Title: Just Like Anything

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

"Your son at five is your master, at ten your slave, at fifteen your double, and after that, your friend or your foe, depending on his bringing up." -Author Unknown

June 6, 2017

Rory was at her desk in the newsroom, highlighting notes to prepare her article when her cell phone rang from her top desk drawer. She pulled it out absently and answered, "Hello?"

"Rory, hello," the caller said. "It's Eileen."

She stopped what she was doing and sat up straighter. "Oh, hi." She put her highlighter down and gave Tristan's mother her full attention.

"George is out of the country so I thought it would be fun to come to New York City for a few days," Eileen explained. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out for lunch today."

"Oh, well," Rory started, uneasy. "I'm not sure. I'm at work and don't have my article finished."

"Surely you could get away for lunch though."

"Uh, okay. I guess I can leave if it's just for a while," Rory said, in what was a huge understatement. If she clocked all her hours spent in and outside the newsroom, the ratio would likely be disproportionate. Any outing could always be passed off as field work.

"Wonderful."

"Should I call Tristan to see if he can come too?"

"You could," Eileen said. "But he's probably busy, and I was hoping it could be just us girls. We don't need men around to have a good time of our own."

"All right, that could be fun."

Eileen said, "I know the perfect place in Midtown. Where would you like to meet?"

Rory named a location and on one thirty before she ended the call. Then she quickly dialed Tristan. "Pick up, pick up, pick up," she said quietly, tapping her desk nervously with her fingers. But her husband didn't obey her whispered command. When his voicemail kicked in, she hung up and sat the phone down. She gawked around the newsroom and waved her longtime editor, James West, over.

"Finished already?" he asked when he'd reached her. "I thought you'd still be dissecting your notes for another hour."

"No, I'll get my article in for tomorrow's paper, I promise," she said. "But my mother-in-law just asked me to have lunch with her, so I have to go. Now." She looked down at herself. "And I need to change first."

James furrowed his brows. "What's wrong with what you have on?"

"I need to put on a skirt—or a sundress. Something better than this," she answered desperately. "I can't have lunch with her in my work clothes. I will not fall short of whatever expectations she has for me."

"Is your mother-in-law the queen of England?" James asked dryly. "Just when I forget you're from Connecticut, something like this reminds me."

"Is it okay if I go?"

"I'm not really used to you asking to leave," he answered. "Go on. Make sure your article is in by the end of the day."

"I will, thank you," she said, already packing up her notes and shoving them into her bag.

NNNNNNN

Meanwhile, Mark was standing against the wall of the interrogation room, watching the suspect who sat at the table. The man was in his late twenties and he kept his eyes down, pretending the detective wasn't there. Tristan walked in then, and took a seat across from the suspect. He took his time looking through a file containing evidence, making their suspect wait.

"Jack Rendell," he finally said, looking across the table. "You're here to tell your side of the story from the day Michael Graff was murdered."

"I think I should maybe get a lawyer," Jack said nervously.

"Maybe," Tristan vaguely agreed. "I want you to get a deal. But first, you're going to have to talk. Where were you March twenty-second around eleven thirty?"

"At home, watching TV. And I don't even know who Mike Graff is."

"We already talked to everyone in your neighborhood, Jack. You were one of his best friends." Tristan sat back and let the silence stretch until Jack was uncomfortable enough to fill it.

Jack's eyes darted around the room, looking for a way out, or for Mark to come to his defense.

"We know he knocked up your sister and had plans to skip town," Tristan prodded. "A real man wouldn't run away like that. Just tell us what happened at his shop. Tell me your side of the story."

"Well," Jack started. "I was going to wait to see where he ended up." He looked at the detectives apprehensively. "Don't you think I should get a lawyer? One can be provided, right?"

Tristan shrugged, indifferent. "Mm-hmm. Did you know where Mike was going?"

