Fiction Legal Following Distance F/K
Title: Legal Following Distance
Pairing/Genre: F/K
Rating: G
Word count: 1983
Quote: HENRY VI, IV. ii. The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers
Summary: How Ray really feels about lawyers
Notes: My thanks and gratitude to kill_claudio for the wonderful guidance and advice. Any problems with tenses is my fault - I think I overwhelmed her...
Warnings: Not a warning to be had
Legal Following Distance
by chesamus
HENRY VI, IV. ii. The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers
********
“I hate this fucking building.” I stomp through the lobby, daring anyone to stop me. “I hate it!”
I can hear heels tapping on the marble floors working to keep up. I don't care. Months of work, of stakeouts, bad coffee, Dewey's jokes, Huey's constant tapping, the Ice Queen bitching over every minute Fraser could spare, motions and depositions and preliminary hearings and jury selection and convictions at last.
And for what? Because three years later, some jailhouse lawyer convinces these bastards that torching a car after you put the dead guy inside, even though the fire spreads to the garage the car is in and then the house and leaves the guy's wife and kids hurt and homeless, isn't a mitigating circumstance. Cuz see, they really didn't plan to torch the garage or the house, just the car to hide the evidence, so really, how can that be arson?
Now they get a hearing to decide if they're entitled to a new trial or just new sentencing. And the defense team gets it on the schedule pronto - God only knows how that happens with Chicago's backlog - and they're probably thinking that with the only witness to their confession in the Arctic fixing the snowmobile from hell, fast-tracking the hearing would be like some wonderful get out of jail card. Instead, the prosecutor gets on the phone, tracks me down in my machine shop and says can I get to Chicago by 9:00am the next day.
Doable, but not easy, and I may never be able to straighten my back again. Bert flies me from Inuvik to Yellowknife to catch the 3:00 to Calgary. From there it's thirteen hours give or take a few minutes to Chicago.
Then it's like one of those movies, where the good guy gets a police escort which rushes him to the courthouse and he bursts through the double doors leading into the courtroom to save the day for truth, justice, and the American Way, much to the delight of the crowd and the dismay of the defense. Except the escort is just a fast ride from O'Hare in Welsh's sedan with the lights and siren going, and we stop at the 27th so I can shower and shave in the locker room first, and the courtroom only has one door, and the crowd is just the judge, the court reporter, three lawyers, two scumballs, a couple guards, and some old lady doing a crossword puzzle in the back row. And the American Way doesn't apply because I'm Canadian now.
But still, I make it, at 9:00 on the dot, and the defense asks for a continuance because their arson expert is testifying in Los Angeles this week so can't be here until Tuesday next. The judge calls a recess to consider their request, and sends us all home until after lunch. And all I can think of is it's a good thing I'm not a cop any more, because I cannot pull my gun on these idiots.
I finally get outside, turn and glare at the stupid brown building (yeah, yeah, yeah, the architects say the Daley Center is bronze, but trust me, in Chicago, bronze is just brown with delusions of grandeur). I catch a glimpse of City Hall across the street. I hate that building, too. Both of them are infested with the only form of life lower than cockroaches - lawyers.
“I hate this fucking building.” I know I'm repeating myself, but that's just the mood I'm in. “I hate it!”
“Ray -”
“Just what was this, huh? Lawyers just wanna have fun?” I know one lawyer in Inuvik, and only because she fixed my immigration stuff. Of course she only does it part-time - usually she spends her days making clocks.
“Ray -”
“Do you have any idea what a pain in the ass it was to get here?”
“Ray -”
“There isn't actually a flight you can get from Calgary to Chicago that time of day.”
“Ray -”
“You gotta go through Vancouver which is a thirteen hour trip, or Los Angeles, which is a thirteen hour trip, or San Francisco which is a thirteen hour trip, and all of those thirteen hour trips suck!”
“Ray -”
“The first thing we do, lets kill all the lawyers...”
“But Ray, I'm a lawyer.”
