Casey and Severide plot, Sylvie spirals, Nolan crashes through the State's Attorney's office with all the tact of a mongoose on crack, and Peter wonders if hell is freezing over.
***
As the minutes ticked by, closer and closer to the end of shift, Matt shuffled through the reports he had collected from everyone for the calls each rig responded to. He had all of Engine 51's, courtesy of Herrmann. All of his detailing the calls of Truck 81 were included. He just had one left from Sylvie and -
"Casey?"
Speak of the devil. Matt turned in his chair, surprised to see not just Kelly but the other house paramedic. "Hey," he greeted. "Reports finished?"
"Right here," Kelly handed the papers over.
"Thanks," Matt took the stack. "Shay? Everything good?"
"I'm not sure," Leslie Shay admitted, leaning in the doorway. "Brett was a zombie for our last call."
"A zombie?" Matt repeated in concern.
"OK, not when she was actually in the middle of the call," Shay amended. "But she asked me to be the driver of the ambulance."
Matt blinked. "She asked?"
"Yeah," Shay nodded. "Y'know, we normally do 'first there drives,' right? Nope. She asked me to drive to the call and from the hospital. She was out like a light before I ever threw us into drive."
Matt leaned his forearms on his knees, frowning in concern. "That hasn't happened before?"
"No," Shay shook her head. "I mean, of course, she's been a little tired on calls, but she's always been alert to drive to a call. And when I've gotten to the driver's seat first, she's always found a way to keep herself awake."
"I found her in the kitchen last night," Matt told them. "She was up because of a nightmare. She said the cocoa she made usually helps, but if she couldn't go back to sleep . . . "
"That would explain the exhaustion," Shay nodded.
"She's finishing her report now," Kelly told him. "I initially thought about offering to take her to breakfast, talk to her about it, but she's already got plans with Stone."
"There's a house I'm working at today," Matt suggested. "Demo work, painting, you name it, I don't necessarily have a set schedule. The four of us can tackle anything and see if we can help her."
Kelly nodded, but Shay made a face. "Herrmann, Otis, and I are doing inventory at Molly's," she said. "I can't do it today, but if you bring her to Molly's, I'll gladly help take a crack at her."
"We'll do our best," Matt nodded, standing from his chair. "Shift's over in five. Sev, I'll send you the address and we'll figure out who picks up Sylvie?"
"Copy that," Kelly gave a mock salute.
When Matt had finished in the locker room and returned to his quarters in his civvies, he found Sylvie's missing report on his desk. He finished packing his duffel before picking up the stack of papers and delivering it to the box Boden had outside his office. He passed Herrmann and Ritter in the common area as he headed for the apparatus floor, and Cruz and Otis were jovially conversing as they headed to their ride. He found Sylvie pacing the apron, rolling her head around, her eyes closed as she tilted her face to the sun. "Hey," he called as he approached. "Did the cocoa do the trick?"
Sylvie cracked open an eye, giving him a look. "I know that tone. Shay tattled, didn't she?"
Matt shrugged. "She's worried. We know there are several higher-ups in the CFD who think she should be PIC, even with your superior scoring and she wanting nothing to do with that responsibility. If something is wrong . . . "
Sylvie chewed her lip, folding her arms tightly. To certain people, it looked like she was trying to hug herself. "I couldn't go back to sleep," she admitted. "Any time I closed my eyes, the only thing I saw was . . . was . . . "
Her voice trailed off, and when Matt stepped closer, he saw the light reflect off tears forming in her eyes again. His heartstrings tugged, and he immediately stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "It's OK, Sylvie," he told her. "Take a deep breath."
Sylvie obeyed, her breath steadying as she inhaled and exhaled. "It gets worse every time," she whispered. "And I don't know how much longer I can go with it haunting me and keeping me awake."
Matt squeezed her, and she gratefully leaned into his hug. God, what had she seen to terrify her in such a way? he wondered. He could see Peter Stone's car down the block, and he looked down at Sylvie. "You know, Sev is going to be helping me with a remodel this afternoon," he told her. "If you're not busy, why don't you join us? The three of us with an afternoon of work, then to ourselves?"
