I own nothing.
A/N: I'll try to update more frequently.
-----
"I need another beer. Do you want one?" Jack asked.
Sandy looked at his half empty plastic cup and nodded. He figured that by the time his friend waded through the crowd of people, he'd be about done with it. As he left, Sandy went back to something that he'd decided would be his newest pastime - watching the beautiful blonde in the corner.
A drunk athletic guy bumped into her and she stared angrily at him. Sandy decided that she was more mad about being interrupted from her reading that the pain that he was sure was emitting from her foot. Soon after, she was nose deep in her book, just liked she'd been for over an hour.
For the life of him, he couldn't quite understand why the pretty, slim girl wearing skintight jeans and a white lop-sided top would be reading a textbook -unless it was an incredibly huge novel-at a frat party. He drank the rest of his beer in one gulp and reckoned he'd found an even newer hobby - getting to know that beautiful bookworm.
----
"It really can't be that bad," a voice interrupted Kirsten just as she was just about to re-read exactly how Demand and Quantity Demanded weren't the same thing. For about the eighth time that evening, she prepared herself to tell a pest off. She figured that the fact she was sitting by herself, reading, was a strong enough signal that she wasn't interested in dancing or talking to any strange guys.
She looked up and saw the thickest eyebrows she'd ever seen in her twenty years on earth - she was so sure she could grow a few potatoes in them. That conjured a mental picture of her bent over harvesting vegetables from his brows and she giggled in response.
"Did I say something funny?" he asked curiously.
She looked into his sparkling eyes and smiled. Hell, it was about time she took a break anyway. "No, nothing. You didn't say anything funny."
"You sure? 'Cos I doubt there's anything funny in...," he said, reaching down to her lap and flipping the book cover over so that he could read the title, " 'The Principles of Microeconomics'."
"Oh, don't be fooled - Econ can be very funny. Demand and supply, normal and luxury goods, inelasticity and substitution; could anything be funnier?" What the hell? She wondered. Was she actually having the most ridiculous conversation with this cute weed-whacker browed guy? She chided herself for not bringing her psychology textbook instead. Certainly, 'Minds, Bodies and Machines' had to be more interesting.
With his eyes crinkling slightly, he said, "I'll take your word for it. So why are you here all alone? You should join the party."
"I'm not really much of a party person," she replied honestly.
"Hey, what's not to love? Suffocating smoke, drugs, watered-down booze, intoxicated girls puking on you, high guys groping other guys, really could anything be better?"
"I guess not," she replied with exaggerated sincerity." I've got an exam in a week," she explained.
"That soon?" he mock-exclaimed. For some reason, she really didn't mind this guy making fun of her. It was something about the warmth of his smile -she could almost tell that he didn't have a malicious bone in his body. "So why didn't you just skip the party, not that I, in any way regret meeting you here, but why come?"
"I promised my date," she said, pointing at a tall husky guy, "that I'll come out with him today. I'd already cancelled twice so I had to come."
He nodded. "Cool. But it's not a good sign that you're here and he's all the way over there."
.
.
------
Sandy looked at the sheet the fax machine had spat out. What the hell was Seth doing? Clothes and shoes totaling over $300; dinner at a restaurant for $25; a tour costing around $30; a ticket to a play for $50 amongst other things. It looked like the silly boy was having the time of his life. He went through every item listed carefully but still couldn't find anything that sounded remotely like a hotel. It made sense - he wouldn't have to pay his bill till he checked-out. He reached for the phone and dialed Dan Steven's number. It didn't take a lot of brains to guess that the hotel was in the vicinity of at least one of these stores and he was sure that once the private investigator got down there, Seth would be easy to track down.
----
Sandy glanced at his watch: 4:23pm. With all that was going on in his life, he hadn't really been productive and decided that his time would be spent better at home. Just as he was about to grab his keys, his intercom went off.
"I'm not in," he said into the machine. "Take a message and tell whoever it is that--"
Before he could finish his sentence, his friend and fellow lawyer, Rachel, walked in with her arms full of files.
"No, Sandy, you can't get rid of me that easily," she cooed in that voice that seemed reserved for their private conversations.
He exhaled and put on his cheerful voice. It was one thing to be going through hell at home and it was another to let everyone else know about it. "I see you're bearing gifts. How about you save them for a special occasion?"
The files landed on his desk in a loud thud then she put her hands on his desk and leaned over. "For you, I don't need a special occasion."
Sandy picked up one folder and peeked into it. "Racial discrimination case? Rachel, you know I don't do these."
"I know, but look at the first plaintiff's name," she ordered.
