30

Saturday, November 10, 1990

When I told Sam where St. John had been tucked away, he reacted by losing his composure and just about falling over laughing for a quarter hour.

Now, my reaction? When Erik initially told me?

I pinched my nose, sighed deeply, and said one sentence: "Oh my god, that is so unbelievably stupid that I can't even be surprised it worked."

It was refuge in audacity. St. John wasn't even hidden. Oh sure, Erik had made him dye his hair brown, but other than that? He'd just taken St. John somewhere that nobody would utter a fucking word to any enterprising New York State official trying to track the kid down.

For over a year, St. John Allerdyce… had still been a regular high school student.

In New. Fucking. JERSEY.

To be specific, St. John got to be a relatively normal high school student in Morristown, New Jersey. He even shared an apartment there with Pietro — and that sneaky little shit must have modified his Avengers disclosure paperwork after we were done to add this little tidbit in! First my den, and now this, ooh that scoundrel!

… okay, back to the point.

Unfortunately, work and life beckoned. Otherwise, I would have been observing the Sabbath, given the sun was still up on a Saturday… and something told me that being less observant than I was used to would be a recurring thing in the near future, given my newfound parenthood. God, that still gave me chills. Good, happy chills, to be sure! But still… chills!

… okay, back to the point. For real this time.

Anyways. Work and life beckoned… ish. While it would have been perfectly easy to just go grab St. John and immediately deposit him at his parents' apartment after the ruling came down, that would have been suspicious. As far as everybody knew, I didn't have the slightest clue where St. John was, and would need to use whatever method of contacting his 'captor' that I had available to me. And I'd signed a sworn affidavit that my means of contact was beeping a pager, waiting until I received a call from a payphone, and acting accordingly… which was how things went the first time I reached out. Then I filed the affidavit, and every time after was a much simpler matter.

But we couldn't let people know that. As far as everybody was concerned, I had to go through a great big rigamarole to get access to St. John. That was why we waited to retrieve him until Saturday: to sell the illusion that he was, in fact, hidden.

Not that he wasn't, but… well. Anyways.

A quick call to my usual limo service saw a Lincoln Town Car picking me up on the street outside my condo's building, and the driver carefully maneuvered through Manhattan traffic to get out to New Jersey. An hour and some change later, and I picked up St. John outside the high school he'd been attending, brown dye washed out of his hair to reveal its regular red, all nervous smiles and barely-contained energy.

"You ready?" I asked as he got in. The car started moving right as he closed the door, the driver not even bothering to wait until his seatbelt was fastened.

"You have no idea," St. John answered. And… yeah. I believed him.

"You're right about that one." I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable. Unfortunately, cars weren't made with tails in mind, so it was often a losing battle.

"Yeah… yeah, true." St. John turned to look out the window briefly, but his attention returned to me within a few moments. "Hey, uh… you, um, you were a mutant too the whole time?"

I sighed softly. Yeah, I expected this question to come.

"Yes," I told him. "I'm sorry for not telling you."

"I — sure, but…" He trailed off for a moment there, and I could see him trying to decide what words to say. "Why? Why didn't you?"

"When you've hidden something for so long, it becomes a habit." I stopped worrying at the strap of my purse for a moment, and looked the teen in the eye. "Everybody has their secrets, St. John. And when you've been holding onto a secret for so long, it's easier to just keep it, even when it would be better to let it out."

St. John didn't really have a reply to that. He just grunted an affirmation and went back to looking out the window.

The driver took his cue to turn on the radio, and the rest of the ride passed with nothing to fill the white noise of pop music and bad advertisements. After another hour or so, we arrived at our destination in Brooklyn.

"You ready?" I asked, closing the car door behind me. St. John exited the car on the other side, then opened up the trunk and pulled out a pair of duffel bags, plus a backpack that he slung over his shoulders.

"As I'll ever be, I guess." He took a deep breath, picked up his bags, and turned towards the building. "You able to get the doors?"

"Of course," I said with a smile. "Your parents gave me the key. I'll leave it with you."

He gave a shaky smile, and the two of us entered the building.