He knew he had her the moment he told her it would be the three of them. Ever since the night he and Kelly had been at Molly's and gotten a text from her begging them to bail her out of an awful date, the trio had formed an unlikely friendship: the two officers born and bred in Chicago and the paramedic from . . . actually, all they knew was she trained in New York. When her relationship with Antonio Dawson had blown up rather spectacularly, everyone at 51 knew that if one of the three couldn't be found, all they had to do was look for the other two. Shay was a constant figure around them, too, of course, but she was closest to Kelly by a long shot. Matt, Kelly, and Sylvie were their own little trio that could never be separated, no matter what certain people attempted.
So Matt knew her answer before she opened her mouth. "That sounds like a good time," she smiled and nodded, shouldering her bag as Peter pulled up to the curb. "Sign me up, boss."
"Expect one of us to pick you up around 1:00," Matt told her, kissing the top of her head. "Take care of yourself, alright?"
"You got it," Sylvie kissed his cheek, then jogged to Peter's car.
He caught a glimpse of the prosecutor as Sylvie climbed into the passenger seat, and the other man peered past her to give Matt a look of concern. Matt took out his phone and sent a quick text message with a short message.
Take care of her.
He saw Peter glimpse at his phone, then the ASA gave him a nod as Sylvie shut the door. Matt waved as the car whipped around and drove off, then he turned when he heard Kelly walk up to him. "Is she in?" he asked.
"She's in," Matt nodded. "Remind me to meet you at the house with her favorite coffee."
Kelly grinned. "Will do."
***
In Nolan Price's opinion, three-piece suits were the equivalent of six-inch stiletto heels in terms of overall comfort and convenience. However, he had to allow that when you wore them right, if you owned the look, they made a powerful impact statement that could give you command of the room before a single word was spoken.
Which was why he'd packed one specifically for his initial meeting with Stone, or more precisely his initial meeting with Mark Jefferies.
"I mean it, Nolan. I know how you feel about Jefferies, but I do not need you ruffling his feathers." Jack had advised, while the pair of them had sat in Nolan's office sharing hits off a bottle of good scotch.
"You're welcome to make this trip, Jack." Nolan said, for what felt like the hundredth time.
"Nah. Besides, I don't like running fool's errands."
"Wait. You don't expect Stone to even consider your offer." It was a statement rather than a question.
"Praeparate pessimum. Spes optima." Jack said with a flourish of the hand not holding the tumble of scotch.
"'Prepare for the worst. Hope for the best.'" Nolan translated in a flat tone. "What are we doing here?"
"Laying the foundation work," Jack explained, reaching out and tapping his glass, requesting a top off. "Adam Shiff, just before he stepped down, told me that one of his greatest challenges in the job was managing Ben Stone. He explained that the quickest way to heartbreak was to openly try to handle Stone, but if you sowed the seeds," Jack was once again gesticulating with his free hand, "then stepped back and let it come to Stone, in his own time?" The hand in motion paused, then flared open, like a blooming flower.
"So. I'm sowing seeds?"
"Take your straw hat, farmer."
Nolan rolled his eyes and refilled his own glass, then indulged in a healthy gulp just as Jack began to grin. Nothing good ever came out of Jack McCoy when he grinned like an imp, and Nolan looked at his boss with open foreboding.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just imagining you and Mark Jefferies in the same room. He's the exact sort of State's Attorney you loath, Nolan. He's a political man."
"I'm aware, Jack." The dryness in Nolan's tone could have soaked up all the water in the Hudson.
"Sam and I are running an office betting pool for which of you goes for the other's throat first. If it helps, your odds on?"
His head echoing with the choice words he'd thrown at his boss that night, Nolan pushed open the door and stepped into the State's Attorney office. The moment he breached the doors, the entire office came to a standstill. Eyes swung his way, some merely curious, others going wide-eyed stare, and a few with a blink and then open hostility. Each response was offered a polite, well-practiced smile as Nolan walked purposefully in between the heavy wooden desks, straight back towards Jefferies' office.
"Good morning," he spoke softly to the steel eyed woman, who sat at her desk just outside Jefferies' double doors. Reaching into his pocket for his credentials, Nolan flipped open the leather case and held them up so she could inspect the badge and ID card. "My name is Nolan Price, I'm with the DA's office in Manhattan. I have an appointment with SA Jefferies?"
Nolan was putting on his sweetest Sunday School expression for the woman, who stared back at him with a look that made it clear, she wasn't buying what he was selling. Quite likely the grapevines that ran from New York to Chicago had been vibrating with activity over the past few days and who knew what she thought he was here to do. Attempt to poach an ASA or perform a Satanic ritual in Jefferies office.
