A/N: Thanks again to RebeccaInley for her excellent work as a beta, and thanks to Lynn46 for helpful comments!


Privilege


Emil Skoda's Office

6 pm Tuesday May 8th 2007


Regan didn't pause to knock before shoving open Skoda's office, hard enough to bounce the handle off the wall. Emil Skoda was reading and Regan thought she might have startled him but the psychiatrist was too skilled at hiding his own reactions for her to be sure. He raised his eyebrows and set his book aside.

"Hey," Regan said, catching the door as it rebounded toward her.

"Hello," Skoda said neutrally. When Regan didn't move, he asked: "Are you going to come in?"

Regan took a step forward and shut the door behind her, as hard as she'd opened it.

After a moment Skoda said: "Would you like to sit down?"

"Not really," Regan said. She held out her bruised hand with its grazed knuckles for him to see.

"How'd that happen?" Skoda asked.

"Wall. And elevator," Regan said.

"You're hitting inanimate objects instead of people," Skoda said. "I suppose we can call that progress."

"I wasn't hitting anything last week," Regan said. "I suppose we can call that regression."

"What's changed since then?" Skoda asked.

"You really are out of the loop," Regan said.

"Not that far," Skoda said. "You've become a defense attorney. Has anything else changed?"

"No," Regan said shortly. "Nothing's changed except my boss has been charged with assault, arraigned and set down for trial the day after tomorrow, and he's acting like a complete – is this confidential?"

"Yes," Skoda said.

"What about what it does to my privilege with Jack? If I tell you something that would be covered by privilege as lawyer-client communication, doesn't that breach – ?"

"Only if it can be proved," Skoda said. "And since I can't testify without your permission, and I'm not taking any notes …"

"So long as I lie about it, everything's fine," Regan said, nodding. "Well, let me tell you, that's the least of my worries. Jack's being a complete ass, he even wanted to plead guilty, and I'm having to fight this with both hands tied behind my back and even if I didn't I'm hardly a fucking legal eagle genius who can prepare a defense case in two days and take on the ADA Arthur Branch has hand-picked as Jack's successor, I mean, Jesus!" She whirled away from Skoda, needing to move, needing to act, needing to be able to do something.

"How do you feel about that?" Skoda asked.

"How do I feel about being as much use as tits on a bull while my partner is – or ought to be – fighting for his life and freedom?" Regan snapped. "How am I supposed to feel about that?"

"Sounds like you feel as if you can't do anything to help him," Skoda observed. He paused. When Regan just glared at him, refusing to fill the silence, he went on: "As if you feel helpless."

"What's your point?" Regan asked.

"You've felt helpless before," Skoda said. "At another time in your life. When – "

"Fucking spare me," Regan said. "I worked that out for myself."

"Okay," Skoda said, studying her. Regan straightened her shoulders and hoped the shadows under her eyes weren't too visible. "Because it brought back the flashbacks and the dreams?"

"Yeah," Regan said sullenly.

"Have you been doing the exercises we talked about?"

"Yes, doctor, I have," Regan said. "But Jack doesn't have time for my bullshit baggage. I need to get it together and hold it together – this is his career, and his freedom, and his life we're talking about, not some opportunity for my personal growth!"

She realized she was shouting and stopped.

"You should maybe be doing the exercises a little more often," Skoda said drily.

"Yeah," Regan said. She dropped into the chair opposite him with a sigh. "Can we talk about something else?"

"It's your hour," Skoda said, and shrugged. "You can talk about anything you want."

Regan noticed he didn't say 'we can talk about anything you want'. "I want to talk about Jack," she said. "I want your professional opinion – on why he's so hell-bent on letting them throw him into jail for something he didn't do."

Skoda steepled his hands. "I can't give you a professional opinion of someone without examining them."

"Speculate," Regan suggested.

Skoda gave a small, humorless laugh. "ADAs always want me to 'speculate'."

"Yeah, and you always say you can't and then you do," Regan said.

"Jack tell you that?" Skoda said, smiling. Regan nodded. "Okay. Let's talk hypothetically. Why do people plead guilty to crimes?"

"Jack's not people," Regan protested.

"You asked me to speculate," Skoda said. "Humor me. You've been working in the DA's Office for more than a year. Why do people take a plea?"

