A/N: Thanks to rebeccainley for her continuing beta. Thanks for the reviews, everybody, keep 'em coming. Sorry for the slow updating schedule! And don't forget, there's a poll on my profile page where you can vote for up to three of my stories to tell me which ones you like best.

Old Friends


Abbie Carmichael's Townhouse

4 pm Friday May 4th 2007


Regan stared down at the pages spread out on the dining room table. She brushed her fingers across them as if the inspiration that had been eluding her might seep into her fingertips.

It didn't.

She was about to pick up the top page of Keri Dyson's affidavit when she heard the front door close.

"Regan?" Abbie called.

"In here," Regan called back.

She heard Abbie's footsteps in the hall, and then the woman herself appeared, one hand pressed into the small of her back, the other resting on her swollen belly.

"You're home early," Regan said.

"At the price of a briefcase full of work," Abbie said. "You're home early too. Jack give you a leave pass?"

Regan took a deep breath. "Not exactly," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "I have good news and bad news. The good news is, it's lucky you aren't financially dependent on the money I pay you for room and board."

Abbie looked at her, gaze shrewd. "Sacked?" she asked, voice neutral.

"Leave without pay. Because – to defend – " Suddenly tears threatened as the panic she had been fighting all afternoon overwhelmed her. "Jack's charged with assault," she managed to say, and then pressed her hand over her mouth.

"What! Who?" Abbie demanded. "He finally took a swing at Gorton, didn't he?"

"No," Regan said, feeling sick. "An ADA. Keri Dyson. Says he hit her – says he beat her – last night. After we were all out drinking." She could hear her voice rising but couldn't slow down as Abbie stared at her in shock and dawning horror. "They left together and then this morning she came in and – " a hiccupping sob shook her and she gasped for breath "And – and – she said she wouldn't charge him if he – got her promoted – and he ordered me to write the paper on him – and I thought – I thought - "

"Take it easy, take it easy," Abbie said, putting her arm around Regan's shoulders. "Deep breaths, there you go." She pulled a chair closer and sat down. "Start at the beginning."

Regan pulled herself together and told the story, from the cab ride to the bar to McCoy's shocking final words to her. "I've been sitting here trying to work out what to do," she finished, "but, Abbie, I'm not a defense attorney! I can't be the only thing between Jack and jail sentence – I'm just not good enough!"

"He can't think so, if you're the one he wants," Abbie pointed out.

"He picked me because I'm not good enough," Regan said bitterly, "He as good as said so."

The anger that had been simmering since she had first realized how casually McCoy had played her and how little he had trusted her began to boil. Shock, panic, the desperate search for answers and the sheer horror of the thought that McCoy could end up somewhere like Wyoming Correctional Facility – god, they'd never send him to Sing Sing, would they? He can't be a security risk! – where every second inmate would have a good reason to shank him in the showers: the emotional rollercoaster had pushed aside her anger at McCoy, at his bone-headed, pig-headed, high-and-mighty-I'm-the-EADA-so-just-trust-me selfish goddamn manipulative –

"Goddamn him!" she exploded, slamming her fists down on the dining room table hard enough to make the salt-cellar jump and Abbie flinch. "He played me just like he'd play a defendant! I thought – I thought I'd earned better! I thought I'd proved to him that he could trust me! And he treats me like this, the son-of-a-bitch! Makes me think it's one more Jack McCoy end-run and then waltzes in to Branch's office and announces he's going to plead guilty – to something he could never do! Damn, damn, goddamn him! I can't - " Her eyes filled with tears of mingled anger and betrayal.

"You certainly can't do him any good when you're in this kind of state," Abbie said with a certain degree of asperity.

Regan glared at her. "I'm glad you're so unmoved by this."

"Don't you dare imagine you know how I feel," Abbie said hotly. "I've known Jack a hell of a lot longer than you have, and I can't make any more sense of this woman's story than you can – or work out why the hell, even if he isn't going to tell you what he's thinking, he couldn't pick up the phone and call me. But this isn't the time for sulking about it." She prodded Regan hard in the arm with one finger, her gaze intimidating in its intensity. "Jack needs you – needs us – no matter what he might think, or say. So get your head in the goddamn game."