Three flights of stairs and a short walk brought us to an apartment, labeled 32A. I knocked on the door, the quick shave-and-a-haircut rhythm, then inserted the key and opened the door. A quick peek inside, an impish smile, and a wink.

Then St. John walked through the door I held open for him.

And lights flicked on while party poppers went off.

"Surprise!!!"

St. John shouted and flinched, ever so slightly, but enough that the duffel bags he'd been carrying fell to the ground with soft thuds.

"Welcome home," I said, and shoved the stunned teen forward a tiny bit before retreating into the background.

Obviously, St. John's parents were present, but so were his grandparents. Accompanying them was also all two dozen members of his Manhattan school's theater department that had offered to testify on his behalf, crammed into the Brooklyn apartment, some of them practically on top of each other with the close quarters. Well, okay. Twenty-three of them were on that side of the room.

The twenty-fourth stood alongside a few of her newer friends, paralyzed by that awful combination of excitement, anxiety, and anticipation.

St. John didn't even get a word in. The various young men, just about half of the assembled kids, all swarmed forward and grabbed St. John in the mother of all group hugs, practically burying the young mutant beneath their collective weight. The collective chatter was pretty much impossible to decipher, and I gave up trying as I made my way around the edges of the space before coming to a stop beside Katherine, the friends she'd brought, and the preteen I'd asked her to escort. She turned to look at me, a look of trepidation on her face, and I just gave her a smile and nod before gesturing vaguely towards the mess.

"Boys, boys, let him up!" Linda Allerdyce's voice managed to cut through the gaggle of goons in the middle of the room, and all of them backed up enough to give St. John just a bit of room. He was still surrounded, but he was at least able to stand up.

I gave Katherine a meaningful look, and nodded in St. John's direction. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and spoke.

"Johnny?"

Only, St. John didn't hear her. He still had a dozen other young men around him, and they were busy doing all the things that young men did when catching up.

Mentally, I began counting down. If my read of this young woman was correct, then there should be some action in five, four, three, two, and…

Katherine walked forward. She hit the first teen in her way, and walked right through him. Quite literally, in fact, which led to some serious shock on the poor kid's part. Then she walked through another, and another, until she was in front of St. John.

Then she grabbed the boy by his lapels, and pulled him down into a kiss.

"Awww…" I cooed, finding myself smiling all of a sudden. Young love! Teen romance! Hell, this might even be one of their first kisses! Aah, it was so cute!

… of course, pretty much everyone had fallen silent right as Katherine made her move, so they all heard that. Thankfully, attention was fully on what was probably a new couple as everybody finished processing what had happened, and the welcome home party roared back into full swing.

"Ugh, finally!" One of the two teens that had accompanied Katherine from Xavier's groaned, a roll of her eyes accompanying it. "She's been pining over him for months, I swear!"

"Well, at least something good came of it," I replied, turning to face the girl, and realizing that I couldn't recall a name to put to the face. "... um. I'm so sorry about this, but—"

"Nah, it's cool," she said, waving me off. "Jubilation Lee, but my friends call me Jubilee!" The teen extended a hand towards me. "I'm the one who gave you the tape for your thing with the chalk!" Her other hand pointed behind her at the shy teen standing beside Lorna, who looked like she felt very out of place amongst all the high schoolers. "And that's Alex. Alex, say hi!" Alex just looked up at me, gave a nod and a grunt, then went back to watching the theater kids heckle each other.

"A pleasure to properly meet you," I said. "And thank you for bringing Lorna into the City for me," I added.

"Hey, no problem!" Jubilee smiled, shrugging off my concern. "Lorna's a good kid! Only other one who watches those old Kurosawa movies with Logan 'n me, anyway, so she's got good taste!"

I smiled and began to respond, then properly processed what she'd said.

"You have VHS copies of Kurosawa's films?" I asked, feeling a bit shocked. "W-which ones? Are they subtitled?"

"Nah, Logan translates 'em," Jubilee said. "They were… let me think, uh, what did he say their names were? There was, uh… Hidden Fortress, Yojimbo and Sanjuro – made us watch them as a double feature," she remarked.

