Title: Just Like Anything

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing! There will be a few more scenes (five, I believe) on my LJ before the main event, It's Five O'clock Somewhere. See you there!

"A man's desire for a son is usually nothing but the wish to duplicate himself in order that such a remarkable pattern may not be lost to the world." -Helen Rowland

July 12, 2017

Greg Jacobs rearranged the papers on his desk and picked up a file he was planning to focus on that morning. Before he become engrossed in his task, there was a knock at the door. "Come in."

Harrison DuGrey entered the office, and unbuttoned his suit jacket before he had a seat in front of the desk. He took his time looking around the office, his eyes straying on the diplomas. Jacobs half expected him to make a caddy remark, the way his son often did. When his gaze landed on the prosecutor, Harrison said, "I understand you wish for a new trial."

"Yes," Jacobs said. "The DA and I agree there's enough evidence to prove your client's guilt."

Harrison nodded once. "My schedule won't allow me to continue with that case, so my colleague William Lannaman will be taking over." He passed a business card with the other man's name on it across the desk.

"All right," Jacobs said, glancing at the information and laying it on top of the appropriate file. "I'm a little disappointed you won't be sticking around. I was impressed with how you put your son in his place. I usually have difficulty accomplishing that."

Harrison's brows lowered accusingly. "You would like to 'put him in his place'?"

The man's tone made Jacobs guilty, as though he'd just said the wrong thing to the wrong person. "Well, not put him in his place, so much as keep him in the one he's in. He's, uh, never liked leaving the evidence with me after he's found it."

Familiar blue eyes flashed at him. He continued. "We're nuisances to each other—I'm doing my job, and he tries to do it too. He's made it clear he doesn't need me."

"Of course he doesn't," Harrison said with a scoff. He glanced behind the younger man, to the thick legal tomes that lined the shelves. "Anything you can do he can do."

"Do you want to add 'better' at the end of that sentence?" Jacobs asked ruefully. "He usually does."

"That has yet to be seen," the man said thoughtfully. "But probably."

Greg repressed an eye roll. He wasn't sure if the easy pluck of the younger DuGrey was inherited or learned, but the apple hadn't traveled far. "You wouldn't guess it after seeing the two of you together, but he thinks very highly of you. He tried to convince me you're the best lawyer there is."

"And as my son, what should that make him?" Harrison asked without disputing the compliment. He sounded impatient and frustrated to not have the answer. "He and I have been playing chicken for a long time." He reached inside his jacket pocket again and pulled out a white envelope. He handed it over to the younger man. "I need you to give that to him."

Jacobs reached across to take the envelope. He frowned down at it and asked, "What is it?"

"It's his, he can have it," Harrison said, in an unsatisfactory answer.

"Why don't you give it to him yourself?"

"I'm due back in Hartford this afternoon. I want him to get it tomorrow," he said. "I'm sure he's willing to wait until I die, but I want to see what will happen next."

Greg sat the envelope on the corner of his desk and put a note for himself on top. He considered what he'd been told about a monetary incentive, no doubt involved in their game of chicken. "Are you swerving?"

Eying him steadily, Harrison countered, "I will if he does."

A cell phone buzzed and he retrieved it from his pocket. "Hello?" After listening, he answered, "No, I didn't. Why?" He frowned and glanced down at his platinum wristwatch. "Keep an eye on things, I'll be right there." Harrison pocketed phone back and stood. "I have to go. Don't forget, tomorrow."

NNNNNNN

Meanwhile, Rory followed Jack Rendell into the living room at the front of his house. Dark green drapes protected the room from the harsh sunlight. The old floorboards creaked under their feet, indicating the house's advanced age.

"I saw you at the trial," Jack said conversationally. "You were sitting with that guy who arrested me."

"Oh, uh, I wasn't with him so much as sitting next to him. We know each other—from work."

"Did you know it was his dad that represented me?"

"I did hear something about that," she said vaguely. She glanced side to side. "Speaking of your lawyer, is he on his way?"

"No. Somebody from the paper called to set up an interview and the trial is over. I didn't think he still had to be around."

"Well, okay," she said slowly. "I guess we can start then."

Jack sat down on the couch and she followed, sitting adjacent to him in a rocking chair.

"What are you planning to do until the new trial?" she asked.