"Because they're guilty," Regan said promptly. "And they know we can prove it. But Jack's not guilty, so – "

"Is every defendant who takes a plea guilty of what they're charged with? Or are they just guilty?" Skoda said. He leaned forward. "I've seen men confess to crimes their sons have committed – women confess to murdering children who died of natural causes."

"Why would they do that?' Regan asked.

"When it comes to parenting, there's always room for guilt. If only I'd taken my baby to the doctor – if only I'd realized earlier there was something wrong – been a better father – spent less time at work and more time at home … " He shrugged. "Parenthood brings responsibility. And if you're responsible, then when something goes wrong – "

"You're responsible for that, too," Regan said, nodding. "Guilty."

"Guilt is like water, Regan," Skoda said. "It finds the lowest level. Survivors of car crashes find ways to blame themselves for the accident. Or someone who saw colleagues shot to death, perhaps – and carries a burden of – "

"Off-topic," Regan warned sharply.

"Really?" Skoda asked, gaze shrewd.

"Really." Regan folded her arms. "So you're saying that Jack feels responsible for whatever happened to Keri? Guilty?"

"I'm saying that someone might transfer a sense of guilt from one thing to something else," Skoda said. "Like you have."

"We're not talking about me," Regan reminded him.

"You feel responsible – guilty – for Jack's situation," Skoda said.

"I'm not," Regan said. "I didn't drug his drink and I didn't frame him for assault."

"Then why do you feel guilty?"

"I'm not – " Regan said, and stopped. Skoda's gaze was very steady. She sighed. "I knew there was something wrong, that night. I felt it. But I thought – I thought what I felt was jealousy. Maybe it was. I wasn't clear – in my head – . So it is my fault, in a way. Those kind of feelings – they screw up partnership. And your partner needs you to watch their back, no matter what. And I didn't."

"What do you mean, 'those kind of feelings'?" Skoda asked.

"Romantic," Regan said.

"'Romantic' as a euphemism for sexual?" Skoda said, and Regan felt herself blush. "That's the first time you've talked about Jack in those terms."

"Nothing's happened," Regan said, stretching the truth a little. "And nothing's going to happen. But … anyway, I should know better. I do know better. I should have dealt with it, I shouldn't have been distracted."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," Skoda said.

"I know what I'm talking about," Regan said. "Let's leave it at that."

"You can't blame yourself for your feelings," Skoda said. "Attraction is a powerful force."

"I can blame myself for letting it interfere with my judgment," Regan said. A thought struck her. "So what does Jack blame himself for?"

"That's an excellent question," Skoda said. "And one that Jack would have to answer."

"Because you don't know?" Regan said, watching Skoda closely. "No, that's not it, is it? Because you won't tell me."

"How could you believe I'd respect your confidence if I betrayed his?" Skoda asked reasonably.

"So it's something to do with doctor-patient confidentiality?" Regan asked.

Skoda shook his head. "No," he said. "Something to do with friend-friend confidentiality."

"If you're his friend, then you'll help him," Regan said.

"Betraying trust doesn't help anyone," Skoda said.

"So you're telling me I have to ask Jack?" Regan said.

"I'm telling you," Skoda said, "that you need to work out a way to get him to tell you." He paused. "Not quite the same thing."

.........

Not at all the same thing, Regan thought as she shut the front door of Abbie's house behind her, looking at the light from the living room spilling into the hall.

She stood for a moment in the doorway to the living room. McCoy was sitting on the couch, a book propped on his knee, and she studied his profile, the lines of strain that bracketed his mouth, the shadows around his eyes. Her chest hurt to look at him.

Her efforts to explain to Skoda why she had dismissed her sense of unease as she watched McCoy leave the bar with Keri Dyson had foundered on her inability to put her inchoate feelings into words, even to herself. Romantic.

As if a word redolent of roses and chocolates could ever apply to Jack McCoy – or to me.

Skoda had been blunter, and he'd hit closer to the mark. Regan could remember the tingling, aching warmth fired by the touch of McCoy's hand, the caress of his lips. Since she'd decided she would rather keep her job than join the notches on McCoy's headboard and put a very proper professional distance between them, McCoy had complained on more than one occasion that she didn't trust him.