"Have a seat," it was more an order than an offer. "I'll let Mr. Jefferies know you have arrived and await his convenience."
Well. That's me put in my place, Nolan thought to himself, more amused than annoyed. He gave a small nod of his head, but rather than take the suggested seat, he stepped back and walked over to a spot that afforded him a good view of the State's Attorney's office bullpen. Because despite his assistant's bravado, and Jefferies' desire to assert his authority at Nolan, the Executive ADA did not expect to be left cooling his heels for too long.
Not if Mark Jefferies truly wanted a career in politics. Jack McCoy had a long reach, and while the DA of Manhattan might be amused at putting his second in command in uncomfortable situations, he would not tolerate out and out disrespect.
"Nolan!" Jefferies' deep voice came at the same time the doors to his office swung open. "Did you have a good flight?"
Ah, so that was the opening gambit. Leave Nolan waiting, to make it clear he was an unwelcome guest, and then open the conversation with banal small talk.
"Hello, Mark." Nolan responded, deliberately using the SA's first name, with a quick smile and an extended hand. He could do the initial olive branch offering of this exchange, but he wasn't going to acknowledge Jefferies' position as higher than his own. "A regional jet out of Laguardia and into O'Hare, how good could it be?"
Mark took Nolan's hand with a smile that did not reach his eyes and a laugh that was perfectly practiced. It set Nolan's teeth on edge.
"Well, as they like to say, any safe landing is a good landing. Come on inside, let's talk about what brings you to my fair city."
Let the pissing match begin. Nolan thought to himself, even as he plastered a practiced smile of his own on his face and held out his hand towards the door. "Please. Lead the way."
***
"I probably shouldn't have any coffee," Sylvie eyed the pot delivered to their table with a longing gaze.
"You're refusing coffee?" Peter raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Did you have too much on shift or something?"
"I wish I could've," Sylvie shook her head, rubbing her forehead. "Especially during the night." She sighed, taking her fork and stabbing it into her pancakes. "I had another night terror."
Peter finished pouring himself a cup of coffee before looking intently at her. "Is this the same one that's been giving you problems for a while now?"
"Yeah," Sylvie nodded, chewing her bite of pancakes before swallowing, the food settling like a rock in her stomach. "But it's been getting worse."
"Have you told anyone what it's about?"
Sylvie hesitated, drawing circles in her syrup with her fork. Her life in Chicago was an open book to anyone who asked . . . but her life in New York was a book locked in chains. While Boden and Herrmann knew the basics of why it was important for her to keep her relation to Nolan quiet, it was Voight who hammered home why any whisper of that relation could put a target on her back. "No."
"If it gets worse, maybe you should talk to Dr. Charles," Peter suggested, taking a sip of his coffee. "He'll understand confidentiality."
"I think there's only one thing that can cure this, Peter," Sylvie shook her head, setting down her utensils to interlock her fingers. "And I don't know if it's possible."
Peter blinked. "I'm sorry, I think I heard wrong," he put his mug down and leaned forward. "You don't think something's possible? Is hell freezing over or something?"
Sylvie couldn't help the giggle that rose in her throat. "Peter, this is serious!"
"Yeah, and so am I," Peter gave her a pointed look. "I know I haven't known you as long as everyone at 51, but I like to think I know you pretty well, Sylvie. And if you put your mind to it, there is nothing that is impossible when it comes to you."
Sylvie ducked her head bashfully. "Flattery will get you anywhere in the world, Peter."
"It's the truth," Peter shook his head. "Come on, in all the time I've known you, when has something failed? You're the type of person who goes all in, Sylvie. You've got to have some idea of how to stop these."
"I know what it would take to stop them, Peter," Sylvie told him, chewing her lip. "And it's . . . " She fiddled with the ring she only ever took off while in the field, one Peter had never seen her without on her right ring finger: a delicate infinity band with a cage of jeweled hearts. "I can't talk about it," she finally said, dropping her hands onto the table. "I wish I could, but Voight - "
The look of annoyance on Peter's face made her grin. "Say no more," he muttered. "If Voight says not to talk about it, then you probably shouldn't."
"That simple, huh?"
Peter gave her an irritated look. "When it comes to Voight and his know-it-all decisions? Yeah, very simple."
