( 298. )

Word count: 780

The newspaper landed on Cutter’s desk with a whoosh.

“Uh?” He looked up to see Connie, arms crossed, standing in front of his desk.
“Did you see the Ledger today?” she asked, indicating the tabloid in front of him.
“I try not to read garbage when I can help it,” he said. “Why? Is Jack on Page Six?”

Connie sighed. “No, but the Grayson trial is on the cover.” She picked up the paper and read the boldfaced headline aloud. “Pity the Party Girl: Socialite Mindy Grayson Kills in Self-Defense. Lawyers allege ‘he had it coming.”

The EADA still looked skeptical. “Connie, lots of trials play out in the court of public opinion. The only court I’m concerned about is the legal one. The jurors—”

“The jurors read this stuff, Mike,” Connie interjected. “We’re already having a hard enough time as it is with Jurors Five and Nine. They were nodding along with the defense’s cross-examination yesterday.”

At that, Mike frowned slightly, tapping his thumbs together with a bit of nervous energy. “It’s not over till it’s over,” he said, glancing up at her. “We still have a few more witnesses.” He paused. “…what does the rest of the article say?”

Connie opened the tabloid to the appropriate page. “ ‘Cocksure executive ADA Mike Cutter is not fazed by inaccurate representations by the media,” she pretended to read.

He smirked at her. “That’s not news.”

She grinned back and then started actually reading the article aloud – a largely sympathetic diatribe on celebrity downfalls that gave Mindy Grayson every excuse in the book and put the blame on the victim. Finally, she got to their meager coverage of the prosecution. “Occasionally controversial Executive ADA Michael Cutter—”
“Only occasionally?” Cutter smarted. “I think I’ll have to point that out to Jack next time he tells me I’m going off the reservation.”

Connie grinned and continued. “--has been relentless in his zealous persecution—” “Persecution? I think they meant prosecution.” Cutter rolled his eyes.
“I think they don’t know the difference,” Connie said, then went on. “Cutter, a perennial favorite of D.A. Jack McCoy-”
“Can I put that on my C.V.?” He feigned seriousness.
She was already reading the rest of the sentence to herself and was trying to maintain her composure.
“…what does the rest of it say?” Cutter was almost afraid to ask.
“—is fast—” She stopped to stifle a laugh, then read quickly, “—Cutter, a perennial favorite of D.A. Jack McCoy, is fast becoming thebadboyoftheDA’soffice.”
“The what?”
She didn’t answer, only covered her mouth with a hand, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
“Let me see that,” he reached for the paper, looking a bit indignant.
“Oh, come on,” Connie said, teasing. “You said it was garbage.”
Before he could say or do anything else, there was a knock on the doorframe of his office. Both attorneys looked up. It was Lupo and Bernard.

“Can I help you?” Cutter asked.
“Yeah, we were looking for the bad boy of the DA’s office,” Bernard said with a completely straight face.
“We heard they mistakenly thought it was you,” Lupo coughed.

Mike looked up at Connie a bit helplessly. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

“…not if we can help it,” Bernard muttered.

Connie gave Mike a sympathetic smile. “…at least you weren’t in the Fashion Faux Pas section?”


Word count: 567

Mike stood in the doorway of Connie’s office for a good minute or so before he finally cleared his throat. He’d meant to just knock on the door frame and go in, but he took pause when he noticed the expression on her face as she typed at her computer. She was frowning. Her face was determined, but not without frustration, as evidenced by the tap-tap-tap of her pencil against the keyboard. When he ahem-ed, she looked up, with a sigh.

“Yes?” she asked.
“Problem?” He stepped into her workspace and was in front of her desk in a couple of strides.
“Not a big one,” Connie said.
“Even so, it looks frustrating,” the EADA finished.
“Just trying to finish my prep work for tomorrow’s cross.” She turned away from her computer to face him fully. “I know what I should be saying…it’s just a matter of getting it out there.”
He nodded, leaning in a little toward her. “You should take a break. Clear your head.”
“I was hoping to get done with it before six,” Connie checked the time on her BlackBerry, “so we could go to dinner without having to worry about work for once.”
“In that case…” Mike got up. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”

Connie raised a brow and watched him as he hurried to his office. A minute later, he returned, holding a smallish rectangular box.

“I was going to wait till we were at dinner,” he said, sitting back down. “But it looks like you could use it now.” Mike pushed the box toward her.