He read it. "Anderson." He shrugged, Anderson was hardly a unique name. "Is this supposed to ring a bell?"
Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Yes. You represented his son a few years ago in an armed robbery case."
He hit his head in exasperation. Public Defenders had such heavy workloads that he'd had far too many clients to remember them all. "You're going to have to give me more than that."
Irritated, she sighed. "You proved that even though he knew the robbers, he didn't know about the crime and it was simply a coincidence that he was at the store on that day."
Sandy nodded slowly as the memory flooded back to him. The frightened slight boy had been so sure that he was going to jail that he was willing to plead guilty just so he could spare his parents the trauma of a trial. His parents wholeheartedly refused so, Sandy jumped, feet first, into the difficult case. Seeing such a normally law-abiding close-knit family going through such unfortunate circumstances, just because the other boys had agreed to pin the crime on their son, spurred him to make sure he didn't leave a stone unturned. In the end, he'd found a boy who'd chickened out at the last minute and convinced him to testify. Seeing the joy on the Andersons' faces was enough to convince him that, even though he was underpaid, all his late nights were well spent.
"I remember them as nice people. In fact, I'm inclined to believe that their accusations are founded," he told the stoic Rachel.
"Be that as it may, we are representing his employer and we need you on this case."
He groaned as he ran his fingers through his hair - this was the last thing he needed. "I don't understand what you guys expect me to do. Having a previous relationship with the plaintiff is enough of a reason for me to recuse myself."
"Well, we need you to take this case," she replied firmly.
Sandy shook his head in disgust and wondered how the restaurant business was doing. Answering to someone meant that he had to deal with being stumped on and strong armed into things he wanted no part of. And he was getting sick of it. "When's the court date?"
"Two weeks."
"Two weeks! I'm supposed to study this case along with the Peterman case at the same time?" He'd already devoted over five weeks of his life to his pro-bono case. The poor man was being targeted for being a tree-hugging protester.
"Gillian says she's got everything under control. If she has questions, she'll ask you. Is that okay?"
"Do I really have a choice? It seems like everything has been decided without me. Who was working on this?"
"Novak."
"Shit, this just keeps getting better and better. You know that he keeps the worst notes and is so disorganized it's a wonder he ever passed the Bar. Do you honestly expect me to be ready for court in two weeks?"
"Well, the plan is not to have it go to court at all," she said, walking through the door.
---
For what seemed like the hundredth time, Kirsten stopped herself from pressing that 10th digit. She wanted to speak to Ryan, to hear how he was doing, to see if things were settled, to whisper words of encouragement but mostly to just hear his voice. He called her every morning but it was hardly enough. She'd never understood how much she loved that boy till he walked out of her house. As if hit by a ton of bricks she came to realize that she'd created a space in her heart for him and now that he was gone, she felt hollow. She'd also become increasingly suspicious about Seth's disappearance and planned to talk to her husband about it once he returned home.
She put down the phone receiver, walked up to the fridge, pulled its door and peered in. Even though he tried to hide it, she'd noticed that Sandy had been testy for the last couple of days. She reached into a cabinet and pulled out the book of family recipes his Aunt Ruth had given her at their wedding. She dusted it off, then flipped it open for the second time in her life. She knew she wasn't a great cook but she sure as hell could follow instructions. How hard could it be to make a potato casserole?
---
"This is great stuff - you should cook more often," Sandy said, shoving a heaped spoon into his mouth. He was wearing his happy mask again and she wondered if her plan to cheer him up with a childhood favorite had failed because she'd done something wrong or he was still bothered by Ryan's leaving. She put a forkful of food into her mouth and winced. Damn, she'd done it again. She was sure it said three tablespoons of salt. She had read it correctly, hadn't she? She watched as her husband stuffed his face with the ruined concoction and fell in love with him all over again. Was it possible to find a more perfect man? Someone who was willing to upset his stomach simply to avoid hurting her feelings? She reached across the table and emptied her glass in his plate.
He looked up at her in shock.
"Now you don't have to eat it anymore," she informed him before he could protest.
----
It was nuts. After almost twenty years of marriage they'd begun to walk on eggshells around one another. He knew she was still devastated by Ryan's disappearance but knowing that she was hiding something from him, something she blamed herself for, had made it difficult for him to open up or even talk to her the way he always did.
She walked out of the bathroom in a sleeveless beige silk top that came with matching shorts. On any other night, he'd have commented on how sexy she looked. But not tonight. Tonight was reserved for more important things.
"Kirsten," he began as she stretched her body next to his, "we need to talk."