The door of the interrogation room suddenly opened and an older man in a suit walked in. Tristan didn't even look up at the intrusion.

The man appeared to be in his fifties and carried himself confidently. "You have to say the words, I want a lawyer," he said, slightly impatient. "Or he isn't going to stop."

Tristan inhaled sharply at the sound of the man's voice. His face paled and he clenched his jaw. The man, who was apparently an attorney, sat down next to the suspect. He crossed his arms and fixed his steely gaze on the detective.

"Oh." Jack looked at the blonde to say the magic words, "I want a lawyer."

"Very good."

Tristan sat and stared across the table. He seemed to have lost his voice. Mark never saw him clam up like this before. It was just a lawyer, like all the rest. While he did look more accustomed to clients from Fifth Avenue, that wouldn't be a problem for Tristan.

After a few seconds of dumbfounded silence had passed, the lawyer told Tristan, "You can continue with your questions, detective. He's the one with the right to remain silent." He jerked his head toward Jack.

Tristan blinked. Finally, he asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm a criminal attorney," the man answered slowly. "And you're about to press charges—or at least, the prosecutor is."

"How do you know?" Tristan asked, scowling.

He received a look indicating his ignorance. "What do you think Lawrence was doing in New York?"

"Following me."

"Don't flatter yourself," the older man said with a scoff. "You're not that interesting."

"You can't just come in here and interrupt my interrogation."

The attorney addressed Mark then, "Is this his first day?"

Mark opened his mouth, but was unsure what to say.

The attorney didn't wait for an answer though, and instead quickly glanced around the room in distaste before looking back at Tristan. "Charming working conditions, by the way."

"This room doesn't have a soul," Tristan countered. "You fit right in."

"This interview is over," the attorney said, turning to Jack. "Let's go."

Jack didn't seem to fully comprehend what was happening, and he certainly hadn't called this man to defend him, but he still got up and left the small room. The two detectives followed, Tristan much quicker than Mark.

Jacobs was standing outside the room, watching at the window and listening in.

"I'm defending this man, have you pressed charges yet?" the attorney asked Jacobs.

"Yeah, I just called the DA," the redheaded man answered. "A judge should have an arraignment date in a few hours."

Trying to be the third member of the conversation, Tristan asked, "Did you run out of corporate fraud cases in Hartford and felt like defending a bottom feeder for fun?"

The older man glared at the blonde detective. "Sit down, boy, the adults are talking." He turned his attention back to Jacobs.

Tristan didn't do as he was told, but he also didn't argue as he watched the two men, incredulous. Jacobs looked to Mark and lifted a palm in question. Mark could only shrug as his answer.

"Are all your detectives this unruly? Or is it just the one?"

Jacobs tilted his head, surprised. "Actually—"

"Don't answer that," Tristan cut in.

The attorney smirked. "That's not your line, detective."

"Why don't you go back to your new family and leave me alone, counselor," Tristan suggested.

The man frowned. "New fam—?" He stopped and shook his head. "You're as dramatic as your mother." He glanced around the squad room, unimpressed with what he saw. "I have things to do. I'll see you in court," he said before heading to the exit without a sideways glance at Tristan.

"And I'll see you in hell, counselor," Tristan called out to the retreating man's back. "But I'm not saving you a seat." He was still scowling when he turned back to Stevenson and Jacobs, who both wore the same befuddled expression.

"What the hell was that?" Mark asked. "You know him?"

"Sure," Tristan answered. "He generously provided half my genes."

Both men watched the blonde stalk off to the captain's office and slam the door behind him before turning to each other. It took Jacobs a moment before he could say, "That was the best thing I've ever seen. I hope that guy comes back."

"Not your usual response to defense attorneys," Stevenson commented.

"That wasn't the usual response from DuGrey," Jacobs said, grinning. "What's the deal there, anyway?"

Mark raised his brows and sat on the edge of his desk. "They don't talk much."