“…okay,” Connie couldn’t help but smile, her curiosity evident, as she opened the box. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a wooden kaleidoscope that had a delicate cherry blossom branch carved into it. She picked it up. “Is this—” She held the kaleidoscope up to her eye and looked into it, turning the bottom as she did so. As the room turned into a myriad of colored shapes, Connie’s grin grew wider.

As he watched her, Mike smiled too, glad to see her relax.
“You got me a kaleidoscope,” Connie said when she finally put the toy down, still smiling.
“I did.” He kept his eyes on her.
She looked back at him, gaze softening. “Thanks.” Her voice was quieter.
“I should thank you, too,” he said.
Connie gave him another quizzical look.
Mike looked at the kaleidoscope and then back at her. “Sometimes…it helps to see the world from a different perspective…”


Word count: 417

Just because someone is sorry for what they’ve done doesn’t mean that they don’t have to face the consequences, plain and simple. As a prosecutor, I see defendants claim to be apologetic every day. Whether they’ve found Jesus or Buddha or themselves, people often think that this is enough to get them off the hook.

Unfortunately for them, while it’s great that they’ve found personal redemption, that has little to do with the law. A murderer is still a murderer – and must pay for what he’s done – regardless of how sorry he is. There’s still a dead person, a grieving family, a void in society. You only get points for good behavior once you’re already in prison – once a sentence has been meted according to the law. Even then, good behavior doesn’t always mean someone is suddenly ‘good’ or even repentant or that they won’t be a repeat offender. It’s why prosecutors make a point of going to parole hearings for serious offenders, making sure we voice our opinions that to put certain people back on the streets would be a mistake.


Word Count: 182

Post-ep for 19x21 Skate or Die.

“…I really can’t be part of your law firm?” Mike Cutter asked as he sat across from Connie Rubirosa at the diner they tended to frequent near the courthouse.

Connie looked up from the menu with a grin. “Hypothetical law firm and no.”

“Why not?” Mike asked, looking slightly anxious.
“You heard Jack,” Connie laughed, amused that it was bothering him this much. “Someone’s gotta make sure the DA’s office won’t go to hell.”

“But why me?” Mike wanted to know.
Before Connie could answer, the lawyers were joined by Cyrus Lupo and Kevin Bernard, who strolled up to the table uninvited.

“Who’s leaving the D.A.’s office?” Lupo wanted to know.
“No one,” Connie and Mike said at the same time.
Both detectives glanced at them questioningly.

“Connie says she’s leaving the D.A.’s office and starting her own private practice if Jack’s not elected,” Mike informed them.
“And…Jack jokingly said that he’d go with me if I did,” Connie finished, with a smirk. “Rubirosa & McCoy: Attorneys at Law.”

“How’d you get top billing?” Lupo asked with a laugh.
Connie shrugged, smiling. “I called it.”

“Lupes could be one of your paralegals,” Bernard said as he sat down next to Cutter. “You mind?” he asked, before sitting down anyway.
Cutter made a ‘what choice do I have?’ face and scooted over.

“I’d hire Lupo,” Connie said, enjoying the hypothetical talk and the faces Mike was making.

“Wait—you’d hire him and not me??” Mike’s eyes widened a bit.
“You’re a liability,” Connie managed a straight face as she said it.
“But—I pay off!” Mike exclaimed.

Lupo raised a brow, looking down at Bernard from where he stood.
Bernard only shrugged and snagged Cutter’s menu.

“Can I--?” Lupo motioned to where Connie was sitting.
“Oh, sure,” she said, and moved over as well.

“You have to gamble a bit to win, you know,” Cutter was saying to no one in particular. His BlackBerry buzzed a moment later and he leaned as close as he could to the window in order to talk with some amount of ‘privacy.’

“…so, why won’t you let him in your pretend law firm?” Lupo asked Connie as that was going on.

Connie didn’t hide the mirth in her eyes. “…because it’s fun to watch him get in a snit about it?”

Word Count: 387

[post-ep for 19x07 Zero.]

The Hartwig trial was over and for once, the case itself had been secondary to the problems going on at Hogan Place.. The presiding judge, Reynolds, had been the cause of the District Attorney’s headaches for the last couple of weeks. Well, he and his law clerk, a take-charge woman named Carly, who Mike Cutter knew from work they’d both done in Brooklyn. It turned out that Reynolds suffered from senile dementia and his law clerk took it upon herself to help him cover it up. It was discovered that she made all rulings for him through notes she sent him via computer messages during court. The fact that Cutter knew the woman before this only magnified the mess.

