Chapter Text
Andrew’s fingers flip through the files sitting on his desk, a motion he’s been mindlessly doing for the past ten minutes or so.
Kevin had set these on his desk this morning with that exasperated look in his eyes—the kind of look that very clearly reads just take one, Andrew, but the kind of look that would never dare to look too demanding nor too pitiful. After all, they both knew that Andrew would be even less likely to do something had Kevin behaved like that, simply out of spite.
But after one reluctant, quick read through all of the files, Andrew has determined that none of these cases are particularly eye-catching. They all seem to be the usual lawyer stuff, like people asking for help trudging through some legal jargon in contracts or building arguments for petty disputes. The only thing that's remotely entertaining would be the lawsuit filed for an elderly woman who claims to have been "robbed" of a whopping $15 from a hair salon, but Andrew would rather have someone botch his own haircut than sit through a woman complaining about $15 for a few hours.
So that means out of the many cases that Kevin has so sweetly sifted through and presented him, Andrew, pointedly, is not going to take any of them.
But that's to be expected. Everyone in this office knows that Andrew only takes the cases that he’s actually interested in. Any other case he’ll likely have to be bribed by his colleagues to do. In the past, he's accepted cases in exchange for one of the bottles of the good alcohol that Wymack has lying around in his office—one of the worst kept secrets in the company; a free pass, in the form of a handwritten slip, out of one of Kevin’s lectures, which he cashed in almost the second he got it; and simply enough, a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey flavor, just because Andrew would rather not get caught lugging around a carton of ice cream with a stupid name like that.
Either way, as it stands, Andrew isn't interested in these cases and won't take them.
Kevin, Kevin, Kevin, Andrew muses in his head as he leans back in his chair and kicks his feet up on his desk, atop the files—a move that Kevin would surely hate, his lips downturned into a firm scowl. You know better than to bring me cases like these.
Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew spots movement. He immediately flicks his gaze up to investigate.
Against the blinds covering his window, he finds the shadow of someone pacing around. He can tell it’s Kevin from how tall the figure is but also from the telltale way that his typically proud, stiff shoulders are slumped forward in defeat, a sign that he’s stressed.
It's a very particular stance. No one in the office stands quite like that.
Come to think of it, he was standing like that earlier too. Andrew’s sure that once the day ends and they head home—a house that Kevin, Nicky, Andrew, and Aaron have been sharing for the past few years—Kevin’s bound to spill all his thoughts in a drunken tizzy.
Standing some ways from Kevin, Andrew recognizes Aaron immediately—how wouldn’t he recognize his own silhouette? Aaron seems to be watching him pace around too, standing around but making no movement to ask Kevin what’s wrong.
Instead, he simply stands there, a hand tucked in his pocket.
Andrew has no doubt that his other hand holds his phone, where he’s probably texting that girl he told Aaron to stay away from.
And with them, Andrew notes, is Nicky—not particularly because he can recognize his silhouette, but mostly because he can hear his voice, almost clear as day, through the thin walls and the door.
“Come on!” Nicky’s whining as he follows Kevin around. “At least let Andrew look at it!”
Me? Andrew thinks. He sits forward in his chair and strains his ears to hear more of the conversation, just in case it gets more interesting.
Kevin halts his pacing and turns to Nicky, leaning in towards him, surely to try and intimidate him. Nicky remains unfazed, though he does raise his hands in a placating manner, almost like it’s an instinct to try and defuse any remotely precarious situation.
“No,” Kevin hisses sharply. “Nicky, listen to me. He can’t see this case—so just keep your voice down.”
Oh? Andrew pulls himself out of his chair. He sneaks across his room towards the door, closer and closer, until he’s standing just behind it.
None of these cases on his desk are very interesting.
But the commotion outside his office certainly is.
“Why not?”
Kevin pulls his shoulders taut. He flips his arm up, revealing a the unmistakably silhouette of a manilla folder in his hands. Andrew’s eyes lock on it. What the hell could Kevin possibly be hiding from Andrew?
“What, are you insane?” he snaps in the unmistakable way that denotes that he’s been arguing with the ever persistent and ever talkative Nicky for at least a few minutes. It’s a very tired tone, one that quickly turns angry when Andrew or Aaron eggs Nicky on.