"As one should," I murmured.

"Then there was Seven Samurai, Throne of Blood, we saw Rashomon just last week—"

"N-Noa?"

A hand tugged at my sleeve, and I followed it to see Lorna had moved away from the other teen from Xavier's (Alex, I needed to try and remember his name, that would win me brownie points at the next seminar) and was now shrinking into my side.

"Hey…" I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a half-hug. "You alright? A bit much?"

"Mhmm." Lorna pushed a bit closer to me, and I felt my heart melt just a bit more. "Can, can we go h—to your place?"

I heard what she'd been about to say. I knew what Lorna had been about to say. And it made my heart swell… but if she wasn't ready to say it, she wasn't ready. It was okay.

I could wait.

"Alright," I told her. "Let me go say goodbye to St. John's parents, let them know what to expect, and we'll go home, alright?"

One more half-hug, then I pulled away from Lorna to go say my goodbyes. Once those were out of the way, and a small packet I'd typed up and folded away in my purse beforehand found its way into Linda and Jonathan Allerdyce's hands, I made my way back along the walls of the Allerdyce's apartment back to Lorna.

Then, we took our leave, and let the high schoolers do what high schoolers did.

Once we were on the street, I glanced at my watch to check the time. Half past two; not much daylight left, no, but plenty enough to get to the subway and start making our way back. Except… hm. I wasn't alone this time.

"Are you okay taking the subway?" I asked Lorna, idly fishing into my purse for my subway card, and realizing at that moment that I didn't know if Lorna had one.

"C-can we take a taxi?" Lorna asked. "Please?"

Right, I reminded myself. She's still a young girl, unfamiliar with the big city. Yes, she'd accompanied Katherine, Jubilation, and Alex on the train down to Penn Station, then the subway from there, but it still wasn't going to be something she was used to doing.

"Of course we can, hun."

It would take a little longer to get home, yes. But we had all weekend.

And I was going to make absolutely sure I took full advantage of this chance to properly spend time with and get to know my goddaughter.

Sunday, November 11, 1990

A bell rang above the door to Kaplan's as I pushed the door open, and held it for Lorna. It took her a moment to negotiate the entryway with three shopping bags in her arms. I only had two, plus I also had the benefits of multiple years of practice, not going through puberty, and having a tail for balance.

"Welcome to Kaplan's," I told Lorna as she passed. "Best Jewish diner and deli in all of Manhattan, and my absolute saving grace in college and law school!"

"Oh, ya don't gotta talk us up!" Rebecca Kaplan, co-owner, hostess, and provider of all my favorite comfort foods, stepped out from behind the counter and pulled me into a big hug, though she was mindful not to crush the shopping bags. "Ooh, honey, you're overdue! And you're still skin and bones! I know I gave you a whole box of goodies last time, where did you put it all?"

I didn't get a chance to respond, though, because Rebecca let me go and turned to see Lorna. Her eyes flicked between the shopping bags in our hands, caught the matching labels, and I saw the instant she caught a whiff.

"Noa, honey, who is this?" Rebecca practically floated over to Lorna, who let out a little 'eep!' of surprise as she found herself the subject of a well-practiced Yenta's affections.

"L-Lorna Dane, ma'am," the poor girl stuttered out, and then dipped into a curtsey — an actual curtsey! "P-pleased to meet you?"

"Oh, she is precious!"

"Lorna," I stepped in between the two, probably saving the poor girl from the mother of all hugs before she was ready for one. "This is Rebecca Kaplan. Co-owner, hostess, and empty-nester mother of two who really should visit more often than I do." The bark of laughter from Rebecca cut through the aghast expression threatening to crawl over Lorna's face. "And Rebecca, this is my goddaughter, Lorna. And, uh. Go easy on her, okay? Custody is new for both of us."

"Goddaughter!?" Rebecca exclaimed. "Oh, Noa, where have you been hiding her? Ach, no, I'll get the whole story from you later," she waved me off. "What'll you be having, darlings?"

"Hmm…" I turned towards Lorna. "Have you ever had kreplach?"

"What's krepp-luh?" she asked.

