Author's Note: It has been many years since I have scrolled the pages of this Fan Fiction site. Life got a little busy for me, but I recently rekindled my love of Law & Order. I realized that I'm still salty that most characters did not get a proper ending. This story is my love letter to the Law & Order franchise, the Connie/Mike 'ship, and in some ways, New York City itself. Until Dick Wolf proves otherwise, I will hold steadfast to the belief that Mike Cutter and Connie Rubirosa did end up together. I re-watched seasons 18-20 of the original series for research. I also watched season 17, LOLA, and the SVU episodes featuring Mike and Connie. I sifted through interviews and read articles too, hoping to put together a cohesive and genuine story. This tale will follow established storylines/timelines while interweaving what if's and brand new scenarios. I do not own any of these characters, and I would very much like to not be sued. This part is optional, but each chapter is named after a particular song. I write while listening to music to help me evoke certain emotions. I labeled the chapters with songs that set the mood, so feel free to listen to the song or take a peek at the lyrics.

A very special shout out to DaisyDay who encouraged me to post after months (literally, months) of writing. Thank you for always supporting me! You are an amazing writer and a great friend. Now, on with the story!

Monday, October 19th, 2009

60 Centre St.

Their chance at an indictment was ripping at the seams. She had to do something.

"We'll amend it, then, to a single charge of conspiracy to murder Henry Lovett." Mike tossed her a disconcerted look. His lips moved to form the word 'what', but she pushed forward without his endorsement. When you leap before you look, there isn't much time to explain.

"Conspiracy with whom? Some deceased drug dealer? A person can't conspire with himself."

Oh boy, she was about to take the whole room on an wild ride. "There is a co-conspirator who is alive and willing to cooperate with the prosecution."

"Oh? Who?" Marcus stepped forward, daring her to answer.

"Me."

The next 90 seconds were a blur. Mike couldn't believe the words that had just come out of Connie's mouth. Was she insane? Or a genius? Or both? Mike was used to being in the driver's seat of the prosecution. He was the one who was known for the unorthodox schemes, not her. Mike was a creature of comfort, and he was most comfortable when he was in control. This train was derailing too quickly for his liking, and he went into fight or flight mode.

He charged down the hallway, fervently on her trail like a child chasing a runaway ball. "Connie… Connie, you don't want to do this."

"You saw what was happening. That son-of-a-bitch was about to skate!"

He was so fixed on the events that had just transpired in Judge Taft's chambers that he didn't even think twice before reaching for her hand to stop her. "So, we'll find another way."

"We don't need another way. We have a way."

In that uncharacteristic moment of weakness, he had let down his guard in the public arena of the courthouse corridor. Connie had been too riled up to notice the effect she had on him, but Marcus Woll had seen it. He found the kink in Mike's armor and swooped in like a cartoon villain to ruffle feathers and drop banana peels.

"You too, Mike?"

"'Me too', what?" The very last thing Mike wanted to hear at that moment was whatever irritating anecdote Woll was about to deliver.

"Oh come on, she's still hot as hell."

"What're you talking about?"

"Just do it," he sneered. "I did."

With one sleazy comment, Marcus had kicked over the first domino in a long, winding display. Mike's chest tightened and his jaw seized as he watched Woll gambol away in victory. It wasn't long before his imagination set off on an unwanted adventure. Mike violently stabbed the elevator call button with his index finger, as if it would make the visions of Connie and Marcus go away. It was a conscious, waking nightmare, and he needed to squelch it. Woll's insolence and gloating made Mike feel like he had washed down his breakfast with a pitcher of battery acid. He made his way back to the DA's office in a nearly catatonic state. He was sure that a CT scan would show his brain had been replaced by a pretzel. His thoughts were running a relay race, passing a baton to one another every time his mind tried to tackle a new problem. And, oh, did he have problems. Connie, his partner who he apparently knew nothing about, was off the case because she'd implicated herself in a murder that nobody knew was a murder at the time. On top of that, Connie, the infallible goddess that he had put on a pedastal, was also apparently fraternizing with a murderer who would probably get away with said murder because the murderer wasn't actually holding the murder weapon. He took a deep breath, hoping to alleviate the suffocation he was experiencing from such a mental marathon. Mike had gone from a solid suspect, to a theory, to a Hail Mary pass, to an utter calamity in less than 48 hours. He decided to consult Jack, which much to his dismay, only made things worse.

Writhing with discomfort and wounded pride, Mike gave his boss a Cliffs Notes version of the situation. Jack appeared completely unfazed by the information as he ate his lunch.

"So? She deserves extra credit for stepping forward, doesn't she? I assume you still find her competent."

"Of course I do. We're colleagues…" We're not lovers, Mike thought to himself. Jack's upward stretched eyebrows made Mike realize that his thought had not been a thought at all, but rather an audible musing. That was the second time in a single day that Connie had caused him to make a faux pas. He hastily retreated, hoping that Jack wouldn't entertain the subject any further. "It's the way it's supposed to be."

Jack shook his head and sipped from his water bottle. "If that's how poorly you argue a case in front of a jury, maybe I should start looking for your replacement."

Mike's face contorted in disagreement.

Jack rose from the sofa and folded his arms across his chest, the water bottle crackling with his movement. He had assumed his disciplinarian stance, and Mike knew he was about to get an earful. "Your case just got a second chance because of Connie's quick thinking. You should be thanking her instead of worrying about her extracurricular activities."