“Nah, not really,” Nicky replies, though it was rather unnecessary as Kevin isn’t even listening to him, musing more to himself now.
“What if he takes it?” Kevin cradles his head in his free hand. “No.” Kevin’s voice falls quiet, surely a feeble attempt to steady himself and reassure himself that whatever awful outcome won’t happen. “No, he wouldn’t take it. He isn't that stupid."
The grimace in Kevin’s voice is audible when he speaks next. “…But there’s always the chance.”
“Kevin.” Nicky sighs, accompanied by a full-body wilt. He straightens up quickly enough. “Are you scared we’re going to lose or something? There’s no way! This is Andrew we’re talking about! He’d win, I’m sure!”
Nicky sudden rears back and jumps up for the folder, only for Kevin to hold it high above his head. Nicky isn’t as tall as Kevin by any means, but Nicky makes another jump for it anyway with a laugh, earning a sharp Nicky! from Kevin.
"Knock it off!"
“Come on! You saw him. There’s no way a cute guy like him could have done it!”
“Nicky,” Aaron deadpans, a warning in Andrew’s stead, almost like he knows that Andrew is eavesdropping and what he’s thinking. “Anyone can commit a crime.”
It’s a little scary.
Nicky just laughs. “You know I’m kidding.”
“It’s an open-and-shut case. He did it.”
“How could you say that? You don’t even know the full details!”
“You don’t either!”
As Nicky and Kevin bicker, Andrew figures that there’s no better time than the present to get involved in whatever tomfoolery is going on out there. He nudges his door open and leans against his doorframe.
Nicky’s in the middle of trying to climb Kevin like a tree to snatch the file out of his hands while Kevin precariously rocks back and forth, wobbling as he attempts to pry Nicky off of him without giving him the file. They don’t seem to have noticed Andrew, though Aaron certainly has, seeing how he quickly shoves his phone in his pocket.
Aaron stares at Andrew; Andrew stares back.
“Aaron, give me a hand!” Nicky calls.
Aaron, instead, turns sharply on his heel and walks back to his office, closing the door behind him. The lights inside his office flicker on, and the lock clicks into place. Nicky groans and throws his head back in despair.
It’s then that Nicky meets Andrew’s eyes. His expression lights up, but there’s some sort of tint to his gaze. Not just joy that he may have someone to help him—no, it’s more like some sort of mischief.
No, Andrew realizes. It’s triumph.
“Oh! Hey, Andrew! Check out this case!” Nicky swats for the file again, and Kevin finally pushes Nicky off him with a huff. Nicky hits the ground with a yelp and a flat look as he stands up.
Kevin whips around to face Andrew. “When’d you get there?” he demands.
“Kevin, have you finally gone senile? This is my office, remember?” Andrew sarcastically gestures to the room. “And what was that you said to me this morning?”
Kevin pointedly averts his gaze.
Andrew snaps his fingers. “Right! You told me, don’t come out of this damn room until you take a case. Isn’t that right?”
“Okay, so?” Kevin lets out a grunt, running his hands over his suit and smoothing out any wrinkles he might have sustained from Nicky childishly trying to snatch the file from his hand. “Did you pick something?”
“Oh, I sure did.”
“Let’s hear it then.”
Andrew grins, though he’s sure it comes off more as the baring of teeth, a spiteful snarl. Then, Andrew simply raises a hand and points at the file in Kevin’s hand.
“That one.” Andrew turns his hand over, his palm facing the ceiling in a silent demand. “Hand it over.”
Kevin pales and immediately attempts to hide the file behind his back, as if Andrew hadn’t already seen it, as if his attempt to hide it will do anything. “No. You can’t take this one.”
And it’s at that reaction that Andrew knows that he made the right choice.
Andrew doesn’t miss a beat.
He leans forward. Cocks his head, the same playful, dangerous way that a lion might eye its prey before delivering the fatal strike.
“Why not?” he drawls.
Kevin clears his throat, takes a step back, avoids Andrew’s eyes.
“It’ll be an easy loss. We don’t need that on our record.”
“A loss. Our record. What, are we some kind of sports team?” Andrew levels Kevin with a look. “Kevin, you know we work at a law firm, right? Or are you still riding the highs of your high school football career?”
Kevin wrinkles his nose. “What? I didn’t play football in high school.”