"Oh, well that settles it!" Rebecca nudged lemme towards the seating area. "Two big bowls, coming right up! Noa, honey, your favorite booth's open, I'll have it right out to you."

I knew a dismissal when I saw one, and beckoned for Lorna to follow. I led us towards a booth meant for four, its red vinyl seats slightly cracked with love and age, and settled into the side of the booth that faced the kitchen. Lorna took the other one, handling the Nordstrom's bag holding the most expensive of our purchases with delicacy and care. Maybe she was a bit young for a jacket as nice as the one I'd bought her, but I saw the way she'd eyed it from the moment we set foot in the department store.

And it would've been remiss of me to not also make sure she had a few outfits to go with it!

"So what do you think of the city so far?" I asked Lorna, once she seemed settled in the booth.

"It's huge!" Her first words gave me absolutely no surprise, because that was a very normal reaction. "There's so many people, and, and, and so much stuff too!" Her nose wrinkled. "And the subway really stinks, like, ew."

"Well, you're not wrong about that," I said around some giggles. "Oh, so the station closest to home?" I asked, and something in my chest fluttered when Lorna nodded after I said 'home'. "There's this one rat I've seen for the past few years, yeah? It keeps getting bigger, and bigger, and I know it's the same rat because of its tail, right? Well, I don't know how, I don't know where, but every time I see it, it's got a slice of pizza."

"What?" Lorna blinked, and I couldn't help but smile at the reaction. "How? But, where, what? Wait, how big?"

"Let's see, about as big as… hm." I picked up my purse and pointed at it. "Two of these, probably?"

"Oh, eww, gross!"

"It's not that bad," I waved her off. "Trust me, I've seen much worse. If you want a tip, stay away from any station within five blocks of Madison Square Garden whenever there's an event."

"Oh, god, I don't wanna know," Lorna groaned, head back against the booth as she groaned.

"Probably a wise decision," I commented. "Well, anyway, aside from the—"

"Heeeeere we are!"

Rebecca took the opportunity to swoop in with a tray, two great big bowls of soup precariously perched upon it. She slid them in front of us, one at a time, all beaming smiles the whole time, then another bowl of thin-cut, toasted bagel slices.

"Two bowls o' Jewish Penicillin with all the fixins', hot and fresh! And some bagel chips, aaaand an iced tea for you," she said, sliding the beverage in front of me. "Anything else you wanted, hun?"

"Um, could I get a, uh, Coke?" Lorna asked.

"Regular or diet?"

"Um, regular?" Lorna looked at me? "I-is that okay?"

I shrugged, and nodded.

"Alright, one coke, comin' right up!" With that, Rebecca bustled away, and I was left with Lorna eyeing her bowl before settling on the bagel chips and iced tea.

"You didn't order that?" She pointed somewhere between the tea and the bagel chips, and I could hear the slight confusion in her tone.

"Lorna, I've been coming here for sixteen years." Her eyes went wide at that, and her focus sharpened on me. "I found this place as a college freshman, stopped in at least once a week, and am a regular among regulars. Hell, I invited Rebecca's family to my law school graduation." I shrugged. "Now, if only she'd stop insisting I settle down, but you can't take the mothering out of the Yenta."

"O-oh…"

Ah. Poor girl was a little overwhelmed, then. Needed a mental reset. Well, that was why we had the soup.

Lorna took a tentative spoonful even as I was already adding pepper to mine, and clearly she liked it, because her spoon went back for more. This time, it came away with a couple chunks of celery and carrot, as well as some chicken.

"Good, huh?" I asked.

"Mhmm!" She mumbled her response around another bite of soup, and I saw the moment she started cutting into the side of the kreplach, and realized that it was basically just a dumpling. A chunk of the beef and onion mixture found its way onto her spoon, and the murmured "mm!" once she got a taste brought a smile to my face.

Conversation more or less ceased, as I had a hungry preteen chowing down, and I idly thanked Rebecca and handed her way too much money for the bill when she dropped by to drop off Lorna's soda. My own soup was excellent as usual, and Rebecca was an absolute saint for not including any poppy seed or everything bagels in the assortment used for today's bagel chips. Poppy seeds had been an absolute no for me for a while now, not just because testing positive on a drug test would have ended my career, but also because I just didn't like them.