“What's your point?” I drop down onto a bench next to the building.
“Oh, Ray.” Stella is in full lawyer mode, standing over me like I'm a member of the jury who could be dazzled by her looks and her power suit. She tries to give me her 'I know more about this than you, so please get a grip' look, but I ain't buying. That look lost it's power years ago - probably about the time she originally prosecuted this stupid case. “As much as I sometimes wish it were otherwise, the defendants have a right -”
I just let her babble roll off me. I mean, what rights did Mr. Danvers have? Or his wife? Does Celia have rights about what scarred her for life before she could even walk? How about Eddie, who lost his dad, and the use of his left arm? What about their rights?
“- and I really believe the judge will rule against a new trial, because Conners and Scott are not denying that they killed Gary Danvers, only that the sentence imposed was incorrect. I fully expect the hearing to continue today.”
“It better. I got a life to get back to.” I hear a deep sigh next to me as Stella finally sits down.
“I'm sorry. I have no control over this.“ She rubs a hand across the back of her neck. “God, I'm tired.”
I don't remind her about who the tired person really is. I know she's probably got a lot going on. “So - how's everything else, Stel?”
She smiles - a small Stella smile. “It's fine.”
“You seeing anyone?” She freezes at that. I'm not psycho Ray anymore, but she doesn't know that. “Hey, it's cool, I mean, I got someone, I just was kinda hoping you found somebody.”
“I - actually Ray, I am seeing someone.”
“Hey, that's great! He being good to you?”
“Oh, yes! He's wonderful, spoils me rotten, loves to buy me shoes...” She does that ankle twisty thing women do. They are nice shoes.
“He's got good taste, and not just because of the shoes.” I smile at her. “How'd you meet him?”
“Um, a case - we were working on a case.” She's still nervous.
“Is he a lawyer?” Not another one, please God. Anything but another lawyer.
“No he was a cop.”
“Was? He quit?”
“No, he didn't quit. He was injured - in the line of duty.” She won't catch my eye, but that might not mean anything. “He retired on disability.”
That's - unexpected. Granted there are all kinds of disabled cops, but I can't see Stella taking care of someone with a serious problem. She had a hard time with the sickness part of 'in sickness and in health.' And no way was she taking up with a nut job - I think she got her fill of that with me.
“So, what's he gonna do with his time? Take care of you? He cook?”
Well, yes - quite well, in fact, but that's... I'm going to be making some changes, Ray.”
“Changes are good. I know I like my changes.”
“He makes me happy, Ray. The thing is - well his injury, his lungs, he had a hard time with the cold this winter, had pneumonia, bronchitis. He wants to move somewhere warm.”
“And you're going with him.”
I look at her profile - she has a bit of a blush thing going, but her back is straight and her eyes are shining. Stella always did look beautiful when she was in love.
“I think so. Probably. Yes.” She takes a deep breath, turns to face me. “Ray, I'm in love with Ray Vecchio and we're moving to Florida as soon as this case is over.”
“Uhm...” I really don’t know who is more surprised by what she just said, her or me. In the general scheme of things, though, it’s a good thing I'm speechless, because the first thing out of my mouth would have gotten me smacked, and the second thing would have gotten her arrested for breaking my jaw.
“I love him, Ray.” She sounds a bit more positive that time.
“Okay.” That seems safe.
“That's all you have to say?” She isn't pissed, but I think she's a bit disappointed that I don't have a meltdown.
“Well, hell, Stella. I mean I was Vecchio for almost two years. I know he was a decent cop, a decent guy, and his family is great.” What else can I say? That I think the Style Pig walks a bit too close to the line, that I hate how he treated Ben, that Stella deserves better?
“His family...” She doesn't - quite - shudder.
“Not hitting it off, huh? They can be a bit much.” They can be insane, and if they don't like someone, they can be murder.
“Oh, no, we get along fine, usually. At least, his mother, and Tony and Maria. And the children, but they aren't happy about the move south, and Francesca, well, somehow she thinks it's my fault you ended up with Constable Fraser.”