( Read more... )

Word count: 775

[Post-ep/spoilers for 19x09 By Perjury]

He’d been standing there at the urinal literally minding his own business when Marty Winston burst into the men’s room brandishing a gun. In those split seconds, Mike Cutter could honestly say he’d never been more scared in his life. He remained calm, at least outwardly. He listened to Winston’s words, tried to calculate how best to handle the situation. Before he had time to think any further, the cops ran into the room, tackling Winston, tearing the gun from his hand just in time.

( Read more... )

Word Count: 773

[Post-ep for Sweetie.]

“You sure you’re all right?” It was a silly question, but she felt she had to ask it anyway. Connie Rubirosa bit her lip as she looked over to the man staring out the apartment window.

“I am,” Michael Cutter said. He paused, his brow furrowing very slightly. “I will be.”

“The most we can do is our job,” Connie said softly. “We can toe the line all we want but at the end of the day, we’re stuck in the confines of the law. It’s no one’s fault.” She moved to where he was standing and placed a hand on his arm carefully. “If we didn’t have confines…there’d be no law to uphold.”

( Read more... )

To most lawyers, the verdict signified the end – the close of the trial, the finish of weeks of testimony, which had been preceded by weeks and even months of trial prep before that.

But Mike Cutter wasn’t most lawyers. He didn’t just finish up a case and then forget about it. He retained information – not just on his BlackBerry, either. He was quick and learned from his mistakes, an advantage that helped get him to where he was now as EADA. It’s why he kept mementos around his office – reminders of what he’d learned. Connie called them his ‘eclectic décor’ and Jack said his office resembled an evidence locker, but to him, the items were significant.

There was the rock from the Fisher trial – a reminder that even slam-dunk cases could take you by surprise. He wasn’t one to rest on proverbial laurels, and having the rock there reminded him constantly that even when you think your work is done, even when you think a case is in the bag, there’s always the unexpected.

Evidence canisters, scale stair models – each of the items had a purpose. It was like the way he swung his lucky Louisville Slugger or tossed around a baseball, Rawlings mitt in hand – those things helped him think, helped him focus. Even if his colleagues didn’t always understand the meaning behind the objects, he did and that’s what was important.

Word Count: 234

[Mid-Knock Off. Follows this.]


Despite his bad luck so far, Cutter decided to give it one last try. Taking a breath, he dialed Rubirosa’s number once again.

“Rubirosa,” Connie answered, mirth in her voice. “Warrants issued, motions filed, bosses stressed out.”

“Very funny.” Even though his tone was dry, he couldn’t help the smallest of smirks.
“You all right up in Otsego County?” Connie asked, her voice still light. “It sounded like you were being driven insane.”
“The madness had nothing to do with being upstate,” Mike retorted. “It had to do with our pals the NYPD.”
Now Connie outright laughed. “Poor you. Being forced to share a hotel room with Lupo, a car with Bernard.” The image of him at the mercy of Bernard’s driving was still one that brought forth a giggle.
“I could’ve been killed,” he protested.
“By what – Bernard’s driving or Lupo’s…chili?” she wanted to know.
“—both!”
That reply set Connie off even more. “You know, I’m glad you called. I needed a laugh.” She paused. “Why were you calling again?”

The EADA cleared his throat. “Actually, I was calling to make sure you were all right.”
“Me?” On the other end, Connie raised her brows.
“Yes, you,” Mike nodded, though she couldn’t see. “After being jostled by the Keystone Cops and all.”
“Oh, that,” she said.
“Yes, that.” He paused. “I mean—are you—all right?”
“I’m fine,” Connie said. “I was pretty pissed right after the fact.” She let out an annoyed grunt. “Still am, actually.” She snorted. “What, did you think I was going damsel-in-distress about it?”

He was silent.

“I thought you knew me better than that,” she told him.
“…it’s not that I don’t think you can take care of yourself…” he said.
“…it’s that you wanted to do the rescuing?”

Again, there was a moment of silence on his end. And then – “…well, yeah.”

Connie gave a soft chuckle. “Next time there’s a dragon trying to kill me, you’ll be the first one I call.”

“Mike Cutter, knight in shining armor,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “At your service.”



Word count: 346

[Post-Chattel. Spoilers, obviously, then.]

“It wasn’t supposed to end like that,” Kevin Bernard didn’t bother looking up from the linoleum floor that he’d been focusing on since he and his partner had made their way out of the court room.

Before Cyrus Lupo could reply, Michael Cutter and Connie Rubirosa approached them. “No, no it wasn’t,” Cutter said, his voice equally disappointed.

( Read more... )

Word Count: 397

[Another that takes place mid-Knock Off. There are some lines that are just not meant to be crossed.]

