort and had allowed him to leave soon, but not before giving him the final part of his assignment. He was to think about the cases he'd studied over the past week and write down his findings on three questions: was the original prosecutor in the case right in doing what he did, what would you yourself have done in his situation and what was the correct moral and ethical decision in the case, regardless of the law?

Mike had put his ideas on paper and had handed them in to Jack this morning. Jack had taken his report and told him to come to his office at four. Mike had been oddly nervous ever since, though he couldn't say for sure why.

He finally got up, knocked and entered upon hearing Jack's voice. Jack was sitting at his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose. Mike's report was in front of him. Before sitting down, Mike straightened up and said rather formally: "I apologize for coming to your apartment Saturday evening. It was unprofessional."

Jack put down his reading glasses and walked around his desk, leaning against the front of it and looking down at Mike, who was now seated. "Unprofessional, you say?" Mike fidgeted with his tie, hating himself for his inexplicable nervousness. "I thought you understood that I wanted you to come to me or Connie?"

"Well, yes, at work, I understand that. But after hours-"

"Do you know how many times I turned up on Adam's doorstep?"

"You did?" Mike asked hesitantly. He somehow felt less vulnerable knowing that Jack had done the same. There were times in which he wanted to make very clear that he wasn't Jack McCoy, but at other occasions, he cherished their similarities. "Did he give you an assignment like you gave me?"

"He did," Jack nodded. "After I'd come to his house for the first time."

"Why did you go there? What cases did he make you study?" Mike inquired eagerly. He was leaning forward now, his hands no longer fumbling with his tie.

He saw that Jack was debating with himself whether he should answer. After a few moments of internal struggle, the older man told him: "I always feel that you know much too much about me and Adam already. But, if you promise me that you will forget this nonsense about being unprofessional, I'll tell you why I went to him."

"I promise," Mike said much too quickly. Jack's face made it clear to him that he didn't believe a word of it. However, it was also obvious that Mike needed to hear this.

"I was twenty-seven years old and had been working under Adam for three years," Jack began, sitting down next to Mike, instead of opposite him. He continued:

It was the first time he allowed me to try a major case by myself, instead of being his second chair. It was also my first murder trial. The defendant was the father of an eight-year-old boy, whom he had killed in a violent rage. Because of a bad search, the murder weapon had been thrown out, but I was still feeling confident. The jury took a long time, though, but they were back after two days with a verdict.

"Will the defendant please rise?"

I was nervous, but also excited. I'd worked overtime for weeks to prepare for this moment and I imagined what it would be like to win this case. There had never been a shred of doubt in my mind about the defendant's guilt and the possibility that other people didn't see it the same way simply didn't occur to me.

"On the sole count of the indictment, murder in the second degree, how do you find?"

The jury foreman cleared his throat and I had the feeling he was looking straight at me for a moment. "We find the defendant not guilty."

The defendant and his lawyer embraced and there was immediate uproar in the court room. The rest of the family of the victim was crying, shouting at the defendant and at me.

"You promised me they'd convict," the victim's mother yelled. "You promised, you bastard!"

The judge ordered that the court room was to be cleared. The defendant and his lawyer left, but I just couldn't move. There was so much guilt pressing down on me that I couldn't even get up. The worst thing was that I wasn't even worrying about that murdered boy or his family. I was afraid of what Adam would say. Eventually, the judge came up to me and asked me whether I was alright. I told him I was and then I finally left.

I didn't go back to the office. The thought of facing Adam was just unbearable. I walked around, rather aimlessly, and eventually went into a bar. I began to drink, but not enough to get drunk. Instead, I started feeling more guilty and at some point, couldn't bear it anymore.

So I went to Adam's house, expecting and almost needing his condemnation. I needed to hear that he was firing me, that he was disappointed in me and that he didn't ever want to see me again. In my family, losing had never been an option. I expected it to be the same with him.

I knocked and he opened the door. I didn't register the expression on his face back then, but thinking back, I realize that it must have been relief. "Thank God," he said to me, "I've tried to contact you all afternoon. You weren't at the office."

I didn't even hear him. "Adam, I lost."

"I know." He ushered me inside and sat me down in his office.

I looked at him expectantly, waiting for his verdict. He didn't speak. I repeated: "I lost."

"I know," he said again, with more emphasis this time.

I felt I was getting angry. "I lost the case! I let a murderer go free!"

"And I checked your progress over the past few weeks. You did everything right, your summation was spot on. The evidence just wasn't adequate," Adam told me calmly. "I myself couldn't have done it any better."

He looked at me and it was as if he knew about all the doubts and fears I had when I had come to him. Then he told me it was alright and that was when I broke down. He walked over to me, placed a hand on my shoulder and just waited. I don't know how long I sat there, but when I finally calmed down, he crouched down next to me and told me: "An English jurist once said: 'Better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer.' "

"This man wasn't innocent," I retaliated.

"He might not have been," Adam conceited. "But we must demand that our juries remain critical. They shouldn't convict when there is reasonable doubt." He looked at me searchingly for a moment. "You don't believe that, do you?"

"Sometimes, I just want the guilty man locked up. Whatever it takes."

Adam nodded and sighed. "Then I have some cases for you to look at."

"That was it. I spent a week studying those files and in the end, had to admit that he was right," Jack concluded.

"What were the cases?" Mike asked eagerly, his nervousness had long since dissipated. It was an odd idea that his boss had once been an insecure, young attorney, but somehow, it was also a comforting thought.

Jack chuckled. "We're here to talk about the cases I assigned to you, not those Adam gave to me." He got up and sat behind his desk again. Mike felt slightly disappointed, but leaned back in his chair, waiting for Jack's questions.

