Law & Order: Tis the Season
Title: Tis the Season
Fandom: Law & Order (the Mothership)
Disclaimer: Don't own it.
Characters/Pairings: Jack McCoy, Mike/Connie, OC
Rating: G
Summary: Connie's cooking could lead to symptoms of Death.
Dedication: For metaphore_art. Merry Christmas Jenni!
Jack McCoy is not quite sure how he came to be known as "Grandpa Jack" but he's grateful. It's hard not to be when he's forced to remember his own relationship with Rebecca. Despite a monthly luncheon, his relationship with his daughter is still strained. It makes him wonder at times what his relationship with her children will be like when she chooses to settle down. But until that day in the future arrives, he has plenty of time to practice with Mike Cutter's little Phoebe.
"You're late." The little carbon copy of Connie stares up at him as she dangles from the doorknob.
He smiles down at his Goddaughter. "Am I?"
Phoebe grins. "Yup. You missed mommy dumping the mashed potatoes on daddy's head."
Jack's eyebrows leap up as he desperately tries to restrain his laughter. For a duo who is always the definition of professional perfection, their home life reminds Jack of a Looney Toons episode. In particular, one of the ones where Will E. Coyote came up with another elaborate plan to capture the elusive Road Runner.
Phoebe mistakes his expression for fear. "Don't worry there's still some left. Mommy said that Daddy can just toss the rest of it into the bowl after he finishes picking it out of his hair."
“Phoebe?”
Jack shifts his attention from the child to her father. Mike’s hair is wet and there’s a towel around his neck. There is no sign of potato anywhere. Still, Jack will make sure to avoid that dish. Mike scoops up his daughter and tucks her under his arm.
“What have I said about answering the door when mommy and I aren’t there?”
“Don’t do it.” Phoebe answers, her hands and feet dangling over the floor. “But I knew it was him!”
Mike rolls his eyes. “Uh huh.”
“I did!” Phoebe shouts. “It was my woman’s initsion.”
“Woman’s intuition, eh?” Mike doesn’t look impressed. “I think it’s time I had another talk with your mother.” He gestures Jack to come in, kicking the door shut behind him. “You’re too young to have that yet.”
“Am not. I’m six!” Phoebe holds up six fingers. “Tell him, Grandpa Jack!”
Jack grins. “You may have met your match, Cutter.”
Mike tries to hide the pride in his eyes but fails. “She’d win against Lubo, no mistake.”
“We should stick her against Judge Harrison. She’d wear him down to nothing in five minutes.”
“Three.” Connie enters the hallway from the kitchen. For a woman who was just involved in an epic food fight, she’s spotless. There’s a bit of a frown on her face as she observes Phoebe and Mike. “Mike, you’re going to scramble her brain if you keep that up.”
Mike flipped Phoebe up into his arms, ignoring Connie’s sudden, sharp gasp. “Don’t worry. Her brains are just fine.”
“Again!” Phoebe giggles as she pats Mike’s cheeks.
Mike grins.
“Mike…”
If she was closer, Jack has no doubt that she would have snatched Phoebe from Mike’s arms all the while smacking him on the back of the head multiple times for endangering her little baby. More than once, Connie has gone running out of a crowded courtroom in order to be home in order to check up on her daughter and the nanny. Jack still recalls with fondness the time Connie threatened to deck a reporter who had gotten too close to mother and child when Connie had been taking a three-year-old Phoebe out to the playground. The reporter had hoped to gain some new information on a murder case involving a Senator and his lover. He had plagued Connie the entire time she’d been walking but it wasn’t until Phoebe had burst into tears due to a lack of attention from her mother that Connie had snapped. The department had lovingly referred to her as “Mamma Bear” thereafter (always behind her back of course).
“She’s fine,” Mike replies, utterly unaware of the danger he’s in. Then again, he was sporting a devil-may-care attitude that he usually only reserved for defendants he absolutely despised and who he’d quietly sworn were going to go down in any way possible and who he was quite prepared to push the boundaries of the law to punish. Jack shakes his head, hiding his grin. The boy certainly did like to walk the line. “Aren’t you sweetie?”
“Yesh.”
Connie’s eyebrow twitches and her hands reach out to reclaim her child from Mike’s bad influence.
Mike swings out of the way. Phoebe giggles in his arms. Mike walks backwards down the hallway. “How do you feel about Thai food, Jack?”
“I like Thai!”
“That’s nice, sweetheart, but I was talking to Grandpa Jack.”
Connie breaks in with a: “We just need to cut through the burnt parts. The inside will be fine.” If looks could kill, Mike would be brain dead.
“Uh huh. How about a pizza? I think they serve them with turkey toppings now. Or we could get a hamburger pizza.”
“Hamburger pizza! This is the best Christmas ever!”
“Because that’s so healthy, Michael.” Connie wrings the towel in her hands as if it’s her husband’s neck.
Jack tries to contain his laughter. He does, but really the sight of Connie smacking Mike upside the head never gets old. And Jack would know. He’s seen it fifty times now.