After all the work talk, Cyrus Lupo settled back onto his hotel bed, still in his work clothes, to watch SportsCenter, which his impromptu roommate had been intermittently switching back and forth with the news. As he rested against the pillow, he felt a sudden queasiness in his stomach. …maybe Bernard had been right about the chili. A second later, he dashed for the bathroom with a small groan.

A lot of flushing later, Cyrus came out of the bathroom, holding his stomach.

On his own bed, stripped down to his undershirt and dress slacks, Michael Cutter didn’t even glance up from his BlackBerry. He flipped through the address book, settling on Connie Rubirosa’s cell phone number. He hadn’t really gotten to talk to her since she’d called to tell him that Lupo was being arrested and that the Otsego cops pushed her around. His jaw tensed at being reminded of the situation. As he was about to hit “call”, he remembered Lupo’s presence and paused. There was no balcony in the cheap place they were staying at. He thought a moment and realized he may as well just take the phone into the bathroom and talk quietly.

That in mind, Mike got up from his bed and went for the bathroom.

“You might not wanna…” Lupo mumbled. ( Read more... )

Word Count: 800

[Takes place during 19x05 Knock Off. “Det. Bernard got us pulled over for speeding. 110 on the thruway.”]


Michael Cutter didn’t think he’d ever been in a car traveling this fast in his life. He was pretty sure, actually, that you were only supposed to go this fast on a NASCAR racecourse.

“Detective, do you really think this amount of speed is necessary?” he asked Kevin Bernard, while tightening his seatbelt.

“Only one person is entitled to arrest my partner,” Bernard shot back. “And that’s me.”

“…right,” Cutter said, looking out the window. The scenery was a blur. That, and the other man’s words, did not inspire much confidence.

“Who the hell do they think they are up in Otsego County, anyway?” Bernard asked as he pushed down on the gas pedal.

“Law enforcement who are above the law, apparently,” Mike muttered. At the moment, he was more concerned with the fact that a sharp turn was coming up ahead.

Kevin, on the other hand, wasn’t fazed. “Uh-uh,” he shook his head as he took the turn, a little harder than intended, sending Cutter grabbing for the handle above the window on the passenger’s side.

“Hey!” Cutter exclaimed. “Slow down, will you?”

“The faster we get there, the faster we get all the crap cleared up,” Bernard said. “And Lupo out of jail.”

“If we make it there alive,” Mike retorted.

Just then, the sound of sirens made Bernard slow down. “That ain’t good.”

As the detective pulled the sedan over, the EADA couldn’t help but comment, “You ever hear the story of the tortoise and the hare?”


Word Count: 250

post-ep for 19x03 Lost Boys.

“You’re not the only one who’s disgusted, you know.”

Connie Rubirosa stood at the door to Michael Cutter’s office, leaning against it, arms crossed.

Cutter finished swinging the Louisville Slugger, then held it in a hand, looking at it a moment before glancing over at the ADA. “Oh?” It was a non-committal, even-toned response.

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Word Count: 770

{Post-19x01 Rumble. Spoilers following.}

Scaring someone is easy.  It’s not a matter of shouting “boo” from around a corner as someone walks by.  If you really want to scare someone, you take their deep-rooted fears and bring them to light.  Politicians do it all the time – if they can get you afraid of the other candidate or the other result, you’ll vote against that and for them. 

 Sometimes…district attorneys do it, too.

 We use what we can to reach a jury.  We take peoples’ fears—like the remnants of panic from an event like 9/11—and we use it to play to their inherent weaknesses.  We exploit how they feel about something like terrorism, even when it’s a case that has nothing to do with jihad or the events of September 11th.  Then, we tell ourselves and them that it’s okay, because it’s for the greater good.  It’s okay because the people of the City of New York feel safe at night. 

 Oh, I can convince a jury of a lot of things.  It’s like Hauser’s attorney said – say the word “terrorism” and just the mere mention, the recollection of one of the darkest days in American history, is enough for a conviction. 

Does that make it right?  Absolutely not.  Something can be within the bounds of the law and still be wrong.  It’s worse when you have to bend the law because of a mistake you, or the people you’re working with, made. 

Usually, if you can fix it, or at least remind yourself that it’s a quid pro quo world we live in, then it’s not so bad.  Sometimes, fixing the situation is just a matter of luck.  The Conlan case last year—that was luck.  But getting a father to do the right thing on the witness stand is one thing. 

Manipulation because the system you represent failed someone and they went out and committed acts of violence as a result…is quite another.