"Yes, ma'am," Regan said reflexively. Abbie glared at her as if Regan was being sarcastic, but then smiled a little.

"I'm used to ordering junior prosecutors around these days," she said. "I guess it's habit. I have to make some phone calls." She put her hands flat on the table and levered herself to her feet. "Go and clear your head," she ordered Regan. "Take a shower. Go for a run. Do both. Just be back at this table at six, ready to work."

"What happens at six?" Regan asked, obediently getting to her feet.

"We start sorting this mess out," Abbie said grimly.

Regan took Abbie's advice – her orders – and changed into sweatpants and sneakers to hit the sidewalk. Hoping to burn off her anger at McCoy, she set a pace that had her gasping within a mile. By the time she'd made it back to the front steps of Abbie's brownstone she was thoroughly winded and drenched in sweat – and still fuming. In the shower, she scrubbed hard enough to leave her skin red, then yanked a comb through the knots in her hair, ignoring the pain. Damn him, anyway. Dragging her T-shirt over her head recklessly quickly, she banged her elbow on the wall of the bathroom hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

Damn him!

Deliberately, she elbowed the wall again, the impact sending a sharp shock of pain up her arm.

Damn him, damn him, damn him!

The pain in her arm wasn't enough. Regan clenched her fist and punched the wall as hard as she could.

The impact left a thin smear of blood on the white tiles. Regan cradled her throbbing hand, swearing under her breath, and then fumbled the tap on in the basin and held her bleeding knuckles under a stream of cold water.

Well, that will teach Jack a lesson, she thought wryly, flexing her fingers to see if anything was broken. I guess those sessions with Skoda still have a way to go.

At least I didn't hit Jack, this time.

She wiped the blood off the wall with a tissue, put a Band-Aid on her bruised knuckles, and went downstairs to find out what Abbie had planned.

Abbie's phone-calls had borne fruit. There were three familiar faces around the dining room table: Serena Southerlyn, Danielle Melnick, and Sally Bell. Seated at the head of the table, opposite Abbie, was a woman Regan had never met but who she recognized: Nora Lewin, law professor and former DA.

"I can't stay for this meeting," Abbie said, "because unless I take leave from the Southern District I can't be legally hired by you, Regan, so no privilege would apply. But that doesn't apply to any one else here."

Serena was holding a sheaf of papers, and she pushed them across the table to lie in front of the only empty chair. "Contracts," she said. "We've all signed. Your signature is all that's needed to make us co-counsel."

"Not if Jack doesn't – " Regan started to say.

Nora Lewin interrupted her. "Corin v Wabhurt establishes that privilege attaches when senior counsel hires assistance," the former District Attorney said with cool precision, "Whether they are legal practitioners or others covered by work-product protection, until or unless the client gives instructions to terminate the relationship." She paused, pursing her lips a little. "Sign the forms, Ms Markham. I have the impression we have a lot of work to do here."

Regan nodded, looking around for a pen. Wordlessly, Sally Bell took one from her pocket and held it out. As Regan began to sign her name on each of the four contracts, Abbie stood up.

"I'll be in the kitchen," she said. "You're going to need money for this. I'm going to open an account and start calling possible donors."

"I didn't think of any of this," Regan admitted quietly as Abbie left the room. "The cost – any of it."

"When you're an ADA, someone else always meets the bill," Nora Lewin said. "And I speak as someone who had to authorize a fair few of those bills." She smiled, and Regan found her suddenly less intimidating. "Why don't you take us through the case and we'll see where we are."

Regan took a deep breath, and for the second time in a few hours told the story, more calmly than her outburst to Abbie. When she'd finished there was a moment's silence.

"What should I do?" Regan asked at last.

"It's he said-she said," Sally Bell said. "Unless they have forensic evidence, it'll come down to credibility on the stand. You need to find out everything you can about Keri Dyson – find something to destroy her credibility."

"Does she make a habit of going home with co-workers?" Danielle Melnick asked. "Does she have a drinking problem? Does she do drugs?"

