Author's note: Sorry for taking so long to update. I hope to post more regularly but life is so very busy!

Friday, November 6th, 2009.

1 Hogan Place

Mike restlessly rocked back and forth in his desk chair, tossing a baseball into his mitt, retrieving it, and tossing it again. He was heedless of the racket he was causing. The thwack! of the hard ball hitting the soft leather of his glove and the whining of the hardware on his chair created a disharmonious melody. His attention was fixed on the small round table across the room. Well, rather, the occupant of the table. Connie was hunched over a pile of paperwork. Her neatly manicured hand was pressed firmly into her temple and forehead as she carefully reviewed a copy of a police report on her laptop.

Mike could hear Jack's irreverent words in his head. "You two will have to work together day and night. That won't be a problem will it?"

It should not have been a problem. Mike and Connie were Jack's dynamic duo. They finished each other's thoughts, anticipated one another's needs, and Connie was Mike's moral compass. She would take the wheel every time he veered off course and turned the occasional blind eye to his questionable tactics. The Manhattan DA's Office had never possessed such a formidable weapon in its arsenal. But, somehow, in the past couple of weeks, Mike and Connie's secure little cocoon of a platonic partnership had exploded into a quagmire of awkward looks, unasked questions, mixed emotions, and plot twists. Mike had been forced head on into a collision with feelings that he'd never thought would see the light of day. Over time, he had managed to appear outwardly unfazed by her beauty and swagger. But internally, he was completely crippled by Connie's mere existence. Mike had spent most of his life dismissing the idiotic notions of romance and soulmates. His own parents' volatile relationship was enough proof that love was just a fable created by 16th century poets with poor hygiene and the side effects of alcohol. He had even tried his hand at marriage and found nothing but two years of contentious misery and disillusionment.

Then, one insignificant day in the fall of 2002, he had been knocked off his soap box by what could only be described as love at first sight.

He had been in Judge Kaur's office waiting for opposing counsel to show up for a discovery dispute hearing. The echo of the large wooden door opening and the click! clack! of kitten heels had drawn Mike's focus away from the pixelated message on his Nokia. He spotted a woman lugging a stack of case law books across the marble floor. He was certain that her personnel file had her listed as a law clerk, but the truth was that the Southern District Court was harboring an exotic enchantress on the second floor. Her lush, dark hair was pulled into a loose bun, and her forehead was framed with side swept bangs. She had a pencil shoved into the soft knot of her up-do. Sensing his scrutiny, she glanced up and responded with a demure smile. The books hit her desk with a resonant thud!, and she exhaled in relief. "Judge will be in shortly. Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr.-...?"

"Mike. I'm Mr. Cutter. Mike Cutter. For the prosecution." Mike clenched his jaw, partly out of frustration and mostly to keep himself from saying anything else. His vocation was to give speeches at least once a week, and in that moment, the English language had completely slipped his mind.

Seven years later, that striking law clerk had worked her way up the ranks and into his office. Many things had changed, but the torch he held for her still burned fervidly within his chest. He had made peace with the fact that the attraction would always be one-sided, and so, he kept the flame alive with stolen glances, walks across Foley Square, and chats over Chinese food. Connie would occasionally add her own fuel to the fire with a flirtatious comment or innocent touch. Most recently, she had looked directly at him when she told Erica Gardner that her relationship with Woll was a mistake. He had pushed the fleeting incident to the back of his mind, though. Whatever romantic angst their partnership was facing was inconsequential, because Connie was already taken. He had met the lucky bastard a couple of times, but Connie rarely brought him up and Mike never asked for more details. Mike was content in knowing that during business hours, it was just the two of them against the world, and nothing else mattered.

Connie slowly looked up from under her brow and shot an annoyed expression in his direction. Mike ceased all movement. He had known her long enough to peg when his actions were nettling her. She was like a honey bee. When left alone in her element, she was fastidious and graceful. When she felt threatened or bothered, the pain of her sting far outweighed her allure. He stood up and tossed his baseball glove in the direction of his coat rack. He retrieved his mug of cold coffee from the corner of his desk and pulled up a chair next to Connie. He dragged a stack of thick, rubber-banded envelopes toward him. Mike had known the risk of prosecuting a former ADA, but he hadn't anticipated that the fruits of his labor would feel more like being pelted with rotten tomatoes. Jack wasn't kidding when he forewarned of the volume of appeals that would spawn from Woll's conviction.