"My sister's going to move in here with me," he answered. "So I'll be helping her with that as soon as I have a room ready for her."

Rory began writing his response and then asked her next question. When he was mid-way through his answer, there was a knock on the front door. Jack excused himself and went to the foyer. When he returned a moment later, he followed his attorney.

"What's going on here?" Harrison asked, giving a hard look from Rory to his client.

She lifted her gaze to her father-in-law and answered, "It's an interview. The paper set it up this time. I asked Kyle to switch with me."

"You shouldn't be here alone."

Her brows knit together. "What?"

He glanced over at Jack and hastily told him, "You shouldn't be doing interviews without a lawyer present."

"Have a seat, counselor," she told him in an overly friendly tone, gesturing toward the couch.

Harrison shook his head. "I'm afraid I have to put an end to this interview. I'm leaving for Hartford." He reached into his pocket and pulled out two business cards.

"You're just leaving? Today?" she asked. "That's convenient. Do you even know what tomorrow is?"

"I'm well aware," he answered. "If you have more questions, talk to my colleague." He handed a card to each of them.

Rory read the information. "You aren't continuing with the case?"

"No." He turned to the other man. "Mr. Lannaman is taking over. Don't worry about the cost, he will be taking your case pro bono, like I did."

Under her breath, Rory said, "Gosh you're thoughtful."

Harrison ignored her comment. "I'll escort you out."

Rather than get upset by the turn of events, she put her notepad and pen back in her bag and stood from the rocking chair. She followed him to the front door, a wave of summer heat hitting her as she walked down the steps to the sidewalk.

A few pedestrians strolled by them as Harrison asked from behind her, "Do you always conduct interviews with possible murderers?"

She turned to face her father-in-law, squinting from the bright sunlight. She frowned at him in disbelief. "Do you think he did it?"

"That isn't for me to decide. I don't know who did it." Then he added, "But off the record, the police are usually right."

"What?"

"They're usually right about who committed the crime. Even if they make mistakes."

"Tristan works hard," she said incredulously. "Why would you come and try to let a criminal walk free?"

Impatiently, he said, "Everyone in this country gets a fair trial—"

"Except your own son."

"—He still has the burden of proof," Harrison finished. "He knows that. And surely you do too, being a member of the press. Your job is make sure institutions are held accountable as much as mine is. Just because he knows the book and goes by it doesn't mean everyone does."

Rory couldn't argue. As she'd pointed out to her husband, it was what she'd threatened him with to get him to talk to her. She folded her arms across her body in a defiant stance. "He thought you were going to discredit him and find his mistakes."

"He wouldn't have made any mistakes," Harrison countered with a scowl, to her surprise. "And what good would it have done to disgrace him? If I tarnished his good name, I'd be doing same to my own."

"Oh, well—," she tried. She hadn't thought of that. Tristan apparently hadn't either. "Couldn't you have at least let him know you weren't going to cross-examined him? He was ready for you."

Harrison's eyes sparkled in the sunlight. "Noted."

"Is it your life's goal to disappoint him every chance you get? Because if it is, congratulations. You're succeeding." She quickly pointed a finger at him, adding, "And don't call him the disappointment. There's no shame in what he does, even if you—and Eileen—disagree."

"If he wants to enforce the law, then he can."

"What?"

He tilted his head and smugly asked, "Surprised?"

She frowned in silent confirmation.

"I guess you didn't get the message. I'm over it, and his mother was advised to do the same."

Finished with the conversation, he turned to go. Rory watched him head toward a man with dark black hair standing on the sidewalk, next to a parked sedan. She hadn't noticed him before, but he'd apparently been watching their exchange. Her curiosity got the better of her, and before her father-in-law got too far away, she spoke up, "Do you think the rumors are true?"

He stopped and faced her again. "What rumors?"

"About your ex-wife," Rory said, thinking fast. Boldly, she continued, "She might be having an affair."

The man beyond them looked over at Rory, hearing her declaration.

He considered her for a moment. "I hadn't heard those rumors."

"It's more of a theory I have, actually. Based on some—likely circumstantial—evidence."

"So you're starting the rumor then?" he concluded. "You and she have that in common."

"I'm not sure I'd put it like that," she said. "But do you think it's true?"

He lifted a shoulder, indifferent. "Not everyone can handle her, and she loses interest quickly."