"Don't I know it," Sylvie muttered, viciously jabbing her fork into the scrambled eggs on her plate. "Can we change the subject away from Voight?"
"Gladly," Peter nodded fervently, biting into one of his bacon strips. "Starting with you could have cut the tension in the State's Attorney office with a butter knife yesterday."
"Really?" Sylvie raised an eyebrow. "That out-of-state visitor?"
"Didn't show yesterday," Peter shook his head. "At least, not while I was at the courthouse . . . and I was there all day prepping my closing argument."
"You don't even know who's here?" Sylvie asked in surprise. "I thought the office loved gossip."
"I prefer my gossip come from level-headed paramedics and police officers," Peter countered, and Sylvie laughed, glad he considered herself and Jay Halstead trusted sources of "gossip." "No, I basically confined myself in my office. I didn't hear a thing. I think all I know is he's scouting the office."
"Looking to hire for his office?" Sylvie guessed.
"Must be," Peter shrugged. "Again, I won't know unless I meet him." His phone chirped where he had placed it on the table, and he sighed, putting down his fork. "And I bet that's my boss saying he wants me to meet him."
Sylvie giggled, linking her fingers together and resting her chin on her hands. "That's what you get for tempting fate."
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Peter half-heartedly tossed a packet of strawberry jelly at her, which she caught with a laugh. As she gleefully started applying the jam to one of her biscuits, Peter unlocked his phone and read the message he had been sent. He hummed in surprise, leaning back in his seat. "Well, I'm wanted in Jefferies' office after the jury convenes."
"How long do you think it'll take the jury to come to a decision?" Sylvie questioned.
"Well, if they're smart, it won't be that long of a deliberation," Peter shrugged. "The people's case is as solid as it can get, and the defense couldn't chip away at what we offered. Hopefully, it'll be quick."
"Fingers crossed for a quick conviction, then," Sylvie nodded. "You've got the best conviction record in the office, Peter. You'll probably be in and out of that courtroom in no time."
Peter held up his coffee mug. "Here's hoping."
***
"Jack McCoy is an arrogant sonofabitch," Mark Jefferies stated from where he stood, looking out the window of his office with his hands folded behind his back.
Nolan, figuring the statement did not require a response, held his tongue and waited Jefferies out. He did not have to wait long.
"And that he sent an errand boy to do his dirty work."
And now we enter the name calling phase of the conversation, Nolan kept his words to himself. Though his lips twitch at the next thought that flitted through his head. At least he didn't use the term 'buttmonkey.'
Jefferies' expression, upon seeing the slight amusement on Price's face, darkened with genuine anger and he walked over to lean his hands on his desk, attempting to loom over the other man.
"You think this is funny, Price?"
"This?" Nolan motioned between himself and Jefferies. "No. What I do think is that ultimately none of this," he motioned to himself and Jefferies once again and around the office. "Is our business. Jack McCoy has every right to offer Peter Stone a position with the Manhattan District Attorney's office, and Peter Stone has every right to make what he feels is the best decision for Peter Stone."
"Sure," Jefferies snorted. "And once you get done strong arming him..."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me, Price. That's why you're here and not some bullpen ADA. What leverage did McCoy authorize you use? Stone's father?"
Slowly uncrossing his legs, Nolan moved to stand up. One hand slid into the pocket of his trousers, pushing back his suit coat, while the other lifted and began to gesture. Classic Price courtroom body language.
"That? Is out of line." He said with calm directness. "We're not leveraging anything with this offer. It is a genuine offer made based on Peter Stone's record, and Jack's belief that Stone would be a good fit as lead prosecutor of SVU cases. For you to suggest otherwise, is beneath all of us."
"I am calling it, as I see it, Price." Jefferies' voice was conversational, yet still managed to be thunderous within the walls of his office.
"Oh. Oh, are we calling it as we see it then?" Nolan smiled, a knife's edge expression that did not reach stormcloud gray eyes. "In that case . . . are you against this offer because you believe it would have a detrimental effect on Stone's career? Or is it your own that you're concerned about?"
"Price," Jefferies growled a warning, but Nolan's eyes became arctic gray and he doubled down.
"Way I see it, Jefferies, is that your office has been making more headway these past months since Stone took over as your lead ASA. I've seen the press conferences and read the articles. When Stone brings it home, you are the first on scene to lap up the credit. Yet, when Stone falls short, this office never seems to have his back."