Regan nodded. "I'll start looking in to her."

"Not you," Serena said. "Stop thinking like an ADA. You're lead counsel. Hire a private investigator."

"I don't know any private investigators," Regan said.

"Know any cops?" Danielle said. When Regan nodded, she went on: "Plenty of retired police officers end up as PIs. Ask for a recommendation."

"Okay," Regan said.

"You're got a bigger problem than worrying about the trial," Nora Lewin said. "You've got a defendant who plans to plead guilty at arraignment. And no matter what Arthur Branch might say, he can't prevent that. If you can't change Jack's mind by Monday – "

"That's the ballgame," Danielle agreed grimly. "Where is Jack tonight?"

Regan shrugged. "I wasn't fast enough to stop him at Hogan Place. He's not answering his cell, or his home phone." Not entirely true. She'd told him to go home and get some rest, she'd made no effort to stop him leaving. The truth is, I couldn't bear to keep arguing with him – couldn't bear to know how little he thought of me as a lawyer, how little he trusted me, couldn't bear to know what else might slip out, unintentionally truthful.

Danielle raised her eyebrows. To Regan, the other woman's disapproval was a clear as if she'd just come out and said How could you let him go off on his own? "I figured – he made it clear he didn't want to talk to me," Regan added defensively.

"I think we're all agreed that whatever's going on here, Jack's not making the best decisions," Sally said, and Regan heard criticism in her tone. She bit her lip and stayed silent. They're right. I shouldn't have let my own feelings get in the way – should have dived through the doors into the lift, should have run downstairs instead of walked, should have … All of those choices seemed easy now, in retrospect, without the knot of shock freezing her gut, without her sense of betrayal hazing her vision and clouding her decisions. At the time, she'd had excuses: she had to arrange for security to get her personal belongings, she had to get the defense attorney's copy of the complaint and the paperwork … convenient tasks that meant she didn't have time to chase after McCoy, even when, waiting for security, she'd seen Colleen going past her to the lift with McCoy's coat and known he was waiting in the lobby.

"You're going to have to make Jack talk to you," Sally said, "Before Monday. And believe me, I know how much I'm asking. He's got to tell you what happened, and you've got to get him to plead not guilty."

"Nobody gets Jack McCoy to do anything he doesn't want to do," Regan said. "And I don't know why – I don't know why he's so set on a guilty plea."

"Have you considered that he might be guilty?" Nora asked.

"There's no way," Regan said instantly. "And I can't believe you'd even suggest – "

"All right," Nora said. "Calm down."

Regan realized she was on her feet, fists clenched. "I'm sorry," she said, sinking back into her chair. "I know – you have to consider all the options. I have to consider all the options. But there's no way this stacks up."

Nora gave what Regan felt was only a noncommittal nod. And you call yourself his friends, she fumed to herself. One of you wondering if he's guilty, two acting as if the only thing to do is to destroy the prosecution witness like every low-rent domestic case – she was as angry with them as she was with Jack McCoy. She managed to keep her mouth shut and her eyes on the papers in front of her as the four other women tossed ideas back and forth, debated discovery, proposed motions in limine, until Serena's voice interrupted her silent fuming.

"Tell us again what happened at the bar, Regan," Serena said.

"We got a cab with Bill Fitzgerald," Regan started. She told them the whole thing again – the piano, the singing, McCoy at the booth with Keri … When she finished Danielle looked up from the notes she was making.

"How many drinks did he have at the office?' she asked Regan.

"None," Regan said.

"None that you saw," Danielle noted.

"Well, yes, but we were going through files from late afternoon. He wasn't drinking," Regan said.

"How many drinks did he have at the bar?"

"I'm not sure," Regan said. "I saw him go to the bar once. I saw Keri Dyson hand him a drink at one point, and I saw her make another trip to the bar later. Three, I'd say, at least. What's that got to do with anything?"

"Start thinking like a trial lawyer," Danielle said. "If Jack had three, then Keri probably had three. That makes her drunker than him, when you take bodyweight and gender into consideration. That makes her a less than reliable witness."