… that reminded me. I needed to follow up with Joshua. Yes, he'd been good for a little bit now, and was more or less out of the doghouse. But I hadn't told him that, which… yeah, that was bad of me. Okay, Noa, pencil that in for tomorrow, and—

The bell above the door to Kaplan's rang as someone came in. Rebecca didn't greet the newcomer, which was odd… and then I laid eyes upon who it was, and dropped my bagel chip in surprise.

"Hm?" Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lorna look up as she hummed a question around a spoonful of soup.

"Uh…"

The newcomer's head panned over the assembled diners (only five others, besides us), sighted on me, and stomped over to the table. A pair of hands lightly slammed down on the table, rattling the soup bowls before their owner loomed over me.

"Please tell me," FBI Special Agent in Charge Cate Caine said, "why I had to learn from Rebecca that my best friend has a goddaughter?"

… shit. I knew I'd forgotten something.

"U-uh, Cate?" I stammered out.

"Hup-up-up!" Her hand came up to interrupt me. "I'm not done! You're supposed to tell me these things, Noa! How am I supposed to get a housewarming present if I don't know I should be getting one, huh? I let you know when the nieces and nephews are in town, and you couldn't even tell me about a goddaughter? Who you adopted!?"

There was no way I was getting a word in edgewise, so I just raised a hand and pointed at the spooked tween on the other side of the booth. Cate gave me a Look (trademark pending) that left me shrinking into the seat, and turned to look at Lorna.

"Hi," she said with a clipped tone and a short wave. "I'm Cate, your godmom's best friend, I'm chewing her out, I'll get back to you." Cate turned back to me, blinked, and turned back to Lorna. "By the way, that is the best dye job I've ever seen, you'll have to tell me where you got it done, now give me a moment."

"U-uh, Cate?" I cut in.

"No, I'm not done Noa, you are not getting off that easy! How long have you been holding onto this one, really? Cause—"

Lorna tapped on Cate's arm. It drew her up short, saving me from my best friend's cruel ministrations.

"I-it's not dye," Lorna stammered out. "M-my hair, it's not dye."

Cate's mouth fell open a tiny bit, whatever response she'd had planned dying on her lips. She raised one finger and pointed at Lorna. Then she turned the finger to me, along with her questioning gaze, and stayed there. Her finger danced between us a couple more times, and I had to sigh.

"Yes, her too," I said with a roll of my eyes.

"Oh, I have got to get the full story now! C'mon, budge over." Cate took her hands off the table and started nudging me in the side as she tried to muscle her way into the rest of the booth. "You've got more than enough room for – Noa, are those shopping bags?"

Oh no.

"So not only do you have a goddaughter, who you adopted, and didn't tell me about… you took her out shopping before introducing me? What kind of best friend are you!?" Cate gasped, pressing an aghast hand to her sternum.

"Cate, I—"

"Clearly we're not good enough friends for you to tell me these things! Oh, well. Guess I'll just have to return your Christmas present," Cate huffed. "No merino wool sweater for you!"

"What!?" I gasped! "Nooooooo! Cate, please!"

"Hah! Hey, kid," she turned her attention to the booth's third occupant, even as I tugged lamely at the lapel of her coat. "What's your name?"

"L-Lorna," she said.

"Alrighty then!" Cate extricated my hand from her coat. "So, Lorna, how would you like a merino wool sweater this Christmas?"

"Y-yes please!" Lorna exclaimed, hands clasped in front of her and stars in her eyes.

"Traitor!"

Monday, November 19, 1990

As far as the media was concerned, there was only one place to have the retrial of St. John Allerdyce, and that was the New York County Supreme Courthouse. Media assembled at Foley Square, waiting for the exoneration that the city needed, and in the hopes that perhaps Captain America himself would show up to see things set to rights.

All of them were idiots. Absolute, blithering, morons.