"But there's obviously so much love between them," Jacobs said sarcastically. He crossed his arms and glanced over at the captain's door. "So Daddy's a lawyer. And while your partner could be, he chooses not to."

"Mm-hmm. There's a lump sum of money involved if he does, if I understand correctly."

Jacobs cocked a brow. "Oh yeah? Why doesn't he just do it then?"

"I guess he doesn't want to," Mark said with a shrug. "That's his story, anyway."

Jacobs snorted. "I thought you were supposed to be observant."

The detective frowned. "I am."

"Then you should know his actions speak louder than his words."

NNNNNNN

"Emily does have superb taste," Eileen said, looking around Rory and Tristan's living room a second time, having just returned to the first floor. "She did a fine job with your little apartment home."

"Yeah, she did a great job," Rory said in agreement. "And it was all ready for us when we got back from the honeymoon."

A bit stiffly, the regal blonde woman said, "How nice, just after your private wedding."

"Uh, yeah." Rory wasn't sure if she'd said something wrong.

They heard a cell phone ring from Eileen's purse and she pulled it out to check the caller ID. When she saw who it was, she smiled haughtily and answered, "Hello?"

Rory picked up a couple shopping bags from the kitchen island and took to them to the couch under the pretense of not eavesdropping on the one-sided conversation.

"I only received a message informing me you'd be in New York and staying at the Algonquin," Eileen said. "Was I supposed to take that as an invitation?" Upon hearing the answer, she smiled again. "Yes. The concierge and bell hop were very accommodating. I made sure a large tip was billed to you, since you're so worried about how I treat the help." She listened some more and answered, "I've been out with Rory. She's a lovely girl, you should meet her sometime."

Though Rory wasn't trying to listen outright, she couldn't help but grin to herself, pleased by her mother-in-law's approval. She picked up a magazine from the coffee table and pretended to read.

Eileen continued, "She was just showing me their apartment, why?" Then she said, "It's a little early for dinner. What did you plan to do until then?"

Rory glanced over in time to see the blonde woman's lips stretch into a Cheshire cat grin and her eyes glimmered. "I'll be right there," she purred. She ended the call and turned to Rory, still smiling. "I hate to run off, but I have a dinner date."

"Oh, all right," Rory said, putting down the magazine and standing. "I had a good time this afternoon."

"Yes, it was delightful. We have to do it again sometime." Eileen headed for the door. "Perhaps we'll invite Tristan next time. Tell him hello for me, won't you?"

"Sure," Rory said, escorting the woman to the door.

Checking the time on the microwave, she exclaimed, "Oh my gosh." She quickly got her messenger bag from the couch and took it back to her desk. She had an hour to write and edit her article before Jimmy would be calling, ready to get out of the newsroom for the night. She worked diligently until she was finished, and e-mailed the attachment to her editor. She texted him as well, informing him of its completion.

Finally able to relax, she went back to the living room for the shopping bags and took them upstairs to the bedroom. She dumped them out and went to the closet for hangers. When she heard the front door close downstairs, she called out, "I'm up here."

A minute later, Tristan entered the room—although he looked like something the cat dragged in. He walked over to the vanity and pulled out the chair, turning it to face the room and sitting down.

"Where were you today?" Rory asked as she hung up a new pair of jeans. "I called you hours ago."

"I was a little busy," he answered. He blinked a couple times, possibly seeing her for the first time. "Were you wearing a dress this morning when I left?"

Rory looked down at her floral printed dress. In her haste to finish her work, she hadn't changed. "No I wasn't. Would you like to know why I rushed home in the middle of the day to change?"

"I can tell you have a story, so just to warn you, there's no way your day could possibly have topped mine," he said as he removed his jacket. "But go ahead. Why?"

She stood with her hands on her hips, facing him. "Your mother wanted to have lunch with me. Then she insisted we get facials and go shopping. I never made it back to the newsroom."

Tristan frowned. "What?"