In the end…we got lucky.  It still didn’t make what we did any better, and frankly, it didn’t immediately take away the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.   But I’ll live, and so will the people of the City of New York, hopefully, truly a little safer than before.

Word count: 373

I’m not big on politics.  It’s the side of my job as EADA that I’d rather not deal with.  I do, when I have to, but unlike the District Attorney, I’m not inclined to make decisions based on what an electorate thinks.  It pisses McCoy off royally sometimes, but I do have the luxury of not taking into consideration an election bid when I make choices as a prosecutor.  I answer to victims and their families, to the law, not to the guys up in Buffalo. 

 My idea of a fun time is not debating presidential picks or listening to talking heads.   I keep up with the news – enough election coverage to stay informed, understanding the economy failure, sure – but it’s not something I like to spend all of my time discussing and analyzing.  Honestly, I’d rather talk about baseball.  Give me a controversial play or a nail-biting extra inning and you’ve got my full attention.  


word count: 156

[Note: I swear there is context...he DOES in fact clean up a mess at the beginning of this now-epic fic.]

The Executive Assistant District Attorney was having one of those days – a slam dunk case just became complicated, he was going to miss the Yankees game that night and when he got ready to sit down in the bathroom stall of the men’s restroom, his BlackBerry fell out of his pants pocket and into the toilet.

“What…” Michael Cutter looked down and realized what had just happened.  “…shit!”

“Yeah, it’s a bathroom,” the guy in the next stall called out. “There’s a lot of that.”

“Thanks, wiseass,” Cutter muttered as he tried to figure out the least disgusting way to get the phone out of the toilet.  Except of course, there was only one way.

( Read more... )

Word count, excluding lyrics: 1448

[post-18x03 Misbegotten]

As a prosecutor, happy endings are rare, unless you count a simple “win” as such.  In theory, a happy ending should mean that someone is doing time for the crime they committed.  More importantly, it means that there is justice for the victim, whether dead or alive.  Sure, we could put a guy away but it’s hardly justice if it’s five-to-ten for a murder. 

Even when you get justice, it’s by no means always a “happy” occasion.  Take the Emerson case – sure, we got the guy to confess and he’ll pay for his crimes, but two families were torn apart.  I’d hardly call that happy.

Then again, I’m not the kind of guy that dwells on that sort of thing for too long.  You can’t, if you want to stay in this line of work your entire career.  There’s a reason for high ADA turnover, especially on squads like Homicide and Special Vics.  I’ve got higher ambitions than this, though.  As I recall, no EADA- no DA-from this office ever had an entirely “happy ending”.  They did what they could, though, to try and make the office successful, to go one step beyond what their predecessor accomplished.  Eventually, I hope to do the same. 

 
[word count: 204]

“Here’s the Rosen file,” Connie Rubirosa held out a folder to her boss, who was deeply occupied with his Blackberry. 

“Hold on,” Michael Cutter didn’t look up. “I’m checking the Olympics.”

Connie rolled her eyes.  “Right.”  

Normally, Cutter was engrossed in the box scores for Yankee games (when he wasn’t at Yankee Stadium himself, using his season tickets) but since the Olympic Games began, he was constantly logging on or using any available television set to see how Team USA Baseball was faring. 

“What?” He looked up at his assistant. 

Connie laughed. “Nothing.  You rooting for Team USA is far better than you rooting for the Yankees.”

Michael took the file from her and gave her a look. “Mets fan,” he said with mock-disdain.

“I am,” she shot back.  “Let me guess. If you could be an Olympic athlete, you’d be the star centerfielder for Team USA.”

He gave a small grin.  “That or the high jump.”

Connie laughed.  “High jump? Oh come on.  ‘Put me in, Coach. I’m ready to play’.  Centerfield is so you.”

“Brown-eyed handsome man, maybe,” he smirked, referring to the other part of the song Centerfield by John Fogerty. 

“And modest,” Connie rolled her eyes.  After pausing a moment, she asked, “Why the high jump?”

Michael looked up again.  “It’s kind of like our job, don’t you think?  There’s a big damn bar and if you screw up, it’s gonna hurt real bad.  There’s…also the element of risk.  You’ve gotta take a risk to have a shot at the gold.”

[word count: 255]

I know I'm hopelessly behind on the serial-story thing for this journal and ada_c_rubirosa.  Also, the closure of prompt comms has caused me to get even further behind, but once I find a new prompt comm home for both journals, I will be getting back on the ball!  Also I plan on re-watching Season 18 this week, as I am FINALLY home from my latest trip. Thanks for reading!