No Free Lunch

McCoy hesitated, but he had to know.

"The headline said – Hero Cop Kills Cop-Killer," he said. "You shot him?"

Something changed in Regan's face. "Man draws down on you," she said, and her voice was very steady and her eyes were colder than cold, "You put him in the ground." She was a little frightening with that look on her face and McCoy fought the instinct to move back. The she blinked, and her eyes were her own again. "That's what Grand-Da always said. And he knew."

"Your great-grandfather," McCoy said, everything he knew about her looking a little different in a new context, framed by headlines and newspaper pictures and Regan's strained voice saying Robbie's screaming 'Ellie, Ellie, help me, Ellie' … "And that family you talked about – the no-good Seattle Reagans. What you said – about your husband."

Regan was shaking her head. "Please don't," she said, voice choked. "Please!" She closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks.

McCoy put his hand on her knee. "Okay. Okay. We'll pretend it never happened, if that's what you want."

She rubbed her cheeks with the back of her hand, scrubbing away tears. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. I never thought – I just – that big cop, he just got to me. I'm sorry."

"It'll be all right," McCoy said. "Regan. It'll be alright."

"It will never be all right," Regan whispered. She dropped her head to her hands, shivering violently.

McCoy hadn't been able to reach her past the bulk of Robert Goren in the moment when he'd heard her say I didn't and seen her come utterly apart, but he was right beside her now, and he put his hand on her shoulder. Regan gave a little gasp and started crying hard, hands pressed over her mouth, shoulders heaving. McCoy ran his hand over her hair and then down her back, feeling the hard knobs of her spine through her jacket, feeling her shaking with sobs. He tugged her gently toward him, and when she didn't resist, drew her to rest against his chest, arms around her.

He'd seen the aftermath of mass shootings – he'd walked the scene when the case was high enough profile that it came straight to the desk of a senior prosecutor, seen the dead on Dr Rodger's table and he'd seen the survivors, too, had prepped them for court, had put them in the witness box and made them live it all over again. The cops who'd been first responders, edgy and strained for days after, the families with grief and horror compounded by the inconceivable, random nature of the violence … McCoy smoothed his hand over Regan's hair. My mouth is full of blood, she'd said, staring past them all, I don't know what to do and I can't breathe.

When I saw her in hospital after Walters attacked her, McCoy remembered, that's what she said. 'I couldn't breathe. I didn't know what to do.'

He could put it together now, her disproportionate reaction to William Perry and his water-balloon full of pig's blood, her friability in the weeks following Walters's attack, how badly the matter in Carthage had affected her, and now this: Mike Logan shot, Chuck Johnson killed, Regan in the cross-fire on the courthouse steps. I might not be a psychiatrist, McCoy thought, but I know what it's like to live the same nightmare over and over again until you can't wake up from it.

Mine is all the things that can happen to beautiful young women, all the things I can't stop.

Regan's comes with gun-fire and suffocation.

At the point where McCoy was beginning to think perhaps he should call Skoda, at last Regan's sobs began to ease. Still, it was a while before her last hiccupping sobs trailed away. She made no move to pull away from his embrace, leaning limply against him. McCoy listened to her breathing slow and deepen and realized she had cried herself to exhaustion and was nearly asleep.

"Regan," he said softly, squeezing her shoulder, and she roused and sat up. Her face was puffy with tears, all traces of makeup erased. She didn't look like the polished ADA who'd come back from Major Case. She looks like the kind of woman who'd help you move house, and bring beer and pizza as well.

Or the kind of woman who'd sit with you all night when you were lost so far in the dark that her voice was the only thing leading you back.

"I think you should go home," he said gently. "Get some rest over the weekend."

Regan nodded and sniffled. McCoy thought of her on the subway and didn't like that idea, thought of offering her a cab voucher and didn't like the idea of her going home by herself in a taxi either.

"Tell you what," he said, "hang on for a minute or two and we can split a cab, okay?"

She nodded again, and leaned back wearily as he went to gather his papers. After he finished hunting for a trial transcript he'd need to prepare for an opening argument on Monday morning McCoy looked up to see Regan fast asleep.