“You sure act like you did.”
"What does that even...?" Kevin heaves a sigh. He rolls his eyes and fixes them on Andrew, matching the flat look he’s giving him.
“Look. Who wants to get defended by lawyers who lose every case? You realize that our reputation already isn’t that great, right? There’s a reason why business has been slow for us. That’s why I’ve been telling you to hurry up and pick a case already.”
Kevin’s chatty. He’s nervous. He’s trying to derail.
There’s definitely something interesting about this case then.
Andrew doesn’t budge.
“Kevin,” Andrew says slowly, a dangerous lilt to his otherwise monotonous voice. “The file.”
“Andrew,” Kevin says, trying to mimic the edge to Andrew’s voice. “We aren’t taking it.”
“Says who? You?” Andrew flashes his teeth in another grin. Kevin’s expression wavers, flickers, an unnerved expression gone in the blink of an eye. But Andrew saw it—and so he knows that he’s winning this argument. “You’re not the one in charge.”
“I might as well be.” Kevin throws his arms up in the air. “It’s like none of you care about working here.”
“We don’t,” Nicky chimes in.
Kevin shoots Nicky a pointed glare, and Nicky quickly pretends to be preoccupied with a coffee stain on the countertops of one of the nearby cubicles. Kevin shakes his head. “For once, just listen to me. It’s best for all of us if we don’t take this one. It’s going to be a headache. I can tell.”
“All our cases are headaches. We’re lawyers.” Andrew holds out his hand. “The file. Hand it over.”
At wit’s end, Kevin pinches the bridge of his nose. He throws his arms up.
“Fine. Fine! You can have this case. But don’t come crying to me if you don’t like it.”
Then, Kevin finally, finally sets the file in Andrew’s hand.
Andrew wastes no time opening the file and skimming it.
A national murder case, where the suspect had been on the run and had recently been apprehended in Arizona. The burned and nearly unrecognizable body of a woman in a car, a man at the crime scene fleeing as cops arrive.
His eyes are immediately drawn to the picture of a man printed under the ‘Suspect Information’ section.
Their old, shitty printer only prints in black and white, so his picture is in varying shades of splotchy grays and blacks. But ‘Suspect Information’ section tells him all he needs to know about this mystery man.
A frowning man, twenty years old. A mop of brown hair. Brown eyes. Five foot three.
‘Neil Josten.’
This is a murderer? Andrew thinks.
With his hood pulled partially up over his head and his tense shoulders pulled forward, there’s a defiant fire burning in those tired, brown eyes. Any ordinary person would see this expression and know that’s a murderer.
But Andrew isn’t some ordinary person. He knows what cold-blooded bloodlust looks like.
And he knows what fear looks like.
These are not angry eyes. These are not the eyes of someone who is furious that he’s been caught in the act of murder or someone who’s blaming the world for his own violent actions.
No, these are fearful eyes. Not the kind that fear prison or the kinds of people held there or even the fear of potential corporal punishment.
The kind that fear something worse.
“You want to know something?” Kevin asks, bringing Andrew back to the present. “He refuses to talk to the cops. He hasn’t said anything. They only found out his information from his ID.” Kevin’s voice is clearly tinted with a smug grin. “Do you still think we should take this case?”
An uncooperative alleged murderer.
Everything about this case would tell a rational lawyer to drop it, turn away, head back into his office, to begrudgingly pick up another case. A boring, simpler file like that divorce between the Kliffs or maybe that petty argument where a customer had been cheated out of a whopping $20.
But those eyes—those fierce, fearful, long-lashed eyes—haunt him.
Before Andrew knows it, he’s talking.
“Get on the phone with the police station. I’m going to talk with him.”
Kevin stares, his smug grin falling. It’s replaced with a narrow-eyed look of complete befuddlement. “What? Andrew, what the hell are you thinking?”
Andrew folds the file in his hands and pulls his car keys from his pocket, spinning them around his finger. He revels in the shock on Kevin’s face—revels in that odd paleness and fear enveloping Kevin.
I’ll figure out what you’re hiding, Kevin, Andrew thinks. And I’ll figure out what this ‘Neil Josten’ is hiding too.
“Save your breath. I don’t need to hear you nag.” Andrew starts to walk towards the door but pauses to look over Kevin. “Are you coming or not?”