A/N: I'll try to update more frequently.
-----
"I need another beer. Do you want one?" Jack asked.
Sandy looked at his half empty plastic cup and nodded. He figured that by the time his friend waded through the crowd of people, he'd be about done with it. As he left, Sandy went back to something that he'd decided would be his newest pastime - watching the beautiful blonde in the corner.
A drunk athletic guy bumped into her and she stared angrily at him. Sandy decided that she was more mad about being interrupted from her reading that the pain that he was sure was emitting from her foot. Soon after, she was nose deep in her book, just liked she'd been for over an hour.
For the life of him, he couldn't quite understand why the pretty, slim girl wearing skintight jeans and a white lop-sided top would be reading a textbook -unless it was an incredibly huge novel-at a frat party. He drank the rest of his beer in one gulp and reckoned he'd found an even newer hobby - getting to know that beautiful bookworm.
----
"It really can't be that bad," a voice interrupted Kirsten just as she was just about to re-read exactly how Demand and Quantity Demanded weren't the same thing. For about the eighth time that evening, she prepared herself to tell a pest off. She figured that the fact she was sitting by herself, reading, was a strong enough signal that she wasn't interested in dancing or talking to any strange guys.
She looked up and saw the thickest eyebrows she'd ever seen in her twenty years on earth - she was so sure she could grow a few potatoes in them. That conjured a mental picture of her bent over harvesting vegetables from his brows and she giggled in response.
"Did I say something funny?" he asked curiously.
She looked into his sparkling eyes and smiled. Hell, it was about time she took a break anyway. "No, nothing. You didn't say anything funny."
"You sure? 'Cos I doubt there's anything funny in...," he said, reaching down to her lap and flipping the book cover over so that he could read the title, " 'The Principles of Microeconomics'."
"Oh, don't be fooled - Econ can be very funny. Demand and supply, normal and luxury goods, inelasticity and substitution; could anything be funnier?" What the hell? She wondered. Was she actually having the most ridiculous conversation with this cute weed-whacker browed guy? She chided herself for not bringing her psychology textbook instead. Certainly, 'Minds, Bodies and Machines' had to be more interesting.
With his eyes crinkling slightly, he said, "I'll take your word for it. So why are you here all alone? You should join the party."
"I'm not really much of a party person," she replied honestly.
"Hey, what's not to love? Suffocating smoke, drugs, watered-down booze, intoxicated girls puking on you, high guys groping other guys, really could anything be better?"
"I guess not," she replied with exaggerated sincerity." I've got an exam in a week," she explained.
"That soon?" he mock-exclaimed. For some reason, she really didn't mind this guy making fun of her. It was something about the warmth of his smile -she could almost tell that he didn't have a malicious bone in his body. "So why didn't you just skip the party, not that I, in any way regret meeting you here, but why come?"
"I promised my date," she said, pointing at a tall husky guy, "that I'll come out with him today. I'd already cancelled twice so I had to come."
He nodded. "Cool. But it's not a good sign that you're here and he's all the way over there."
.
.
------
Sandy looked at the sheet the fax machine had spat out. What the hell was Seth doing? Clothes and shoes totaling over $300; dinner at a restaurant for $25; a tour costing around $30; a ticket to a play for $50 amongst other things. It looked like the silly boy was having the time of his life. He went through every item listed carefully but still couldn't find anything that sounded remotely like a hotel. It made sense - he wouldn't have to pay his bill till he checked-out. He reached for the phone and dialed Dan Steven's number. It didn't take a lot of brains to guess that the hotel was in the vicinity of at least one of these stores and he was sure that once the private investigator got down there, Seth would be easy to track down.
----
Sandy glanced at his watch: 4:23pm. With all that was going on in his life, he hadn't really been productive and decided that his time would be spent better at home. Just as he was about to grab his keys, his intercom went off.
"I'm not in," he said into the machine. "Take a message and tell whoever it is that--"
Before he could finish his sentence, his friend and fellow lawyer, Rachel, walked in with her arms full of files.
"No, Sandy, you can't get rid of me that easily," she cooed in that voice that seemed reserved for their private conversations.
He exhaled and put on his cheerful voice. It was one thing to be going through hell at home and it was another to let everyone else know about it. "I see you're bearing gifts. How about you save them for a special occasion?"
The files landed on his desk in a loud thud then she put her hands on his desk and leaned over. "For you, I don't need a special occasion."
Sandy picked up one folder and peeked into it. "Racial discrimination case? Rachel, you know I don't do these."
"I know, but look at the first plaintiff's name," she ordered.