"That wasn't my point," Mike protested. "I'm only saying that Erica Gardner is going to ambush Connie on that stand, and I'm not sure if I can protect her."

That declaration earned him another amused once-over from Jack. Mike sputtered, "Protect her credibility... as a witness... Against Woll."

"You can recite sonnets under her balcony, later. Right now, I need you to get your head back in the game, Mike." Jack's whole person flourished with anger and disdain. "Marcus Woll has made a mockery of this office. He swore an oath to seek justice for this city, and then shirked the rules for personal gain, murdering anyone who got in his way. I want Woll to spend the rest of his meaningless life in a jail cell. And when he dies? My successor- and their successors- will have explicit instructions to comb the Tri-State area until they find someone who can revive the bastard and throw him back in that goddamn cell!"

"That puts a new spin on consecutive life sentences," Mike ribbed.

Jack ignored Mike's glib remark. "I want a conviction!"

There was a knock at the door. Connie appeared from behind the ochre paneling. At first glance, her face read surprise at seeing Mike. The surprise quickly faded to acceptance. She could feel the tenor of the room, and it was apparent that Mike had already briefed Jack on her perilous plan. Her body language denoted that she was about to have an uncomfortable conversation. She held her arms close to her body and nervously massaged her palms with her finger tips. She took a deep breath and decided to alleviate the awkward silence. "I'm in need of a lawyer, and you've got the best Yelp! reviews."

"You've come to the right place," Jack smirked. He signaled toward the wingback chair that faced his desk. "Have a seat."

Wednesday, November 4th, 2009

121 Reade St.

Connie pushed open the heavy door to her apartment building and tucked her hand into her coat pocket. A familiar voice called out to her.

"Give you a lift? I think we're going to the same place."

Woll was splayed against the rear passenger door of a town car, garbed in a sharp suit and a smug attitude. Connie was not in the mood for his arrogance. "No, thanks."

"We're co-conspirators, Connie. It seems only natural we should spend time together." The thought of voluntarily being in Marcus' presence for more than a millisecond was nauseating.

"Oh? On the day I'm gonna testify against you? Are you planning to have me shot like the others?" Five years ago, she would have cowered under his intimidating height. He had once lured her in with his bogus charm and dominant presence. He then chewed her up and spit her back out leaving a craggly, jaded glacier where her heart once was. She had chopped off her hair in defiance of her naivete. She molded her trauma into confidence and vowed to never give anyone the chance to prey on her vulnerability ever again. Her skin was thick, her backbone was sound, and she was not afraid of Marcus Woll. She could see the panic threatening to break his emotionless expression.

"You don't have to go through with this. It isn't going to do you any good." Ah, so he had moved on to the bargaining phase of denial. She imagined that it was pure agony for him to be unable to control her.

"Marcus, you have no idea how much good this is going to do me." She had never been a vengeful person, but making Woll squirm brought her irrational joy.

"It's tragic, Connie. You know this whole thing is breaking someone's heart."

She rolled her eyes. He was really laying it on this morning. "Yours? I don't think so."

"Not mine. Poor Mike Cutter." That got her attention. What was he talking about? "He never realized you were available."

She turned away and continued across Hudson. She kept her hands stuffed in her jacket as she trekked the city sidewalks toward Foley Square. It was the same path she walked every day, and rote allowed her time to reflect on her encounter with Marcus. Connie knew that Marcus would lie and manipulate, using any means necessary to get what he wanted. But, Marcus was also in the employment of cost benefit analysis, quid pro quo...tit for tat. Why would he say that about Mike? What could he possibly gain from that comment other than the satisfaction of being a bully? Maybe it was the truth. Had Mike told him something? No, there's no way, she thought to herself. Mike hates Woll even more than I do. He wouldn't give him the time of day, let alone hand over his deepest, darkest secrets. Then again, Mike had run to Jack to tattle on her about the whole Marcus debacle. He had also thrown a backhanded compliment at her during testimony preparation. Maybe she didn't know him as well as she thought. But, just for argument's sake, perhaps Marcus' little quip had some validity. If so, she wasn't prepared for the complications and mess of unrequited feelings. It wasn't that she could never reciprocate Mike's hypothetical feelings. The problem was that contrary to Marcus' assumption, she was not available to even explore what those feelings might be. She was in a relationship, and under emotional duress from a gut-wrenching case that she had worked on a couple months prior, she had agreed to marry her boyfriend of 2 and a half years. Her fiancé had a stable job, good values, common interests... He was fit, charming, kind… and he was an acceptable degree of boring. He was available, enjoyable, and a safe choice... like a pizza. Nothing could go wrong. Everybody likes pizza. Mike, on the other hand, was egotistical, daring, unpredictable, entertaining, witty, and not boring at all. He exuded wisdom and confidence. Depending on the day of the week, she found his air of authority either completely infuriating or extremely attractive. But, he was her boss, and she wasn't interested in opening that can of worms. And so, she settled for a life with pizza. Whatever pot Marcus had been trying to stir, she didn't have time to sample it.

She finally reached the courthouse. Mike was waiting for her by a column near the front entrance. He was clad in a stylish, gray three-piece suit under his coat. She stifled her urge to make a comment on his outfit. It was as if he had dressed up for a special occasion. He glanced up from his Blackberry and greeted her with a grim attempt at a smile. "'Morning. Are you ready?"

Connie responded with a resolute nod. She had no idea what lay ahead.