The time passed painfully slowly. They worked in cumbersome silence, save for the occasional buzz or chirp of their cellphones, a passing comment here or there, or an interrupting intern. The City was alive outside. Police sirens and honking of impatient drivers ascended from several stories below. They combed through affidavits, evidence logs, motions, transcripts… The small print on the pages blurred together. The intrusions gradually declined in frequency, and then, stopped altogether. They were the only remaining occupants of the eighth floor, along with an industrious cleaning crew. Mike checked his watch. It was almost 8:00 pm.

"It's getting late. Do you want me to order something for dinner?"

Connie had been quietly submersed in legal jargon, and she seemed startled by his voice. "What? No... thanks. I'm not hungry."

He was sure she hadn't eaten since that morning. Mike went to his desk and dug through the top left drawer for takeout menus. "You know, it's not a crime to take a break."

"I'll rest when I'm dead," she responded bleakly.

Her morbid perspective hit too close to home for him. First, she'd been threatened by the Vela Cartel. Then, she'd almost been shot in that hotel room. Mike had noticed her reticence, and he couldn't fault her. On top of the physical danger, she was also the victim of the office rumor mill. Within a few trips to the coffee pot over the past couple days, he'd overheard enough gossip to determine that Connie was a pariah. The hearsay was vicious. She had been branded as a fraud and a jezebel. Half the the staff was whispering about her sleeping her way to the top and being unqualified for her position, while the other half was hung up on the accidentally-aiding-and-abetting-a-murderer part. With every slanderous accusation, he had witnessed a small piece of her soul leaving her body. Even Jack had interceded, issuing a verbal warning to the worst offenders and publicly commending Connie for her bravery. But, it wasn't enough. He had never seen her so glum. He could no longer conceal his concern. "Connie, is everything alright with you?"

"I'm fine," she snapped. As soon as she heard the unintended sharpness of her tone, she slumped back in her chair and began to fidgeting with her pen. She didn't mean to sound so angry, but everything had her on edge lately. "I wish everyone would stop asking me that."

"Look, I already told you that if you need some time off-..." Mike offered.

"No! I need to work," she implored. "I need the distraction. No one asks you or Jack to take a vacation when things get tough."

"Fair enough." Mike knew when to back off. He ambled back across the room and sank into the couch. He studied the faded, grease-stained pictures of curry dishes on a trifold menu. He also studied Connie. The blue light from her computer screen cast an unflattering glow on her face. She looked weary. Mike cleared his throat. "We could probably outsource some of these appeals. And...maybe order a 730 exam for Jack while we're at it."

Connie furrowed her brows in confusion. Mike continued, "We've already got a full caseload to worry about, and then he adds this mess? There's just not enough hours in the day... or the week, even. Not to mention, this just seems unnecessarily punitive and cruel. Going through all of Woll's past convictions must feel like salt in your wounds. I don't know what Jack's thinking."

A frost crept into the office like fog. Connie's tense demeanor and pursed lips told Mike that his commentary was not appreciated. He wasn't sure where he'd taken a misstep, though. He was charging blindly into battle. "I'm just saying that you must be feeling-..."

"You have no idea what I am feeling." Connie forcefully shut her laptop. Her aura was red with rage, but her voice was strangely calm. "If you have something to say to me, just say it. I am too tired to read between the lines right now."

"What? I don't... Connie..." Mike stammered.

She pivoted in her chair to look at him. It was the first time she had offered her undivided attention to him that day. Mike's lips parted in relief, but the joy was short-lived, because she was clearly not happy. "Mike, we are colleagues. We are also adults, which means that we should be mature enough to have open and honest communication. But, as I discovered from your courtroom antics on Wednesday- and your conduct as a whole for the past week- I am dealing with someone who possesses the tact of a third grader."

Mike felt a smile threatening to break through his befuddlement. Connie had an endearing habit of taking a misplaced breath in her sentences when she was passionate about something. He chewed the inside of his cheek to maintain composure. "I'm lost. What are you talking about?"

"'Maybe she was in love with you'? Really, Mike? Was that absolutely crucial to your line of questioning? Because it felt like yet another dig at me."