He read it. "Anderson." He shrugged, Anderson was hardly a unique name. "Is this supposed to ring a bell?"
Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Yes. You represented his son a few years ago in an armed robbery case."
He hit his head in exasperation. Public Defenders had such heavy workloads that he'd had far too many clients to remember them all. "You're going to have to give me more than that."
Irritated, she sighed. "You proved that even though he knew the robbers, he didn't know about the crime and it was simply a coincidence that he was at the store on that day."
Sandy nodded slowly as the memory flooded back to him. The frightened slight boy had been so sure that he was going to jail that he was willing to plead guilty just so he could spare his parents the trauma of a trial. His parents wholeheartedly refused so, Sandy jumped, feet first, into the difficult case. Seeing such a normally law-abiding close-knit family going through such unfortunate circumstances, just because the other boys had agreed to pin the crime on their son, spurred him to make sure he didn't leave a stone unturned. In the end, he'd found a boy who'd chickened out at the last minute and convinced him to testify. Seeing the joy on the Andersons' faces was enough to convince him that, even though he was underpaid, all his late nights were well spent.
"I remember them as nice people. In fact, I'm inclined to believe that their accusations are founded," he told the stoic Rachel.
"Be that as it may, we are representing his employer and we need you on this case."
He groaned as he ran his fingers through his hair - this was the last thing he needed. "I don't understand what you guys expect me to do. Having a previous relationship with the plaintiff is enough of a reason for me to recuse myself."
"Well, we need you to take this case," she replied firmly.
Sandy shook his head in disgust and wondered how the restaurant business was doing. Answering to someone meant that he had to deal with being stumped on and strong armed into things he wanted no part of. And he was getting sick of it. "When's the court date?"
"Two weeks."
"Two weeks! I'm supposed to study this case along with the Peterman case at the same time?" He'd already devoted over five weeks of his life to his pro-bono case. The poor man was being targeted for being a tree-hugging protester.
"Gillian says she's got everything under control. If she has questions, she'll ask you. Is that okay?"
"Do I really have a choice? It seems like everything has been decided without me. Who was working on this?"
"Novak."
"Shit, this just keeps getting better and better. You know that he keeps the worst notes and is so disorganized it's a wonder he ever passed the Bar. Do you honestly expect me to be ready for court in two weeks?"
"Well, the plan is not to have it go to court at all," she said, walking through the door.
---
For what seemed like the hundredth time, Kirsten stopped herself from pressing that 10th digit. She wanted to speak to Ryan, to hear how he was doing, to see if things were settled, to whisper words of encouragement but mostly to just hear his voice. He called her every morning but it was hardly enough. She'd never understood how much she loved that boy till he walked out of her house. As if hit by a ton of bricks she came to realize that she'd created a space in her heart for him and now that he was gone, she felt hollow. She'd also become increasingly suspicious about Seth's disappearance and planned to talk to her husband about it once he returned home.
She put down the phone receiver, walked up to the fridge, pulled its door and peered in. Even though he tried to hide it, she'd noticed that Sandy had been testy for the last couple of days. She reached into a cabinet and pulled out the book of family recipes his Aunt Ruth had given her at their wedding. She dusted it off, then flipped it open for the second time in her life. She knew she wasn't a great cook but she sure as hell could follow instructions. How hard could it be to make a potato casserole?
---
"This is great stuff - you should cook more often," Sandy said, shoving a heaped spoon into his mouth. He was wearing his happy mask again and she wondered if her plan to cheer him up with a childhood favorite had failed because she'd done something wrong or he was still bothered by Ryan's leaving. She put a forkful of food into her mouth and winced. Damn, she'd done it again. She was sure it said three tablespoons of salt. She had read it correctly, hadn't she? She watched as her husband stuffed his face with the ruined concoction and fell in love with him all over again. Was it possible to find a more perfect man? Someone who was willing to upset his stomach simply to avoid hurting her feelings? She reached across the table and emptied her glass in his plate.
He looked up at her in shock.
"Now you don't have to eat it anymore," she informed him before he could protest.
----
It was nuts. After almost twenty years of marriage they'd begun to walk on eggshells around one another. He knew she was still devastated by Ryan's disappearance but knowing that she was hiding something from him, something she blamed herself for, had made it difficult for him to open up or even talk to her the way he always did.
She walked out of the bathroom in a sleeveless beige silk top that came with matching shorts. On any other night, he'd have commented on how sexy she looked. But not tonight. Tonight was reserved for more important things.
"Kirsten," he began as she stretched her body next to his, "we need to talk."