Rory nodded. "Yeah, it took the whole afternoon."

"That's not possible." He shifted his gaze down slightly in thought, eyes narrowed.

She pointed to the closet. "There's a new suit with your name on it that says otherwise."

"They can't both be in New York."

"Both who? What are you talking about?" she asked. "What happened today?"

He looked back up at her. "Dad came to my work today," he answered.

Rory's eyes widened. "What? The precinct?"

Tristan nodded. "He's taking a case I investigated. He just walked into the interrogation room and sat down right in front of me."

"Oh my god. Did you talk to him?"

"Some words were exchanged. But he was only there for business," Tristan said. "Now I know why his PI was tailing me. He was keeping tabs on the case I was working, biding his time until we were ready to press charges." He shook his head. "I can't believe I didn't see this coming."

"But can he really do that?" she asked. "You're related."

Tristan lifted his shoulders. "I'm the lead detective on the case, no one can change that. And the accused has a right to a lawyer."

"So he can?"

"Yup."

Rory dropped to her knees in front of him and placed her hands on his legs. "I'm so sorry you had to deal with this today. And for brushing it off when you saw his PI," she said. "So what does this mean?"

"It means he's going to grill me on the witness stand," Tristan answered.

She propped her elbows on his legs and rested her chin in her palms. Feeling the effects of the facial, she lifted Tristan's hands to her cheeks.

"Your face is really soft," he commented.

"I know. I kind of like it." Then she gasped. "Maybe your mom and dad are conspiring together. She's trying to get us to spend money on luxuries. Then we'll have to file for bankruptcy, like you thought your dad wanted."

"I like the way you think," Tristan said with a nod of approval. "But they hate each other. They shouldn't even be in the same room."

"Hitler didn't like Stalin, but they still joined forces to face their common enemy."

His eyes softened. "You just compared my parents to evil dictators," he said in admiration. "I don't think I've ever loved you more."

She smiled. "Speaking of your parents, I asked Eileen how she was doing, and she said life is good—because while Harrison's wife has to hide Viagra in his food, she's having the best sex of her life."

Tristan's hands flew to his ears and tightly closed his eyes. "Oh my god, shut up! I don't want to know that."

"I didn't want to either."

"You shouldn't have asked how she was."

"It's the polite thing to do."

"It's a rookie mistake." Hurriedly, Tristan said, "Mom makes that stuff up, you know."

"I don't think she was making it up," Rory argued. "She got a phone call and I'm pretty sure I know how she and her date were going to pass the time before dinner."

"I told you to stop," Tristan said, pained. "That isn't what I was talking about. She was lying about Dad."

"The Viagra?"

"Yeah. We don't have that problem. I mean, men in my family, we're fine. We don't need drugs."

Rory stifled a giggle. "Oh, message received," she said. "Anyway, I think she was meeting up with someone other than George tonight. She was in town because he's out of the country."

"Who's George?" Tristan asked.

"Her husband."

"I thought his name was Julian."

"No, she was married to him a couple years ago. She married George last June. We sent them a gift."

"That was nice of us," Tristan said. "What did we send?"

"A toaster," she answered. "The big kind that toasts four slices of bread at a time."

He cringed. "That was probably a bad idea. I'm pretty sure she's used a toaster as a weapon."

"What? How?"

Tristan waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. I think she only hates the one ex-husband enough to resort to bodily harm. She just gets bored with the others."

"Well she's not bored now, that's for sure," Rory said.

"Let's stop talking about my mother the man eater," he said. "At this point, any idiot who falls into her web should know what they're getting into."

June 9, 2017

A few days later, the assistant district attorney was sitting in his office. He was reading the paper, when someone came in and took a seat in front of his desk. "Ever heard of knocking, DuGrey?" Greg asked before looking up from his newspaper.

"How did you know it was me?"

"Who else would it be?" he asked rhetorically. "What do you want?"

"To help you. You're going to need me."