Mike leaned his head against the back of the couch and barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "It was an act, Connie. I've done it 100 times with 100 different defendants, and this time was no different. My job is to find a weakness and exploit it. I cannot believe we are having this discussion right now."

"It felt like the only person being exploited in front of the jury was me! You should have had the decency to fill me in on your plan ahead of time."

Mike carefully drafted his response. He loved everything about Connie, but her penchant for blowing things way out of proportion could be taxing at times. "Next time I charge one of your ex-boyfriends with murder, I'll be sure to give you a copy of the play book."

His impudence drew daggers from Connie's characteristically gentle eyes. "This isn't a joke, Mike!"

"Okay, you're right. I'm sorry," Mike surrendered with a shade of sarcasm. "But in my defense, this was new territory for both of us. I never thought I'd be questioning you on the witness stand."

Connie tilted her head with skepticism. "That's not an excuse. I expected the defense to rake me over the coals, not you. You were supposed to have my back in there."

"Have your back?" Mike bowed forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He punctuated his word with the movement of his hands. "What do you call the deal I made with Bart Rainey? And in case you haven't noticed, Marcus Woll is holed up at MCC awaiting a trial date. I used whatever means necessary to get the end that we all wanted."

Connie retreated, relaxing her posture and forming her lips into a pensive pout. Mike had a valid point, and deep down, she knew that he was an opportunist above all else. She couldn't help her feelings of offense, though. She wasn't a carrot that could be dangled in front of a jury, but Mike lived by the doctrine of do first, apologize later.

"Look, Connie," he stood up and grabbed his phone off the table, "I can argue a case in court all day, but I don't enjoy arguing with you. So, if I offended you in any way, you have my sincerest apologies. Now, can we please move past this?"

"Fine," she yielded. "But, there's one more thing..." Mike pinched the bridge of his nose and braced for whatever perceived slight Connie was about to recount. "You should have talked to me about my relationship with Marcus before you told Jack. You didn't even know if it was the truth. You're almost as bad as the rest of the busybodies that are working here."

"You're making it sound like I gave an exposé to the National Enquirer, when I was simply giving Jack an update on the case. Besides, you knew that your life, fact or fiction, became fair game for everyone as soon as you agreed to testify against Woll." Mike was deflecting. It was one of his most unflattering traits.

"I was still my story to tell, not yours." There were those daggers, again.

"And how exactly was that conversation supposed to go? 'Hey, Connie, where are we going for lunch? By the way, did you sleep with the defendant?'"

"We've had plenty of difficult conversations."

"About moral issues and politics, not our personal lives, and especially not about such an intimate topic..." Mike trailed off, unable to disguise his discomfort. "Maybe it's different for you and Jack, though. You two have a different... rapport." There was a twinge of jealousy in Mike's valuation that Connie detected immediately.

"Perhaps it's because Jack doesn't have a hidden agenda." Connie hadn't intended to let that theory slip out, but it did. "You... you're impossible to read."

Mike was briefly disarmed by her accusation. He wondered if this is what it felt like to be a suspect in an interrogation, where the police ask a question to which they already know the answer. They were headed down a very slippery slope, straight into a bed of thorns. Mike scratched his eyebrow and made a pained face. "Connie, it's getting late and we still have a million more appeals to review, so what is your point?"

"I don't know," she looked away, unsure how to ask Mike if his actions has been rooted in disapproval or something else. Something selfish and possessive. Maybe she didn't need to ask him. Maybe they could convince the elephant in the room to head back to the zoo. Fortuitously, the mounting tension was alleviated by the vibration of her Blackberry. Without even checking the caller ID, she reached for the device and silenced it. Within seconds, the phone rang again, and again, she rejected the call.

"Saved by the bell," Miked quipped. Connie's phone vibrated once more, a notification that she had received a message. She read the text and groaned in frustration.

"What is it?"

Connie ran her hands over her face and back through her hair. Her fiancé was back from a seminar. She hadn't seen him for nearly a week, but he was the last person on her mind. "It's nothing. I forgot to cancel my dinner plans. I got so busy with all this," she motioned toward the documents splayed in front of her, "and it completely slipped my mind."

Mike didn't need to ask for any more details. He could infer that her plans were with her paramour. "If you need to leave, then go. We can start up again tomorrow."