"That's what Tristan said. I guess that's where he gets it from," Rory said. "She told me she's having the best sex of her life."

A grin pulled at the corner Harrison's lips and he got a gleam in his eye. Rory gasped, not only at its uncanny familiarity, but at the knowledge of what it usually indicated. Self-satisfaction.

The moment past and he composed himself. "Good for Eileen." He turned his back on her then to continue on his way.

Rory stopped herself from shuddering. "It doesn't mean anything. Lots of people make that face," she muttered, and then shook her head. "He is not going to want to hear this."

NNNNNNN

Rory held down a flap of wrapping paper and picked up the tape dispenser that sat on the floor next to her. She had to shift her elbow to keep the paper in place as she tore off three pieces of tape. She carefully secured the end of the package, and jumped when doorknob rattled.

"I'm in here," she called out as she turned the box around so she could tape down its edges.

"Why is the door locked?" Tristan asked, his voice muffled by the door. "Are you naked?"

"No," she said with a smile.

"Why not?"

Rory laughed a little. "Because I don't walk around naked when I'm home alone."

"It's your right. And you're not alone anymore, so what can we do about that?" he asked, jiggling the doorknob again. "Let me in."

"Hold on, I'm almost finished," she said, cutting off a piece of ribbon to tie neatly around the box.

"Finished with what?"

"Well, think about what today's date is, and then think about what day follows. It's an annual event that traditionally includes some sort of celebration. There's usually cake if I have anything to say about it."

"You usually have a lot to say about it."

"If you don't want cake at the precinct, I'll just have it sent to the newsroom instead. No one at the Daily News would ever turn it down." She added, "One way or another, someone is getting cake tomorrow."

"Could you at least lay off the candles?" he asked. "Please?"

"Don't tell me what to do!" she said indignantly. She glanced around the room, in a quick search for the perfect hiding place. Finding it, she hustled across the room and opened Tristan's bottom dresser drawer. She lifted a stack of folded t-shirts and put the present under them. She quietly closed the drawer and got up to go unlock the door.

Tristan came in and stood at the entrance with his arms akimbo, brows lowered in concentration as his eyes roamed around the room. He took off his jacket and tossed it on the bed, then went over to Rory's nightstand.

"Stop looking for your present, you'll get it tomorrow," she said accusingly as she picked up her roll of cheerful wrapping paper and the tape dispenser from the floor.

He didn't heed her request, and instead riffled through a drawer full of odds and ends.

Rory put her hands on her hips. "You aren't going to find it."

He tore his eyes from the nightstand to give her a patronizing look. He deadpanned, "This isn't the first room I've ever searched."

"That's not fair."

"Life seldom is." He moved from the nightstand to her dresser and continued to search methodically. He pulled out a pair of lacy red panties. "Is this my present?"

"No."

"Can it be?"

She was still frowning at him, but grudgingly answered. "Fine." She lowered her arms, instead folding them across her body. "I saw your dad today."

"Nice try," Tristan said, not looking up. "But you can't distract me."

"I really did. Kyle scheduled an interview with his client, but I asked if I could do it in his place."

Tristan let the shorts in his hands fall back into the drawer. He turned. "What?"

She shrugged slightly. "He made you really upset, so I felt like a confrontation. He wasn't there though, not at first." Rory took a seat on the end of the bed. "That other lawyer—the one who questioned you—he's going to stand in for the next trial."

Tristan didn't respond. He continued to stare at his wife, waiting for more.

Slowly, she admitted to the exchange she had with his father. "I think he was insulted to even suggest you might make any mistakes," she said.

Tristan turned back to the dresser to continue his task. "He told me I was efficient at the various aspects of my job," he said flatly.

"What? When did he say that?"

"After the verdict was read. I ran into him out in the hall."

Rory sat in silent contemplation, and looked down at her hands. After a moment, she lifted her head. "So maybe that's it then. Maybe he just wanted to see what you can do, and is ready to accept it now." Remembering what Harrison told her that day, she quickly added, "He's okay with you being in law enforcement. He said he's over it."

"Maybe so," Tristan muttered, checking behind a photo of them from their wedding day. "Was that all he said?"

"Uh, yeah," she answered hastily. "Pretty much." She didn't stop Tristan as he silently searched the drawers of her vanity. She wondered if it was worth it to tell him what she suspected of his parents. "Speaking of your dad," she started.