Jacobs sighed heavily and put the paper down. "Yeah, like I need a hernia." He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Tristan looked down at the name plate on the desk as though he didn't know what it said, and looked back up. "Gregory, can I call you Greg?"

"No."

"Fine, Gregory it is. You have to go up against my dad, and I've seen him in court. You need my help."

Bored, the prosecutor closed the pages of the paper. "No I don't. He's just like any other defense lawyer."

"No he isn't," Tristan argued. "He's much better than you." He lifted a box from his lap and sat it on the desk. "I've been looking at my old police reports, trying to find anything he'll use against me."

"What? Why?" Greg asked, watching the deranged cop pull out files.

DuGrey stopped to look up at him. "Because he's going to discredit me."

"You don't know that. His strategy could be self-defense, or he could find someone else who might have done it."

"He took this case with his strategy in mind," DuGrey said. "It's about me. My birthday's coming up, this is probably his idea of a present."

Jacobs rolled his eyes. "That's not dramatic at all."

"You're right, he probably doesn't remember my birthday."

"Do you know what it means if he does discredit you with any past slip ups?" Jacobs asked. He didn't wait for an answer before giving it, "It'll mean he's desperate. And I'll be there listening and objecting if he crosses a line. You've been cross-examined before, you know." He sat back in his chair and shook his head. "I can't believe I have to tell you this, but you are not on trial."

"If you looked at it from my perspective, you might not feel that way."

"I know your life is basically a Gavin DeGraw song, but you need to get a hold of yourself. Your dad is going to make sure we can prove Rendell committed the crime, just like he's supposed to. That's all he can do."

Tristan was silent for a moment. "Fine," he said. "But you have to go through everything and find where I made mistakes on this case. There has to be something—an unreliable witness or one we missed altogether."

"As much as I enjoy seeing your confidence shaken, I do still supervise your work. Even if you don't need me to."

The detective looked at him in surprise. "You finally agree I don't need you."

Greg turned his attention back to the paper on his desk. "You're having a tough week. I'm throwing you a bone."

NNNNNNN

Among a wave of people, Rory walked up to street level from the subway and pulled out her cell phone. As she was walked down the sidewalk, she dialed her husband.

"DuGrey."

"Hey, I'm on my way to interview a guy who's being prosecuted. It's one of your cases," Rory explained. "Kyle wrote the original story, but he was out of the newsroom, so he couldn't fill me in. Is there any extra information you can tell me?"

"Which case is it?"

Rory pulled out a police report bearing the familiar writing of her husband. "Michael Graff, from back in March," she answered. She walked up the stairs to a two story house, sandwiched between a row of identical houses. "I'm interviewing Jack Rendell. I was requested."

"Requested?"

"Yeah."

"Rory," Tristan deadpanned.

"What?" She lifted her hand to press the button, but the door swung open. A vaguely familiar man peered out at her, and she gasped in surprise.

"That's the case my dad took."

"Oh," she said, her eyes wide. "I see. Got to go." She slipped the phone back into her bag and she hesitated a second before sticking out hand to shake the one being offered.

"Harrison DuGrey," the man said.

"Right, I know. I'm Ror—I mean Ve—." She stopped. She didn't use her real name for crime reports, but suddenly felt stupid to use her pseudonym now. Luckily, she didn't have to.

"Yes," her father-in-law said, "I know who you are. Come in," he said, opening the door for her. He led her down a narrow hallway to the back of the house, where a young man was seated at the kitchen table with a few other chairs.

Rory glanced at Harrison and he gestured for her to sit across from the man. He introduced them, only referring to her as a reporter from the Daily News, and took one of the other chairs.

She took out her notebook and pen, but stopped to face Harrison before starting the interview. "I'm not sure I'm the right person for this."

"Why not?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why do you think?" Remembering it wasn't just the two of them in the room, she added, "I wasn't the one to write about the crime when it happened. My colleague, Kyle should be here. He's the one who followed the case."