"Yeah, but she wasn't drunker than him," Regan said. "When they were leaving, she was steady on her feet, but Jack looked – more than tipsy, I'd have said."

"Then he had a lot more than three drinks," Sally snorted, and Nora smiled.

"And there was nothing out of the ordinary?" Danielle pressed.

"Like what?" Regan asked.

"Like anything out of the ordinary," Danielle said sharply.

"You know Jack's reputation," Regan responded equally sharply. "There's apparently nothing out of the ordinary about him going home with company, co-workers or not."

Serena shook her head. "He's usually discreet about it," she said. "You said he and Ms Dyson were behaving like teenagers. That's not like Jack."

"Well, I'm sorry," Regan said heatedly. "I'm sure that if you or Abbie had been there you would have seen the future and stopped him leaving. But you weren't, okay? I was. And I may not know him as well as you or do as good a job looking out for him as you did but will you give me a fucking break, I'm only human!"

A silence followed her outburst.

"Are you angry with us, Regan?" Nora asked. "Or with Jack?"

Regan shook her head wordlessly, realizing the answer only as the question was asked. She clenched her fist, feeling the sting as she re-opened the graze on her knuckle, and resisted the urge to smash her hand against the table – as if I could even come close to enough pain to be fair penalty.

"Regan?" Nora asked again.

"Neither," Regan whispered, leaning forward with her arms propped on the papers in front of her. She swallowed hard. "I knew there was something off. When. At the bar. I felt it – I don't know what. And I should have stepped in. And I would have. But – " she fell silent. Romance and partnership never work, she thought. I thought I learnt that lesson.

"But you and Jack are involved," Danielle prompted.

"No," Regan said quickly. "No. Mr. Branch made it clear that was a career limiting move." And I thought that gave me an escape – I thought so long as I kept things professional between us, it wouldn't matter – wouldn't matter that I didn't feel professional.

Wrong.

So very, very wrong.

"But – " Regan hesitated, and then took a deep breath and forced the words out in a rush. "I figured I was just jealous of her, of Keri. That I was being a dog-in-the-manger. And I let it – I talked myself out of my own instincts. And that's how all this happened. It happened because I let it happen. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. No wonder Jack won't talk to me – a partner's supposed to watch your back, not let you down – "

"So we have a client who wants to plead guilty and a lead counsel who thinks she is guilty," Sally said dryly. "Anyone else? Nora? Anything to get off your chest?"

"If it turns out that this Ms Dyson was hired on my watch," Nora said, "I'll take my turn with the hair shirt."

They all laughed, even Regan. Her eyes teared a little and she blinked surreptitiously, then pulled the papers in front of her a little closer.

"I'll draw up a list of everybody in the bar," she said. "We'll need statements from all of them – if only to know what they might tell a court if the defense calls them."

"You mean the prosecution," Sally corrected gently, and when Regan stared blankly at her, "You mean, if only to know what they might tell a court if the prosecution calls them. We're the defense. The prosecutors are the bad guys."

"Right," Regan said, trying not to show that it bothered her. "The prosecutors are the bad guys. And speaking of – latest from One Hogan Place is that Mr. Branch tapped one Michael Cutter from Narcotics to take lead on this. We need to know what he's like – his record, his work, does he deal, does he bluff?"

"I can do that," Serena volunteered. "I can run the searches from my home office, get you a summary by tomorrow night."

"Okay," Regan said. She looked at the case file in front of her, mentally allocating the tasks that remained.

"Yours is still the hardest job, Regan," Nora reminded her. "You have to talk to Jack. As soon as possible."

"Tomorrow morning," Regan promised. "Nine A.M."

"You've got to talk him around," Danielle said. "Don't take no for an answer."

"I understand," Regan said. "I understand how important it is. But have any of you managed to get Jack to change his mind on something?"

Silence was the only reply she got.


.oOo.


A/N: I have been asked what's meant by 'dog in the manger'. It refers to an Aesop's fable about a dog sleeping on the hay in a manger, growling and barking at the cows and horses who try to eat the hay. It refers to someone begrudging another person having something they themselves don't want.

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