"Are we still talking about him?"

"A little. I talked to Mom the other day, and she heard some Hartford gossip from Grandma," Rory said. "Your dad made the gossip page of the Gazette. A woman has been keeping him company on nights when his wife is away."

"And?"

"And, that's all," Rory said. "What do you think that's about?"

Tristan lifted a shoulder. "I guess he's got someone on the side again. That doesn't surprise you, does it?" he asked. "You know both of my parents remarried immediately after their divorce was final."

"Sure."

"So clandestine meetings wouldn't be new. I wonder how young the woman is this time. Probably younger than me."

Carefully, she said, "You know, I was thinking. Your mom gets married a lot, right?"

Tristan went over to his own chest of drawers and opened the top one. "Yup. It's what she does for a living. Normal people have jobs."

"But it was only after she was with to your dad for years. She was his wife for half her married life. What made her become a serial bride?"

"I don't know," he answered. "Why?"

"It just doesn't make sense. It wasn't always what she did."

He argued, "It makes sense if you look at it the right way. Dad had an airtight prenup, so now she's proving she can amass a fortune through less intelligent husbands." He moved to the next drawer.

"See? It's still about your dad. Maybe she never got over him."

Tristan stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to stare at her. "That's a romantic theory," he said dryly. "It's wildly inaccurate, and naïve—but romantic."

"Why would a person spend so much time and energy hating someone though?" Rory asked. "Could it be she loved him, but just hates what happened?"

"No, she hates him."

"You keep saying that, but why hasn't she moved on?"

"She has. Four times. Three more divorces and a death. I don't even want to sniff around to find out definitively what happened with the death. I'm not convinced she didn't do it."

"You said she only hated the one husband enough for that."

"True. I'm surprised she never burned down the house while Dad slept inside."

"She still considers it her house. She wouldn't set it on fire."

"That's a good point," he conceded. "She thinks it's her house because she's possessive. In her mind, what was once hers will always be hers."

"Maybe that includes your dad."

"Could be." Tristan shook his head. "But that doesn't make it love." He turned back to his dresser and moved to the next drawer.

"We are celebrating your birth tomorrow. You know they're responsible for that, they did make you."

"Ugh, don't be gross."

"Were you thinking it was an immaculate conception?"

"You probably mean the virgin birth—common mistake. And yes," he said. "Now stop talking about my parents, you're ruining my birthday . . . Eve. Is that a thing?" He knelt down and opened the last drawer.

"Of course it's a thing." Noticing his progress, she sprang up from the bed and almost jumped on her husband. "Hey, let's go downstairs and get something to eat, I'm starving. Do you feel like Chinese tonight? I could really go for some crab rangoon."

"Ooh, I'm getting warmer," he said with a smile. He closed the drawer and moved to the bottom one.

"No, I'm just super hungry. Come on, I'll race you down to the kitchen."

He shook his head down at his t-shirts and laughed a little. "I wish all searches were this easy. I should have done like Sherlock and set off the smoke detector. You would have looked right at the drawer."

"Your birthday present isn't the most important thing in the room," she argued.

He lifted the shirts and found the wrapped package sitting beneath them. He picked it up and smiled at her in triumph. "I like that strategy, right under my nose."

"You can't open it until tomorrow."

He shook the box next to his ear. "What is it? Is it a tie?"

"No. You'll find out tomorrow. If I was any clearer, I'd have curly red hair and I'd be singing about the sun coming out—tomorrow." She tried to take the box from him, but he held it out of reach.

He backed up to the end of the bed to sit where she'd been a moment earlier. She went with him, straddling his legs. She started kissing his neck and he lowered his arm. "This might work," he said, letting her take the gift away so his hands were free to circle her waist.

July 13, 2017

Greg walked off the elevator at the third floor of the twenty-first precinct. He proceeded to the squad room and made a beeline for the blonde detective's desk. DuGrey was accepting a cupcake from a messenger. The young man took out a lighter and held it up to the single candle at the top of the treat.

"You really don't have to light this one," Tristan said.

"I have strict instructions that say otherwise." After the candle was lit, Tristan blew out the flame and removed the icing covered candle, adding it to a stack piled up on his desk. "See you later," he said as the messenger made his leave. He looked around at the desks of his fellow detectives, and saw either a cupcake on each desk or evidence that one had been eaten. He peeled back the lining and took a bite. It was red velvet, and from the looks of things, a variety of other flavors and icing combinations had preceded it.