"How's that any different than what goes on in New York?"
"It's different, because McCoy's already where you want to be, and he got there on his own merits. He may save himself a headache or two by putting me in the firing line, but he isn't trying to climb the ladder by standing on my shoulders."
"Look, you sanctimo..." Jefferies was snarling through his teeth, when there was a knock at his office door.
Dark eyes locked and held steady with icy gray, and neither man was willing to be the first to blink. It was an awkwardly long moment, before Jefferies finally shouted towards the door, without taking his eyes off Price.
"What?!"
The door opened just enough for the SA's assistant to peek in around the frame, her expression pale as she announced.
"You asked me to let you know when Mr. Stone got back?" It should have been a statement, but the tension the woman no doubt felt roiling through the office caused her words to come out as more of a question.
***
" . . . holy shit."
Matt looked up from the plans he had laid out in front of him to see Sylvie peering through the back door with wide eyes. "That is encouraging," he told her.
Kelly snickered. "I told her this place needed work. I don't think she believed me."
"I definitely didn't think this much work was needed," Sylvie eyed the sorry excuse of kitchen cabinets. "I mean . . . wow."
"I think she's speechless, Casey!" Kelly grinned cheerfully, shutting the door behind him. "Haven't seen that in a while."
"This place really needs work," Sylvie rotated on her heel, giving the kitchen a critical eye.
"Really?" Matt snorted. "That must be why I'm getting paid quite well to fix it. Still wanna help?"
Sylvie's nails clicked as she tapped her fingers on the counter. "Can I bash down the cabinets?" she finally asked with a sheepish smile.
Kelly threw back his head and laughed loudly, and Matt grinned and tossed Sylvie a pair of gloves. "Go to town, Sylvie."
Sylvie grinned gleefully, pulling on the gloves and grabbing one of the sledgehammers. "I need this so badly."
"And this is why we asked you to come," Matt grinned, turning to survey the rest of the kitchen. "After the night you had, why not give you an outlet?"
Sylvie hefted the sledgehammer with a sigh. "Of course, you had another motive."
"What?" Kelly tilted his head. "We can't have a good time with our best friend?"
Sylvie held up her sledgehammer pointedly. "Best friends who have both witnessed I am not my usual self and are letting me smash things?"
"So you don't want to smash things?" Kelly raised an eyebrow.
Sylvie slumped, leaning heavily back against the counter. She tapped her fingers on the hammerhead, then looked down at her hand. She swallowed, then looked up at both men. "I hate that I can't tell you everything."
Matt frowned, leaning on the counter. "Sylvie - "
"You know I don't," Sylvie shook her head, holding up her hand to stop him in his tracks. "You probably know more about Pelham and Ritter combined than you know about me prior to coming to Chicago."
"Sylvie, neither of us are exactly willing to spill everything about our early lives," Kelly told her.
Sylvie closed her eyes. "You know the ring I wear."
Matt's eyes dropped to her right hand, and Sylvie shifted her grip so she could hold up her hand for them to see. Matt gently took her hand in his, taking a close look at the white gold ring and the three gemstone hearts that sparkled in the reflecting light. "You wear it on a chain around your neck when you work," he said softly.
"Because when I was given this, I swore that I would never let it out of my sight," Sylvie told him. "The man who gave me this . . . "
The image of blood, so dark it was nearly black, soaking through fabric flashed in her head, and she violently flinched, her fingers curling into a fist. Careful, calloused fingers gently unfurled her fingers, and Sylvie hissed, realizing she had started to dig her nails into her palm. "He's part of your nightmares?" Matt guessed.
Sylvie could only nod. "And ever since this happened, it's just . . . " She exhaled shakily. "It rattled me more than I could have ever imagined."
Kelly had been a silent observer until that point. All he had seen was Sylvie on the call with his crew, and he had watched her put all of her energy into moving and remaining awake. He hadn't been awake in the aftermath of whatever nightmare had plagued her sleep, but he wondered if he truly wanted to know its contents as he witnessed Sylvie's current state. "Do you know if he's OK?" he asked, his hand sliding up her back to cup the back of her neck, thumb resting close to her pulse point.
He left fire in his wake, and Sylvie shivered, relaxing her hand. "Yes," she nodded. "He is. I know he is."