“Let me guess. If you hadn't divorced me, I would still be married and Ben would still be straight.”
Stella chuckles, leans into my shoulder. “Something like that.”
I lean back, look up at the big brown box behind me. “I gotta say that life is pretty weird, Stella.”
“True.”
“But, I think, at least we're friends, right?”
“Yes, although I think we're better friends from a distance.”
Yeah, but we have distance now, years away from the hurt and miles away from the reminders. “Maybe in a couple years Ben and I could come visit Florida or you guys could come up to Inuvik.”
“Sure, Ray.”
I know that means 'no way' - and she's right. Ben and I will never get farther south than Calgary if I have anything to say about it, and the chances of either Vecchio or Stella deciding to make a trip to the ice are pretty much zip. But that's fine. I have a good life - no, a great life. One that makes me happy. And if Stella thinks Vecchio can make her happy, well, more power to her.
I stand up, pull her to her feet. “I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Let's go get breakfast.”
“All right, but I get to pick the place.”
“I need real food, Stella. Home fries, pancakes, eggs, meat...”
Stella grins. “I didn't think a bran muffin was going to be enough. There's a pretty good diner around the corner. The menu is just full of fat and cholesterol.”
“Probably full of lawyers, too.”
“Probably -“
“Actually, Stell, that could be fun. We can kill the next couple hours tormenting the suits with lawyer jokes. I'll start - how many lawyers does it take to change a light bulb in California?”
“You'll get me fired.”
“What do you care, you're quitting anyway.” We stare at each other until we break into the giggles. I hold out my arm. “Madame Councilor?”
She thinks about it for a couple seconds. She knows she’s deciding on more than breakfast, I guess. Finally, she reaches over, takes my arm. “So Ray - how many lawyers does it take to change a light bulb in California?”
It’ll take at least three days to wrap up the legal shit and go home. Took about thirty years to get from peeing in a bank to wanting her happy with Vecchio. At least one leg of the trip was over.
Pairing/Genre: F/K
Rating: G
Word count: 1983
Quote: HENRY VI, IV. ii. The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers
Summary: How Ray really feels about lawyers
Notes: My thanks and gratitude to kill_claudio for the wonderful guidance and advice. Any problems with tenses is my fault - I think I overwhelmed her...
Warnings: Not a warning to be had
Legal Following Distance
by chesamus
HENRY VI, IV. ii. The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers
********
“I hate this fucking building.” I stomp through the lobby, daring anyone to stop me. “I hate it!”
I can hear heels tapping on the marble floors working to keep up. I don't care. Months of work, of stakeouts, bad coffee, Dewey's jokes, Huey's constant tapping, the Ice Queen bitching over every minute Fraser could spare, motions and depositions and preliminary hearings and jury selection and convictions at last.
And for what? Because three years later, some jailhouse lawyer convinces these bastards that torching a car after you put the dead guy inside, even though the fire spreads to the garage the car is in and then the house and leaves the guy's wife and kids hurt and homeless, isn't a mitigating circumstance. Cuz see, they really didn't plan to torch the garage or the house, just the car to hide the evidence, so really, how can that be arson?
Now they get a hearing to decide if they're entitled to a new trial or just new sentencing. And the defense team gets it on the schedule pronto - God only knows how that happens with Chicago's backlog - and they're probably thinking that with the only witness to their confession in the Arctic fixing the snowmobile from hell, fast-tracking the hearing would be like some wonderful get out of jail card. Instead, the prosecutor gets on the phone, tracks me down in my machine shop and says can I get to Chicago by 9:00am the next day.
Doable, but not easy, and I may never be able to straighten my back again. Bert flies me from Inuvik to Yellowknife to catch the 3:00 to Calgary. From there it's thirteen hours give or take a few minutes to Chicago.