When he saw Jacobs, he swallowed and asked, "Did you want this?"

Jacobs shook his head and wrinkled his nose. "No thanks."

DuGrey waved a hand. "There'll be another one in fifteen minutes, stick around if you want it. I think they'll keep coming until there are thirty-three, but I'll have to count the candles at the end of the day."

Greg reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the envelope he was to deliver that day and handed it over.

"Aw, you shouldn't have," DuGrey said with a smirk.

"I didn't. I'm just another messenger bearing gifts."

Tristan shoved the last of his cupcake in his mouth and wiped his hands on his pants before taking the envelope. He slid his thumb along the opening and pulled out a document that was a few pages stapled together. He unfolded them and grabbed his reading glasses from the desk so he could scan the top sheet.

As he read, he started to frown. His eyes quickly moved back and forth and he flipped ahead to the last page.

Jacobs, feeling nosey, leaned in and read the seven digit figure at the bottom of the page. "Holy crap."

Tristan reflexively jerked the papers out of eyeshot and glared at him. "Where did you get this?" he demanded.

"Your dad. He stopped by yesterday."

"And you're just having private meetings behind my back?" he asked with a scowl.

"No, he's a fellow attorney and he was telling me his colleague will take over for the new trial," Jacobs explained.

"So that's it then?" Tristan asked, miffed. "He's finished with the whole thing? He's giving up, just like that?"

"What?" Greg asked, brows furrowed.

Tristan tried handing the papers back. "I don't want this."

Greg held his palms up and took a step back. "It's not mine, I don't want it."

"I didn't do what I'm supposed to do to get this. I'm not the prodigal son."

"It's out of my hands," he said. "He wanted you to have it, today specifically. I guess you were wrong, he does remember your birthday."

The now hot-headed detective headed for the exit. On his way out, he passed his partner, who turned to watch him before approaching the assistant district attorney.

"I feel like I just missed a good storm off," Stevenson commented. "He didn't like the last cupcake?"

"Something like that."

NNNNNNN

Tristan entered the apartment later that evening. Rory was sitting at the end of the dining room table, reading a magazine. There was a card sitting on the table next to the present he'd found the night before. She looked up and greeted him with a big smile. "Happy birthday."

"You told me that already." He dropped his keys in a basket next to the door and went over to the table.

"I know, but it's still your birthday. " She smiled wider and asked, "Did anything special happen at work today?"

He stared for a second, speechless. Her smile wavered for a moment, and then he blinked. "Cupcakes," he said. "You kept the whole precinct happy all day."

She grinned again. "Everyone at the newsroom enjoyed your birthday as well. I ordered us sheet cake. Why should the twenty-first precinct be the only place of business to celebrate the day of your birth?"

Tristan nodded slightly and smiled tightly. "Good question."

"Half the newsroom was on a sugar high by noon." Rory crossed her arms on the table leaned forward. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "Thanks for the cupcakes. I especially liked the very last one."

"To grow on," she said, pleased with herself.

He pulled out the chair next to her, but Rory held her hand out. "Don't sit down, we're going to dinner. And then we have to get to Park Avenue and Thirty-Fourth Street."

"What for?"

Her shoulders dropped. "To see Manhattanhenge."

"Didn't we just see that?"

"That was the one during sunrise, this one is sunset." She added, "It's not every day the sun aligns with the east-west streets of Manhattan, and it happens on your birthday, so it's extra special. You're very lucky. We can't miss it."

Tristan pointed down to his gift. "If that's a book, we should pretty much call it your birthday."

Rory smiled as she got up and started for the hallway. "I'll be right back. I need shoes."

He strolled down the hall behind her, letting her get to the top of the stairs as he stopped at his desk. He took the envelope he'd received that day and opened the bottom drawer. Without pausing to look at its contents, he stuck it in the drawer and shut it.

Acceptance, if that's what it was, didn't feel the way Tristan thought it would. Albeit, he wouldn't have believed the day would ever come. It was as surreal as the day he left his father's house years earlier, set on doing whatever he wanted with his life. But Harrison was no longer mad about it. He'd just given up on a lost cause.

Fin