Connie chewed her lip and assessed the unusually cluttered state of Mike's office. "There's so much work to do."

"And it will still be here in the morning. You should go."

"Are you sure?"

Mike shrugged. "These things aren't going anywhere. Also, I think we've had enough of each other for one day."

Connie smirked. She gathered up her belongings and sent an apologetic message to her fiancé that she was running late. Mike decided to call it a night, as well. Once they were all packed up, they switched off the lights and rode the elevator down to the first floor in silence. They stood in an awkward limbo in front of the gilded doors of Hogan Place. Mike was the first to speak, "Listen, Connie..."

"Mike, I don't-..." Connie's voice tangled with his. She'd had the same idea at the same time, to clear the air and push the imaginary reset button. Mike made a gesture for her to continue.

Connie tucked her hair behind her ear, her other hand clutching the handle of her briefcase. "I was just going to say that you're right. I don't think I can handle any more time or energy spent on Marcus Woll. I think if I ever see or hear his name again, I'll punch something... or someone."

Mike chuckled at the thought of Connie giving someone a black eye. "Are you quitting on me, then?"

"I am, and I'm sorry," Connie winced at her unprecedented admission of defeat.

"Don't worry about it. I'll talk to Jack." Mike gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Have a good weekend."

Connie wanted to repay the well wishes, but she knew that Mike would be facing an even greater workload in her absence. She was unsure of what to say, and Mike was already walking away toward Centre Street. She missed her opportunity to express her gratitude, and she began her sluggish journey home. She knew that her fiancé was waiting for her at her apartment, but she was feeling dread rather than excitement. He had no idea of the emotional rollercoaster she had been on, and she had no ambition to tell him. It would open the door to a discussion about her past relationship with Woll and knowing her fiancé's jealous nature, the evening would end on a sour note. She just wanted to go home and unwind with a beer and a bubble bath after a very long, very stressful week.

She was abruptly jostled from her thoughts. She had just reached the edge of the building when someone collided with her. She regained her composure and was met with Mike's repentant expression. He had rounded the corner too quickly and crashed into her.

"Sorry, are you alright?" He reach out to steady her.

"I'm fine. Is everything okay with you? You're in such a hurry."

"I'm going back to the office to get some paperwork. Since you're not coming in tomorrow, I realized I can work on some of the appeals from home."

Connie felt a slight pang of remorse. "Mike, if you need me..."

Of course he needed her. He needed her in his life more than he needed oxygen or Westlaw or coffee, but he also knew that he had to respect her needs. In that moment, Connie needed space and time to work through her trauma. "No, it's fine. I already left a message for Jack." He checked his watch and surveyed the sidewalk. "Are you walking home?"

"Yes, I always walk home. It's just a few blocks."

"I know, I meant that it's late," Mike noted. "If you want to wait, I can walk with you."

Connie found his chivalry endearing, but unnecessary. "Thanks, but I'll be fine."

They were torn away from their chat by the high-pitched squeal of brakes from a yellow cab that was slowly pulling up to the curb. The rear passenger door opened and a tall man with dark hair and an enviable athletic build exited the vehicle. Connie felt her chest tighten and her heart flutter. She nervously licked her lips and breathlessly exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"

The man enveloped her in a sudden, passionate embrace, dipping her over the moonlit cement below. He greeted her with a kiss that was both eager and tame. She planted her hands firmly against his chest, hoping that he would pick up on the hint that this was not the time or the place for sweeping romantic gestures. A small part of her, however, welcomed the contact. Just not in front of her boss. She broke free and positioned herself upright. She looked at Mike who appeared to be paralyzed with distress mixed with a dash of humiliation.

The man ran his hands down her arms and clasped her fingers between his. "You are one difficult woman to find! You're lucky I enjoy a challenge."

Connie produced a phony smile, wriggling her hands out of the clutches of her fiancé. "This is so unexpected. I'm certainly surprised."

"I'll see you Monday," Mike interjected. He turned and set course for the shelter of his office. His sudden shift in disposition told her everything she needed to know. Marcus was right. She was breaking Mike's heart.

Note: So right now, the fiancé is super mysterious. We don't even know his name! Stay tuned for the next chapter, because we are going to find out all about him.