Then it's like one of those movies, where the good guy gets a police escort which rushes him to the courthouse and he bursts through the double doors leading into the courtroom to save the day for truth, justice, and the American Way, much to the delight of the crowd and the dismay of the defense. Except the escort is just a fast ride from O'Hare in Welsh's sedan with the lights and siren going, and we stop at the 27th so I can shower and shave in the locker room first, and the courtroom only has one door, and the crowd is just the judge, the court reporter, three lawyers, two scumballs, a couple guards, and some old lady doing a crossword puzzle in the back row. And the American Way doesn't apply because I'm Canadian now.
But still, I make it, at 9:00 on the dot, and the defense asks for a continuance because their arson expert is testifying in Los Angeles this week so can't be here until Tuesday next. The judge calls a recess to consider their request, and sends us all home until after lunch. And all I can think of is it's a good thing I'm not a cop any more, because I cannot pull my gun on these idiots.
I finally get outside, turn and glare at the stupid brown building (yeah, yeah, yeah, the architects say the Daley Center is bronze, but trust me, in Chicago, bronze is just brown with delusions of grandeur). I catch a glimpse of City Hall across the street. I hate that building, too. Both of them are infested with the only form of life lower than cockroaches - lawyers.
“I hate this fucking building.” I know I'm repeating myself, but that's just the mood I'm in. “I hate it!”
“Ray -”
“Just what was this, huh? Lawyers just wanna have fun?” I know one lawyer in Inuvik, and only because she fixed my immigration stuff. Of course she only does it part-time - usually she spends her days making clocks.
“Ray -”
“Do you have any idea what a pain in the ass it was to get here?”
“Ray -”
“There isn't actually a flight you can get from Calgary to Chicago that time of day.”
“Ray -”
“You gotta go through Vancouver which is a thirteen hour trip, or Los Angeles, which is a thirteen hour trip, or San Francisco which is a thirteen hour trip, and all of those thirteen hour trips suck!”
“Ray -”
“The first thing we do, lets kill all the lawyers...”
“But Ray, I'm a lawyer.”
“What's your point?” I drop down onto a bench next to the building.
“Oh, Ray.” Stella is in full lawyer mode, standing over me like I'm a member of the jury who could be dazzled by her looks and her power suit. She tries to give me her 'I know more about this than you, so please get a grip' look, but I ain't buying. That look lost it's power years ago - probably about the time she originally prosecuted this stupid case. “As much as I sometimes wish it were otherwise, the defendants have a right -”
I just let her babble roll off me. I mean, what rights did Mr. Danvers have? Or his wife? Does Celia have rights about what scarred her for life before she could even walk? How about Eddie, who lost his dad, and the use of his left arm? What about their rights?
“- and I really believe the judge will rule against a new trial, because Conners and Scott are not denying that they killed Gary Danvers, only that the sentence imposed was incorrect. I fully expect the hearing to continue today.”
“It better. I got a life to get back to.” I hear a deep sigh next to me as Stella finally sits down.
“I'm sorry. I have no control over this.“ She rubs a hand across the back of her neck. “God, I'm tired.”
I don't remind her about who the tired person really is. I know she's probably got a lot going on. “So - how's everything else, Stel?”
She smiles - a small Stella smile. “It's fine.”
“You seeing anyone?” She freezes at that. I'm not psycho Ray anymore, but she doesn't know that. “Hey, it's cool, I mean, I got someone, I just was kinda hoping you found somebody.”
“I - actually Ray, I am seeing someone.”
“Hey, that's great! He being good to you?”
“Oh, yes! He's wonderful, spoils me rotten, loves to buy me shoes...” She does that ankle twisty thing women do. They are nice shoes.
“He's got good taste, and not just because of the shoes.” I smile at her. “How'd you meet him?”
“Um, a case - we were working on a case.” She's still nervous.
“Is he a lawyer?” Not another one, please God. Anything but another lawyer.
“No he was a cop.”
“Was? He quit?”
“No, he didn't quit. He was injured - in the line of duty.” She won't catch my eye, but that might not mean anything. “He retired on disability.”