"I have no interest in Kyle," Harrison said. "I've heard good things about you from a trusted source. I want to see if any of it's true." Then he added, "Unless you don't feel you're professional enough for some reason."

"That's not the problem, I am. I just—"

"Why don't you start the interview?" he said. "If I don't like your style I'll consider Kyle."

She huffed. "Fine." Turning back to Jack, Rory asked, "Can you tell me about yourself?" The man proceeded to tell her where he was from and what his upbringing was like. "And it was your sister who went to the bondsman to post your bail?"

"That's right."

"Does she have anything to do with the murder?"

"Don't answer that," Harrison advised.

She tried another, "What's your relationship to the victim, Michael Graff?"

"Don't answer," he said again.

Rory moved on to her next question. "What were you doing the day Graff died?"

Jack looked to his lawyer, who shook his head.

Frustrated by Harrison stonewalling an interview he asked for, she turned her attention to him. "You're a corporate lawyer from Connecticut," she said. "Is there some reason you randomly chose to take a homicide case in New York?"

"I'm not the one being interviewed."

"It could really add some color to the story, but you're right," she conceded, then turned back to Jack. "Aren't you at all interested in why he swooped in to defend you?"

"Kind of," Jack admitted.

Harrison rolled his eyes a little and stood. "That's enough."

Not surprised, Rory stood and collected her things. She followed her father-in-law back down the hallway. "I guess the saying is true," she said casually. "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen."

He snorted lightly, as though faintly amused by her accusation.

"No one goes to the press before the trial," she said. "Do you have nothing better to do? What could have possibly been the point of this?"

They reached the door, and he stopped to face her. Apparently ignoring her, he said, "It was nice to finally meet you, Rory." He lowered his gaze to the hand that held her notebook. "My mother's ring suits you well."

"Oh. Thanks," she said with a frown, awkwardly accepting the compliment.

"I had no idea my ex-wife admired it so much until Tristan gave it to you." She crossed her arms hastily, as though to protect herself, or to take his attention away from her hand. Harrison looked back up at her. "She'll get over it," he said before letting her out.

She walked down the stairs, and as she did so, she wondered how he'd know what his ex-wife was thinking as of late. After all, they didn't even get along.

She headed down the sidewalk, back in the direction of the subway station. She hadn't realized how tightly wound she was during the interview until now. Being back outside, it was like a weight had been lifted. She pulled her cell phone out, ready for the numerous missed calls from Tristan. But to her surprise, there weren't any. She dialed him and didn't have to wait long for him to answer.

"How was it?"

"I survived," she said, sitting down at a bench on the sidewalk so as not to lose service by walking to the underground station. "I thought you'd try calling to get me out of it."

"Would it have worked?"

"No, I would have ignored your calls."

"I figured. I thought you could handle him, so I let you," he explained.

"Oh," she said. "That was sweet."

"So how did it go?" he asked again.

She lifted her shoulders and shook her head. "It was just—I don't know. It was an interview, made a little uncomfortable because two of us pretended to be strangers. Except we aren't really. We're related through the person who arrested the defendant."

"Sorry," Tristan offered. "I should have expected him to go through you like that. He's brilliant."

"Go through me?" Rory asked.

"Yeah, get to me through you. Did he let his client bad mouth the police—and therefore me—for all of New York to read?"

"No," she answered. "It was mostly background information about Jack. Your dad didn't even let him tell his side of the story. And why would he?" Rory asked. "He can't let that kind of information go to print before the trial."

"Then what was the point of having you do the interview?"

"I asked, but he didn't answer," she said. "Maybe he just wanted to intimidate me."

"He was messing with the wrong reporter than, wasn't he?"

She smiled a little. "Yup." She stood back up. "I have to get back to the newsroom. Whatever this was, I have to type it up for tomorrow's paper," she said. "I'll see you at home."