He fetched the blanket he kept in the cupboard for nights so late there was no point going home, and spread it over her. After a moment's consideration, he took the risk of waking her and eased her around to lie down properly. Regan stirred and murmured but didn't wake.

McCoy took the transcript out of his bag and settled into his desk chair, pen in hand. He was fully absorbed in the intricacies of the five-year-old murder conviction when the side door of his office swung open.

"Jack – " Arthur Branch said, and McCoy raised his hand warningly. Branch followed his gaze to where Regan slept and frowned. "My office, Jack," he said tightly, and turned on his heel.

McCoy followed him across the hall to the DA's Office and shut the door behind him.

Branch scowled at McCoy from behind his desk. "Do you not hear anything I say to you?" he demanded.

"On the contrary, Arthur," McCoy said, "I heard you very clearly when you said you'd look into Regan Markham's past. But you didn't need to, did you? That's why you didn't care when I told you no Regan Markham ever served in the Seattle PD, or got a degree from Washington."

Branch looked at him for a moment through narrowed eyes. "What have you found out?" he asked eventually.

"Officer Elish Reagan," McCoy said.

Branch sighed. He picked up the paperweight from his desk and turned it over in his hand as he spoke, looking at the glass globe rather than at McCoy. "I gave Ellie Reagan an interview despite her undistinguished academic record because King County asked me for a favor," he said. "Then she turned up and she wasn't just looking for a job. She told me she was looking for a fresh start. She asked me to keep what had happened to her confidential until she was ready. It was a lot to ask."

McCoy remembered Regan's words in the car on the way back from Carthage. She was looking for a fresh start, she'd said, she worked out there's no such thing.

He'd thought she was talking about Therese McMillan, but now he understood that she had been talking about herself.

"But you did it. You owe King County?" McCoy asked. He pulled out the chair across from Branch and sat.

"Now they owe me," Branch said, looking at him at last. "And so does Ms Markham."

"And there will come a time when a decorated police officer putting away the bad guys will look good on the evening news," McCoy said acerbically.

"There's no such thing as a free lunch, Jack," Branch said. He shrugged. "So I took her on. I told personnel to leave her record alone. I put her in Fraud and she turned out to be a hard worker, even if she's no Oliver Wendell Holmes. And when I couldn't get any of my ADAs to work with you for longer than a court case, I thought maybe she'd be tough enough to put up with you. Now I can see that was a mistake."

"A mistake?" McCoy said, voice rising a little.

"I can't afford any more scandal in this office, Jack," Branch said. "And Ms Markham's no good to me if she's tabloid fodder."

"Arthur, you're jumping to an unsupported conclusion," McCoy said. "Ms Markham's not the first ADA to catch five on an office couch."

"Spare me your righteous indignation, Jack," Branch said. "I know you. And I have eyes in my head. Don't think I haven't noticed you covering for her, letting things slide."

"As EADA, I have responsibility to manage staff – " McCoy started to say, but Branch cut him off.

"If you want to justify your behavior on the basis of your professional responsibility, make sure no-one can suggest your motivation is other than professional," Branch said.

"I resent your implication," McCoy snapped. "And besides, what adults may or may not do – "

"What a senior prosecutor and his assistant may or may not do while they work together may or may not be a matter for the law, and I have news for you, Jack, employment law has changed since you first found romance over a stack of law reports, but you can believe me it will be a matter for the tabloids." Branch set the paperweight down hard. "This office has taken some hits over the years because of you, Jack, and each time the person sitting in this chair has decided that your value outweighs the cost. I get a different answer to that equation when I apply it to Ms Markham."

The threat was unmistakable.

"What happened to the risk of lawsuits for unjustified firing?" McCoy demanded.

"If you knew as much about employment law as you do about the penal code, you'd know she's a grace-and-favor employee. I can sack her for tying her shoes wrong," Branch said. "And I will."

"Like Serena," McCoy said sourly.

"So you – and she – should remember that. I went out on a limb for her, taking her on. I've paid out political capital over her little lapses and so far I've seen no return. And if she can't get herself together I never will. I'm reaching the point where I'll quit while I'm ahead," Branch said. "Any more embarrassment and I will. Of any kind. So get her off your couch and get Colleen to make sure she gets home."

.oOo.

A/N: So, that's Regan's secret … or is it? Please let me know what you think so far.