There wasn't a chance in hell that I was letting St. John anywhere near the absolute circus that would no doubt gather for him. The judge in our case was well aware of this, and so, with the cooperation of the DA's Office, we pulled a bit of a bait-and-switch. See, the judge we'd been assigned? Everybody knew where his chambers were. Everybody knew which courtroom he presided over. So of course, everybody staked out around his courtroom and chambers.

What very few people knew is that this judge's best friend was also a sitting judge. Just not on the New York County Supreme Court.

Oh, no no no! This judge sat on the New York County Family Court!

Which was why we were currently at 60 Lafayette Street, walking into Family Court, with nobody at all the wiser.

Now, full disclosure? I'd never been to Family Court before. When I was at LL&L, I was very explicit when I told Sam Lieberman that I would not be doing any work in Family Court, and that if he gave me a case in family court anyway? Well, I'd had a lot of PTO banked. I only really used it three times a year, and even then only a couple days at a time.

All this meant that the layout of the Family Court building was a complete and utter mystery to me. Apparently we were in a courtroom all the way on the tenth floor – the top floor for the northern half of the building, but not the southern half, and which was only accessible to the public via a walkway on the fourth floor. This required that we go through security, go up an elevator, go down the hall, then go up another elevator. This seemed incredibly stupid to me, but apparently there was an employees-only elevator that went straight up. Whatever, I wasn't going to complain.

Once we arrived at the courtroom, the lot of us filed in. St. John and I went in first, followed by Matt, who wanted closure that I wouldn't have dreamed of denying him, and bringing up the rear were Jonathan and Linda Allerdyce. St. John, Matt, and I walked past the bar and sat at the Defense table, on the right side of the courtroom, and took our respective seats, while Linda and John sat in the front of three benches on that side.

The bailiff who'd led us here closed the door behind us, walked past the bar of the court, and took his position near the back. The stenographer was already present, seated with a

newspaper to kill the time, her equipment all set to take the shortest trial transcript she'd likely ever write.

In the back row of the gallery, a single TV camera had been set up, with two men to man it. Both of them shrunk down in their seats, intent on not being particularly noticeable, which I silently thanked them for.

And lastly, maybe two minutes later, today's designated sword-faller arrived. I stood up to greet him – and did a double take.

Oh, my God.

He looked exactly like St. John.

His red hair was an identical shade. He had a similar skin tone, if a bit paler, likely due to working a desk job. I was eye level with his sternum, which meant he was about the same height as St. John, too. The only difference was his eye color, green instead of blue, and that was subtle.

Hell, aside from the fact that this man's suit was clearly of a finer make, and he had a solid blue tie instead of the blue-and-white striped one I'd picked out for St. John, they were even dressed the same.

"ADA Tim Finnigan," the man said, extending a hand in my direction. I took his hand, still a bit numb. "You must be Noa Schaefer."

"I, y-yes, that's me," I said. "I'm sorry, it's just—"

"I look exactly like your guy?" ADA Finnigan chuckled, then sighed. "Yeah, I caught that too. Getting the feeling the DA picked me for exactly that reason."

"Almost certainly," I agreed, then glanced behind him at the clock above the door. "Should be starting soon."

"Well, I'll go take my seat."

I stood to the side, letting Finnigan past me, and he took the one chair set at the plaintiff's side table. When I rejoined Matt and St. John, I heard the teen whispering to my student attorney to explain what was going on regarding the ADA's appearance.

One minute later, the door in the back of the tiny courtroom opened, and the lot of us stood.

"Don't bother, you may be seated," Judge Chambers, a rather pale, yet otherwise average-looking man in his late fifties, with graying hair and thick, coke-bottle glasses, spoke as he walked up the three stairs to the bench. "None of us are going to be here in fifteen minutes anyway, so let's get this started. Court is now in session, we've got just one case on the docket: Case 89-90-214782, People of the State of New York v. S.J. Allerdyce. Do both parties consent to a bench trial?"

"Yes, your Honor."

"We do, your Honor."

"Very well." Judge Chambers straightened up in his chair. "At this time, would either party like to offer opening statements, or simply ask me to refer to the transcript of the previous trial?"