That's - unexpected. Granted there are all kinds of disabled cops, but I can't see Stella taking care of someone with a serious problem. She had a hard time with the sickness part of 'in sickness and in health.' And no way was she taking up with a nut job - I think she got her fill of that with me.
“So, what's he gonna do with his time? Take care of you? He cook?”
Well, yes - quite well, in fact, but that's... I'm going to be making some changes, Ray.”
“Changes are good. I know I like my changes.”
“He makes me happy, Ray. The thing is - well his injury, his lungs, he had a hard time with the cold this winter, had pneumonia, bronchitis. He wants to move somewhere warm.”
“And you're going with him.”
I look at her profile - she has a bit of a blush thing going, but her back is straight and her eyes are shining. Stella always did look beautiful when she was in love.
“I think so. Probably. Yes.” She takes a deep breath, turns to face me. “Ray, I'm in love with Ray Vecchio and we're moving to Florida as soon as this case is over.”
“Uhm...” I really don’t know who is more surprised by what she just said, her or me. In the general scheme of things, though, it’s a good thing I'm speechless, because the first thing out of my mouth would have gotten me smacked, and the second thing would have gotten her arrested for breaking my jaw.
“I love him, Ray.” She sounds a bit more positive that time.
“Okay.” That seems safe.
“That's all you have to say?” She isn't pissed, but I think she's a bit disappointed that I don't have a meltdown.
“Well, hell, Stella. I mean I was Vecchio for almost two years. I know he was a decent cop, a decent guy, and his family is great.” What else can I say? That I think the Style Pig walks a bit too close to the line, that I hate how he treated Ben, that Stella deserves better?
“His family...” She doesn't - quite - shudder.
“Not hitting it off, huh? They can be a bit much.” They can be insane, and if they don't like someone, they can be murder.
“Oh, no, we get along fine, usually. At least, his mother, and Tony and Maria. And the children, but they aren't happy about the move south, and Francesca, well, somehow she thinks it's my fault you ended up with Constable Fraser.”
“Let me guess. If you hadn't divorced me, I would still be married and Ben would still be straight.”
Stella chuckles, leans into my shoulder. “Something like that.”
I lean back, look up at the big brown box behind me. “I gotta say that life is pretty weird, Stella.”
“True.”
“But, I think, at least we're friends, right?”
“Yes, although I think we're better friends from a distance.”
Yeah, but we have distance now, years away from the hurt and miles away from the reminders. “Maybe in a couple years Ben and I could come visit Florida or you guys could come up to Inuvik.”
“Sure, Ray.”
I know that means 'no way' - and she's right. Ben and I will never get farther south than Calgary if I have anything to say about it, and the chances of either Vecchio or Stella deciding to make a trip to the ice are pretty much zip. But that's fine. I have a good life - no, a great life. One that makes me happy. And if Stella thinks Vecchio can make her happy, well, more power to her.
I stand up, pull her to her feet. “I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Let's go get breakfast.”
“All right, but I get to pick the place.”
“I need real food, Stella. Home fries, pancakes, eggs, meat...”
Stella grins. “I didn't think a bran muffin was going to be enough. There's a pretty good diner around the corner. The menu is just full of fat and cholesterol.”
“Probably full of lawyers, too.”
“Probably -“
“Actually, Stell, that could be fun. We can kill the next couple hours tormenting the suits with lawyer jokes. I'll start - how many lawyers does it take to change a light bulb in California?”
“You'll get me fired.”
“What do you care, you're quitting anyway.” We stare at each other until we break into the giggles. I hold out my arm. “Madame Councilor?”
She thinks about it for a couple seconds. She knows she’s deciding on more than breakfast, I guess. Finally, she reaches over, takes my arm. “So Ray - how many lawyers does it take to change a light bulb in California?”
It’ll take at least three days to wrap up the legal shit and go home. Took about thirty years to get from peeing in a bank to wanting her happy with Vecchio. At least one leg of the trip was over.