Regan had smiled silently, not admitting to him that she trusted him more than she trusted herself.

But attraction wasn't all of what she felt, either. Leaning against the doorframe, what Regan wanted more than anything else in the world was to go to McCoy, to wrap her arms around him and run her fingers through his hair and somehow make it alright for him, to soothe away the marks of strain and the air of sadness that enveloped him.

But she couldn't. What he needs right now is not meaningless reassurance or a comforting hug.

What he needs right now is what he needed last Thursday – he needs his partner to step up and look out for him.

Just like her Grand-Da had always said. Your partner's broken down on the highway somewhere in the rain and the night, girl, what you gonna do? Stay inside where it's warm and dry, or drive out and find him?

When your partner needs you, what you want or how you feel doesn't matter.

"Whatcha reading?" Regan asked. McCoy turned to look at her.

"Harvard Law Review," he said. "Article on appellate delay."

"You won't need an appeal," Regan said, trying to sound certain.

He closed the journal with a snap. "I won't be filing one."

Oh, for – Regan closed her lips over the exasperated words. "Uh-huh," she said noncommittally instead, and wandered over to the sideboard, picking up the bottle of whiskey standing there. "Drink?"

"No," McCoy said.

Regan poured herself a small one and sank down on the couch, turning to prop herself against the arm so she could look straight at him. "I've been thinking about the case," she said.

It was McCoy's turn to make a noncommittal noise.

"Have you ever prosecuted a case where the defendant was framed?" Regan asked.

"Plenty where they claimed to be," McCoy said.

Regan sipped her scotch. "Any of them right?"

He shrugged.

"Any cases where someone confessed to something they didn't do?"

"The police usually screen those out before they get to One Hogan Place," McCoy said. "There's always a few with big profile cases, or when the defendant is mentally unstable, or just plain publicity seeking."

"Any that didn't fit that profile?"

"If you're looking for examples to use in your opening statement, save your time," McCoy said. "You won't be giving one."

Regan drew breath for a heated reply and then forced herself to let it out gently. She leaned forward to set her empty glass on the table. "You've already said that. I'm just – talking."

"You've got all the subtlety of a sledgehammer," McCoy said, launching himself off the couch and striding across the room to the window. He stared out, although Regan doubted he could see anything other than his own reflection with the lights of the room behind him and the night-dark city ahead.

"I'm trying to understand why you're so eager to be condemned for something you didn't – "

"Something you think I didn't – "

"Something no-one can be sure you did," Regan said. "Jack, I would think that you would need this proved to you. Instead you're refusing to even consider evidence that points to your innocence."

"I'm not innocent," McCoy said.

"You're not an innocent," Regan said. "But these are specific charges – whatever you feel guilty about – "

"I don't know what you think you're saying," McCoy said sharply, "But you should think again."

Regan bit back an equally sharp response. "I know what it's like to feel responsible," she said softly.

"You don't know anything," McCoy said dismissively.

"Then tell me," Regan pleaded.

McCoy stared at her and for a moment Regan thought she'd persuaded him. Then he turned away. "There's nothing to tell," he said shortly.

"That's a pile of stinking pig-shit," Regan said, flinging herself to her feet and striding across the room to face him. "You've been hauled before the disciplinary committee for things you actually did do and you fought like a Kilkenny cat."

"I was cleared on – " McCoy started.

Regan jabbed him in the chest with one finger. "You were cleared because you persuaded them that your actions weren't a violation – just like you did with Serena, I know that story, she told me."

"Neither I nor Serena had done anything wrong," McCoy said.

"And you don't know you've done anything wrong now!" Regan cried.

"I don't know what I've done," McCoy said. "And neither do you!"

"What I know is that when I wake up with a hangover and a gap in my memory I worry about whether I might have danced on a table or screwed somebody I shouldn't have," Regan said. McCoy snorted and started to turn away, and Regan grabbed his shirt to stop him. "Jack. I have a bad record when it comes to fist-fights. And I'd want proof. You accepted Keri Dyson's story as gospel the minute it came out of her mouth. Why?"

McCoy seized her wrist, trying to pull himself free. Regan hung on.