"The prosecution asks that the previous trial's opening statements be stricken from the record, and opts out of making any opening statements at this time," ADA Finnigan said.

"Very well," the judge said. "Does the defense have any objections?"

"We do not, your Honor," I said. "Defense wishes to re-enter its opening statements from last year's trial, though in the interests of time, I shall refrain from giving them over again."

"All the better for it, since I don't think this courtroom has enough space for your usual performative flair, Counsel." Judge Chambers chuckled good-naturedly, and so did I.

Chambers was one of the better judges to have a case before, as he was a generally good-humored man. That said, he did have an issue with stalling for time. Either put it in a motion, or don't bring it up at all, that was the way of things with him.

"Since we all know how this is going to go, I'll just ask this once." Judge Chambers turned towards the prosecution's table. "ADA Finnigan, does the government intend to offer any case in chief in this matter?"

"It does not, your Honor," he said. "That any fight happened in the first place is a travesty, and I am not about to make a dead man's mistake. Prosecution rests."

"Well-said." Chambers looked to me. "And can I presume that the defense wishes for its previous efforts to be recognized?"

"As unorthodox as this is, your Honor?" I smiled. "This certainly makes things easier for all parties involved. To answer your question, yes, your Honor. Defense rests."

"Splendid. Very well, then. Mr. Allerdyce, please rise and face the bench."

St. John stood. Matt and I remained seated.

"We've skipped over a lot of the procedure today, because everybody involved should realize that we're really just correcting something that should have been properly handled well over a year ago," Judge Chambers said. "On three counts of assault in the second degree, I hereby declare you, not guilty. On one count of assault in the first degree, I hereby declare you, not guilty. The judgment of the Court is entered, and double jeopardy attaches." Judge Chambers pounded his gavel. "Young man? You are free to go."

St. John sank down into his chair in long-overdue relief, and then a moment later, he was almost pulled over the bar of the court as his parents reached over and pulled him into a hug. As the judge stood from the bench, Matt, ADA Finnigan, and I all rose with him.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go walk up Foley Square and make a bunch of reporters look like idiots." Judge Chambers gave us all a mock salute, and went out the door at the back of the courtroom.

The two-man camera crew in the back of the small courtroom packed their equipment and slipped out, faster than I'd ever seen it happen before. It was entirely likely that they were just taking the camera and leaving various cables and the like to be retrieved later, but, eh. I didn't care.

I shared a glance with ADA Finnigan and gestured towards the back of the courtroom. He caught what I was getting at and nodded, following which the two of us stood up and made our way to the back. A glance at Matt showed me he was in no hurry to go anywhere, and seemed to be engaging Jonathan Allerdyce in conversation, even as Linda fussed over her son. With that, I followed the ADA to the back of the courtroom, where he pulled the door open and held it for me.

"Well, that was different," he said, chuckling a little. "Haven't ever had a case like that before."

"Somehow I doubt we'll ever see another quite like it," I said, scooting a stubborn lock of hair back behind my shoulder. "Or at the very least, I hope we don't."

"Not the only one," ADA Finnigan shuddered. "God, the DA's Office under Young? Terrible, you have no idea. Things have been better under Collins, but even we aren't sure how much of that is just shoveling the shit, and how much is good policy."

"True, but I do hope this upward trajectory is more 'Collins is here' as opposed to 'Young isn't," I added. "Regardless, it's heartening to hear that things are improving over in the DA's office. Maybe I won't have quite so much grief dealing with having you people as opposing counsel, hm?"

Finnigan laughed, and I shared a giggle.

"Somehow I doubt that," he said. "Making sure the city gets its way is still the name of the game overall. We're just trying to make sure that 'its way' has some flexibility, you know? It does nobody any favors if—"

Red.

The sound of breaking glass had me flinching back, a squelch, a faint feeling of wetness on my face—

I opened one eye, cautious.

My conversation partner lay limp against the courtroom door, a foot long something protruding from his temple and pinning him to the wood—

—his weight—pulled it out of the wood and he fell to the floor.

Couldn't remember to breathe.

Blood dripped from the broadhead onto the courthouse floor.