"Good," Kelly nodded. "I know this probably won't help, but focus on that. He's alive, and he's OK. Can you repeat that?"
Sylvie closed her eyes. "He's alive," she obeyed. "He's OK."
Kelly could feel the tension ooze from her, and he smiled, pleased his idea had given her some comfort. "Good," he told her. "Good job."
Matt tilted his head, finally getting his first good look at the gemstones inside the cage. "What are these?" he asked curiously, hoping to give her another distraction.
Sylvie smiled fondly. "Birthstones," she answered. "Mine, and those of the two people who helped get me to where I am today."
"Pearl for yours in June," Matt identified the gleaming white stone. "I recognize the emerald for May." The green gem winked at him, and he frowned, staring intently at the blue-green gem that shifted color depending on the lighting. "What's this last one?"
"Alexandrite," Sylvie answered. "It's another stone for June."
Matt couldn't help the smile that formed on his face. "How close are your birthdays?"
Sylvie giggled. "Less than a week apart."
Kelly whistled. "Guess that makes celebrating easier, huh?"
Sylvie squeaked indignantly and smacked him in the shoulder. "Neither of us ever cared about that!"
"Ignore him," Matt smirked. "He's just trying to get a rise out of you."
"Well, he succeeded," Sylvie playfully glared at him. "And now he's really going to regret that I was given permission to 'go to town' with a sledgehammer."
Kelly's eyes widened, and he looked at Matt in horror. "Case - "
Matt laughed and backed away, holding up his hands. "You're on your own, Sev!"
"You - " Whatever Kelly was about to say was cut off when Sylvie lunged for one of the smaller hammers, and the squad lieutenant cursed and darted out of her reach. "Casey!"
Not much work was completed other than demolition as a paramedic chased a squad lieutenant around the open kitchen, their truck captain best friend dancing out of their way while cackling up a storm.
***
"I'm not interested," the words left Peter Stone's lips before he had stepped around his desk.
The man who had been waiting for him in Jefferies' office closed the door, as he finished trailing Peter into his office, before he turned and calmly smiled.
"You haven't heard the offer," Nolan Price suggested in a tone that dripped with reasonable assurance.
Price was a relatively small man, petite was the word that came to mind when Peter looked at him. Well formed, he filled out his three-piece suit with a good balance between legginess and torso but what he lacked in physical stature he made up for in presence. Peter was a big man, huge by comparison, standing an undisputed inch above six feet, the ASA figured he carried at least fifty, perhaps eighty more pounds of muscle than Price, and he felt small.
Stone was well aware of his own physicality, and he was not above using it to intimidate suspects as well as dominate in the courtroom when necessary. Not that he was a violent man, but his time with the Cubs had taught him the value of having actual weight and size to provide unspoken support in an argument. That said, Stone made an excellent ASA because in conjunction with his dominating presence, he knew how to read people and situations.
He may be the bigger specimen and they might be on his territory, so to speak, but it was Price who dominated and owned the room. A fact that set Peter back on his heels and left him wishing the smaller man had left the door open.
For his part, Nolan walked towards the other side of the desk and stood with a practiced sort of friendly patience, waiting for Peter to sit or invite him (Nolan) to take a seat. From the outside, the body language would appear diffident and respectful, but when Stone looked down into gunmetal gray eyes he felt like a butterfly pinned to a board. He wanted to stay standing, to impress upon Price that this meeting was going to be short, and the Executive ADA could then be on his way. But after exhaling a small breath, Peter unbuttoned his suit coat and waved Price towards a chair, while reaching back to take his own.
Price sat down placing the briefcase at his side and letting it sit for the moment, taking back control of the pace of their conversation. Peter knew there would be a file, outlying the offer McCoy had sent along, in the briefcase but Price wasn't hurrying to present it. Instead, the older man folded his hands over his trim abdomen and smiled.
"I'll do us both the favor of getting right to it," Nolan offered. "You're doing exceptional work, both in the courtroom and in front of the cameras. Your record has reached New York and Jack McCoy's interest has been stirred."
"And no doubt my father has reached out to New York and Jack McCoy," Peter said with just a shade of sarcasm.
"Not in the slightest," Nolan responded with absolute aplomb. "McCoy doesn't work that way."
Peter felt the incredulous expression move across his features. He knew how connections, to connections, to connections worked. Especially in their field. Rarely was it all about the cases, but rather who knew whom.