"What the hell is going on, Jack?" she asked. "You've decided that you're guilty – so I need to know, as your lawyer, what that's based on. What the hell have you done that makes you guilty enough to take a plea on a crime you didn't commit?"

"This has nothing to do with you!" McCoy succeeded in tearing her hand away from his shirt but Regan refused to back away. She braced herself for him to push her, but he only held her at arm's length.

"Oh, it has everything to do withme,"she said, making her voice hard and quiet, her best 'bad cop' tone. "You hired me, remember? You're my client. How does the New York State Bar Association 'Statement of Client's Responsibilities' go?"

"That's an informational statement with no binding legal – " McCoy said heatedly.

Regan interrupted him. "The client's relationship with the lawyer must be one of complete candor – " she quoted.

"The last thing you want from me is complete candor!" McCoy snarled, dropping her wrist and turning away. "Do you want an honest appraisal of your standard of work in the DA's Office?"

Regan seized his arm and forced him to face her. "The lawyer," she said grimly, "must be apprised of all facts or circumstances even if the client believes those facts may be detrimental or unflattering."

"Facts or circumstances relating to the matter," McCoy said.

"The reason you would have entered a guilty plea if I hadn't stopped you, that's not relating to the matter?" Regan countered.

"Yeah, well, I should never have let you – "

"You should never have fucking hired me," Regan snapped. "You handed me a big cup of career cyanide and me, stupid fool that I am, I trusted you and tossed it back. You want me to stay as your lawyer, don't give me a reason under DR 2-110 to withdraw!"

"You have no grounds for withdrawal," McCoy said, shaking himself free from her grip.

"Section C. One – D." Regan folded her arms and glared at McCoy. "You're rendering it unreasonably difficult for me to carry out my employment effectively."

"Your employment is to represent me," McCoy retorted. "Which you can do perfectly effectively by following my instructions. You want to quote the 'Code of Professional Responsibility'? How about EC 7-7 – or was that one of the questions you missed on your bar exam? I know there were more than a few!"

Regan took a sharp breath, stung almost to tears. "I know what EC 7-7 is," she said, proud that her voice didn't shake. The authority to make decisions is exclusively that of the client and such decisions are binding on the lawyer … it is for the client to decide what plea should be entered and whether an appeal should be taken ... "I advised you of the consequences – "

"You exerted undue influence based on personal considerations," McCoy snapped. "Which, by the way, is also specifically covered by the Code. Lawyers should not allow their conduct of a case to be influenced by the desire to avoid antagonism with public figures or other members of the legal profession, or by their concern to maintain the security of their legal practice."

"Are you so familiar with the Code because you've spent so much time in front of the Bar Ethics Committee?" Regan asked spitefully.

"Nobody's ever accused me of not learning from experience," McCoy said.

"Nobody's ever accused you of not being a stubborn ass, either!" Regan snapped. "You won't tell me, you'll force me to find out for myself, turn over all the rocks – "

"Mind your own goddamn business!"

The fury in his voice shocked them both to silence.

The Regan took a careful breath. "If you'd tell me," she said reasonably, "I wouldn't have to go stomping around in your private –"

"I'm not listening to this any longer." McCoy grabbed his jacket from where it lay across the back of one of Abbie's armchairs.

"Where are you going?" Regan asked.

"Home," McCoy said. "In search of a bit of peace and quiet."

"I'll call you tomorrow," Regan said. McCoy headed into the hall without acknowledging her, and she followed him. "Jack? I'll call you tomorrow."

"Do what you want," McCoy said without turning.

The door closed behind him.


.oOo.


A/N: The 'Statement of Client's Responsibilities' and the 'New York Lawyer's Code of Professional Responsibility' are both real documents, which you can find on-line, but I have played a little fast-and-loose with the exact clauses that Regan and McCoy quote in this chapter, while trying to remain true to the meaning.

I have had the idea of maybe starting some awards for stories in the law and order fandoms posted here to ff net. I have started a forum to discuss this idea. I don't know how to post a link to it here in the story but you can find it in the Law and Order (mothership) forums. I am hoping to get opinions on this idea from as many ff net writers/ readers as possible. If you have any opinion, please check out the forum and let me know what you think with a post or by voting in the poll.