Fandom: Law & Order (the Mothership)
Disclaimer: Don't own it.
Characters/Pairings: Jack McCoy, Mike/Connie, OC
Rating: G
Summary: Connie's cooking could lead to symptoms of Death.
Dedication: For metaphore_art. Merry Christmas Jenni!
Jack McCoy is not quite sure how he came to be known as "Grandpa Jack" but he's grateful. It's hard not to be when he's forced to remember his own relationship with Rebecca. Despite a monthly luncheon, his relationship with his daughter is still strained. It makes him wonder at times what his relationship with her children will be like when she chooses to settle down. But until that day in the future arrives, he has plenty of time to practice with Mike Cutter's little Phoebe.
"You're late." The little carbon copy of Connie stares up at him as she dangles from the doorknob.
He smiles down at his Goddaughter. "Am I?"
Phoebe grins. "Yup. You missed mommy dumping the mashed potatoes on daddy's head."
Jack's eyebrows leap up as he desperately tries to restrain his laughter. For a duo who is always the definition of professional perfection, their home life reminds Jack of a Looney Toons episode. In particular, one of the ones where Will E. Coyote came up with another elaborate plan to capture the elusive Road Runner.
Phoebe mistakes his expression for fear. "Don't worry there's still some left. Mommy said that Daddy can just toss the rest of it into the bowl after he finishes picking it out of his hair."
“Phoebe?”
Jack shifts his attention from the child to her father. Mike’s hair is wet and there’s a towel around his neck. There is no sign of potato anywhere. Still, Jack will make sure to avoid that dish. Mike scoops up his daughter and tucks her under his arm.
“What have I said about answering the door when mommy and I aren’t there?”
“Don’t do it.” Phoebe answers, her hands and feet dangling over the floor. “But I knew it was him!”
Mike rolls his eyes. “Uh huh.”
“I did!” Phoebe shouts. “It was my woman’s initsion.”
“Woman’s intuition, eh?” Mike doesn’t look impressed. “I think it’s time I had another talk with your mother.” He gestures Jack to come in, kicking the door shut behind him. “You’re too young to have that yet.”
“Am not. I’m six!” Phoebe holds up six fingers. “Tell him, Grandpa Jack!”
Jack grins. “You may have met your match, Cutter.”
Mike tries to hide the pride in his eyes but fails. “She’d win against Lubo, no mistake.”
“We should stick her against Judge Harrison. She’d wear him down to nothing in five minutes.”
“Three.” Connie enters the hallway from the kitchen. For a woman who was just involved in an epic food fight, she’s spotless. There’s a bit of a frown on her face as she observes Phoebe and Mike. “Mike, you’re going to scramble her brain if you keep that up.”
Mike flipped Phoebe up into his arms, ignoring Connie’s sudden, sharp gasp. “Don’t worry. Her brains are just fine.”
“Again!” Phoebe giggles as she pats Mike’s cheeks.
Mike grins.
“Mike…”
If she was closer, Jack has no doubt that she would have snatched Phoebe from Mike’s arms all the while smacking him on the back of the head multiple times for endangering her little baby. More than once, Connie has gone running out of a crowded courtroom in order to be home in order to check up on her daughter and the nanny. Jack still recalls with fondness the time Connie threatened to deck a reporter who had gotten too close to mother and child when Connie had been taking a three-year-old Phoebe out to the playground. The reporter had hoped to gain some new information on a murder case involving a Senator and his lover. He had plagued Connie the entire time she’d been walking but it wasn’t until Phoebe had burst into tears due to a lack of attention from her mother that Connie had snapped. The department had lovingly referred to her as “Mamma Bear” thereafter (always behind her back of course).
“She’s fine,” Mike replies, utterly unaware of the danger he’s in. Then again, he was sporting a devil-may-care attitude that he usually only reserved for defendants he absolutely despised and who he’d quietly sworn were going to go down in any way possible and who he was quite prepared to push the boundaries of the law to punish. Jack shakes his head, hiding his grin. The boy certainly did like to walk the line. “Aren’t you sweetie?”
“Yesh.”
Connie’s eyebrow twitches and her hands reach out to reclaim her child from Mike’s bad influence.
Mike swings out of the way. Phoebe giggles in his arms. Mike walks backwards down the hallway. “How do you feel about Thai food, Jack?”
“I like Thai!”
“That’s nice, sweetheart, but I was talking to Grandpa Jack.”
Connie breaks in with a: “We just need to cut through the burnt parts. The inside will be fine.” If looks could kill, Mike would be brain dead.
“Uh huh. How about a pizza? I think they serve them with turkey toppings now. Or we could get a hamburger pizza.”
“Hamburger pizza! This is the best Christmas ever!”
“Because that’s so healthy, Michael.” Connie wrings the towel in her hands as if it’s her husband’s neck.
Jack tries to contain his laughter. He does, but really the sight of Connie smacking Mike upside the head never gets old. And Jack would know. He’s seen it fifty times now.