"Mitch Regan," Jack began after putting his reading glasses back on. "You thought I made the right decision in 2001 and you say you would've done the same thing. Why?"

"New York law says that anyone over 18 is eligible for the death penalty. That is the clear line we have to adhere to. If the crime fits this punishment, which Regan's crime did, we shouldn't hesitate to use it. Thinking twice would be denying equality before the law."

"I agree," Jack said, looking down at Mike's report. "But then you write that it wasn't the right moral and ethical decision."

" 'Nothing is definite at eighteen', Regan's lawyer said in his summation. Now, I'm well over eighteen, but I've had to re-think many of my opinions these last few days. Mitch Regan could just as well have been an entirely different person in just a few years," Mike argued.

"So when is it morally right to sentence someone to death? At what age does a person stop being capable of change?" Jack pressed.

Mike was silent. He averted his eyes, like he usually did when he was deep in thought. "There is no such age. And we have no moral right to sentence anyone to death."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "So you're against the death penalty now?"

"I should be."

"But you're not?"

"No, I'm not."

"Why not?"

"Because … because I'm human!" Mike said rather loudly, getting up. "I said I'd have given the death penalty, even though it isn't the right decision. It's impossible to always be completely correct! Sometimes, the death penalty seems the only option."

"Sit down," Jack ordered calmly. When he saw that Mike wasn't obeying him, he continued: "That's what I wanted to hear. You can't always force yourself to be morally or ethically right, but it does make for an interesting discussion."

Mike slowly sat down again. "So what do you think? Was it morally right to give Mitch Regan the death penalty?"

"Sometimes, a person's actions are so heinous that he forfeits the right to live. That's what Mitch Regan did."

"No exceptions?"

"There are always exceptions."

"But not for Clay Warner?" Mike asked.

"No, not for Clay Warner," Jack conceited. "That case bothered me for a long while. In the end, Warner died, because I wanted him to. It was completely up to me."

"He died, because he wanted to and the law condoned it. I don't think you did anything wrong." It was an odd reversal of roles.

"So you agreed with my initial decision?"

Mike hesitated. "Yes, I guess so. But again, I don't know whether it was the right ethical decision." Jack nodded in understanding. "Nelson Lambert asked me whether I would have made an exception for Oscar Wilde. I said I would have," Mike continued. He wondered if Jack disapproved.

"An admirable decision. I hope I'd have done the same."

"You're not sure?"

Jack smiled at him. "They call me 'Hang 'em high McCoy'. I'm sure you've noticed that particular quality of mine in the Tim Schwimmer case. You reckon," he spared an amused glance at Mike's report. "that I was wrong in that case, you'd have done it differently and your decision would have been the right one."

"Tim was a young, foolish attorney with principles. He didn't deserve this. The end doesn't always justify the means."

"Tim?" Jack raised his eyebrows at him. Mike blushed slightly. "I'm sure he's a nice man. Back then, however, I was more moved by the family's of the victims who were looking for closure."

"And you thought this was the only way to get it for them? Tim Schwimmer's life was destroyed by what was just a stupid mistake!"

"I regret that," Jack admitted. "I kept hoping he'd give in and tell us, I'd have dropped the charges immediately. However, his conviction was a risk I was willing to take in order to find those bodies. Now, I'd like to discuss your last case. Were you right in the initial prosecution against Mrs. Talbot?"

"No, I wasn't." It was hard to admit it. "It wasn't a correct application of the law."

"Would you have done it differently today?"

"No."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Explain, please."

"I wanted to save her, Jack, and I was willing to bend the law for that. I thought it was worth it. I still do."

"And I didn't and still don't," Jack said dryly. When he saw Mike's mutinous look, he continued: "It is my job to ensure this office applies the law correctly."

"To yank my leash," Mike muttered softly and quite bitterly.

Jack heard it anyway. "That's right. I don't see your answer to the final question here." He indicated the report. "Why not?"

"I don't have an answer. I don't think it's for me to decide what was ethically or morally right in this case."

Jack took a moment to consider that. "I think you're right. That's another thing prosecutors and judges would do well to remember: we're not gods." He handed the report back to Mike. "Good work. Interesting ideas. Am I correct in thinking that you would have written a very different report at the start of this week?"

"Yes, I should say so." Mike grinned, but his expression quickly turned hesitant again. "Should I apologize to Connie?"

"I thought the two of you had sorted it out?"

"We did," Mike said quickly. "But when I apologized…"

"You didn't really mean it," Jack smirked. "If you mean it now, yes, you could apologize. But you weren't the only one wrong in that case. She shouldn't have sent that report to the defense without our permission. Mike, this assignment wasn't to punish you for that abortion case. I gave it to you, because you're a damn good prosecutor and I wanted to make sure you stay that way."

It took Mike a moment to form his next question. He always felt awkward when complimented, much more so than when he was being scolded. When Jack lectured him angrily on dubious trial tactics or bad search warrants, he was able to react with anger and quick arguments. If, however, Jack expressed his disappointment, Mike would fall silent and re-think his actions. Whenever he was complimented, he had no idea what to do. In the end, he asked: "Are you going to give Connie an assignment as well?"

"Maybe," Jack admitted. "But that would be between me and her. Just like this is between me and you."

Mike sensed that he was being dismissed. With the report in his hand, he turned and walked towards the door. With his hand on the door knob, he turned, met Jack's eyes and quickly said: "Thanks." Before the older man had a chance to react, he left and closed the door behind him.

TBC