Price lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender and gave his head a slight shake.
"This isn't that," he repeated almost as if he were reading Peter's mind. "Your father hasn't darkened anyone's doorway since he retired, the third time, and left the city. This is all McCoy, being McCoy."
Despite himself, Peter felt his lips twitch upwards. Jack McCoy truly was a verb unto himself. That didn't stop him from shaking his head again.
"I'm happy here."
"You've got a good team," Price admitted with a glance over his shoulder towards the bullpen. "Nagel's as good as they come, her insights are phenomenal. Valdez is green, but in a few years, Jack will be knocking on her door, and Dawson? Well," Nolan turned back to Peter and smiled. "His record both here and with the CPD speaks for itself."
Peter couldn't help smiling, even though he knew in his gut that Price was working an angle. It took a couple beats for him to realize that the EADA had deliberately left off any positive noise about Jefferies.
"Mark Jefferies is..." Peter began to step up for his boss, but Nolan's expression went sharp as he interrupted.
"Mark Jefferies is looking to climb higher in the political environment and he's using you to get his head above others."
The direct call out, put Peter's back up, and he aimed a glare towards Price that would have caused Hank Voight to take pause. Nolan returned it without so much as a blink, making Peter want to deny what the other man had just said but they both knew he couldn't.
Peter pivoted to a different line of attack. "He's a good state's attorney."
"You're better," Price responded without missing a beat.
Exhaling a deep breath, Peter sat forward and set his linked hands on the blotter laid out on the top of his desk.
"I'm not looking to further my career by climbing overtop Jefferies."
"That's why you come to New York," Nolan said. "Jefferies is your glass ceiling if you stay in Chicago. Come to New York, and you'll have clear airspace."
This time it was Stone's turn to glance out towards the bullpen and his team, his eyes finding Valdez in particular. Nolan didn't need to turn to understand where Stone was looking, and his expression softened. He could respect a man like Peter Stone, someone who wasn't just looking out for his own career but the careers of those who worked under him.
Reaching down, Nolan snapped open his briefcase and put his fingers on the manilla folder he had tucked within, without ever taking his eyes off Stone.
"My issues with Jefferies aside," he began, laying out a pathway that could ease Peter's conscience. "Valdez has room to grow within his program and for the next three to five years, she'll learn a lot from him." Folder in his hands, he leaned forward and set it on Peter's desk. "Think of this as you getting out of her way."
Nolan flashed a cheeky smile with that last jab and before Peter could frown at the man, he was struck with the sense that he'd met Price before and felt warmly towards him. Except, he knew for a fact that he'd never met Nolan Price in person, and the last thing he was feeling towards the man was warmth, so what the hell.
That cheeky smile is just like Sylvie's, Peter's subconscious supplied with treacherous amusement, and the idea of an asshole like Price, having anything that was 'just like' Sylvie Brett caused Stone's conscious mind to short circuit. He gave a small shake of his head and looked down at the manilla folder that sat in front of him on the desk. His instinct was to pick it up and hand it right back to Price, unopened but for some reason he paused in the act of reaching for it and set his hand down atop the folder instead.
I can always call McCoy and give my regrets over the phone. Better than sitting here arguing with his EADA.
"I'll review Jack's offer," he said, making no effort to hide the unspoken so long as it gets you out of my office from his tone.
To his credit, Price merely smiled and then moved to stand, grab his briefcase and button his suit jacket before extending his hand towards Peter.
"I'll be in town for a few days," he offered, as Peter took the extended hand more by habit than any genuine desire. "If there is anything you find you would like to discuss."
"Hell freezing over, comes to mind," Peter responded in a tone that held a sharp edge, but at the same time direct enough to be oddly respectful. Because maybe outside of their respective offices they could sit down and enjoy a drink together. What was happening here, and now was business, not really personal, which was why Peter made his comment aloud and to Price's face, rather than behind his back.
Acknowledging this fact, Price smiled and kept the handshake brief. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Stone."
"Likewise, Mr. Price."
***
Nolan knows there are times to use tact . . . looks like this wasn't exactly one of those times, at least with Jefferies XD Stone, he could work with. Political lawyers? Not so much. But Jack pays him the big bucks for a reason. Exhibit A: how he handles the State's Attorney's office.
We plan on updating back to back in time for the holidays, so expect a treat tomorrow!