34
Chapter Text
Monday, December 31, 1990
The FBI Field Office in Manhattan had been at the 23rd floor of 26 Federal Plaza for longer than I'd been alive. It had overseen crime wave after crime wave, taken down mafiosos and mob bosses, and handled nasties before even the original Human Torch took flight. It stood an endless vigil, day, night, and everything in between, keeping a finger on the pulse of criminal activity here and abroad — because here in New York City, even our criminal enterprises didn't have the grace to stay politely contained within the city limits.
The elevator dinged, letting me out to the only public-facing part of the Manhattan Field Office. In front of me sat a wholly unwelcome-looking excuse for a reception area, colored in varying shades of gray, overseen by a receptionist who was almost certainly a full-fledged agent on the shit rotation, especially given the date. It was easy to tell, really — the way trained law enforcement personnel carried themselves was substantially different from your average civilian.
"Can I help you?" he asked, carefully calculated boredom in his voice trying (and failing) to drive me away.
"Noa Schaefer," I said, holding up my driver's license and my NY Bar card for him to see. "I need to see the Special Agent in Charge, ASAP."
The agent blinked at me, eyeing the two cards for barely a moment before fixing me with his best impression of The Look (™).
"Look, lady, it's…" He brought up an arm and pulled up his sleeve. "Three in the afternoon on New Year's Eve. Tell ya what, I'll give ya this form to fill out, and—"
"Uh-huh, yeah, no." I tapped my cards over where I knew the phone was, behind his desk. "Here's what you're going to do. You're going to call Catherine Caine, the special agent in charge, and let her know that her best friend is here on work-related matters. Why? Because it's a race against time between you and her pager. Which I already buzzed at the payphone downstairs."
"Yeah, right," he scoffed. "Nice try toots, but—"
I interrupted whatever he was going to say, and rattled off Cate's pager number for him.
He paused, and I caught his eyes flicking down to something he had behind the reception desk. Probably a list of agents' contact numbers, if I had to guess.
"… that ain't a public number," he said, suspicion heavy in his voice.
"I know," I told him. "Because Cate told me that herself. Now, are you going to issue me a guest badge and have somebody bring me up? Or am I going to need to tell her how agent…" I peered over the desk. "Agent Sloane held me up in an urgent situation over baseless ennui?"
He looked me in the eye, and held my gaze briefly. One second, two, three.
Then, he opened a drawer, and pulled a pre-prepared guest pass out of a drawer.
Noa Schaefer, Esq.
Guest, Special Agent In Charge
"Thank you," I said, grabbing the pass and pinning it to my top, just like the last three times I'd used it. "I won't need an escort, don't bother ringing anyone."
And with that, I swept past the reception desk, through the cubicle maze, and up an open flight of stairs at one end. Once I stepped off the stairs, another quick turn brought me to a corner office. Catherine Caine, the name on the plaque read. Special Agent In Charge, Manhattan Field Office.
I knocked, the usual shave-and-a-haircut pattern I always used, and opened the door. On the other side, Cate stood maybe five feet from the door, clearly having been about to head down and get me from reception.
"You only come here when it's important," Cate said, ushering me into the office and sitting me down on one of the two couches she had flanking a low coffee table. I let my glamour fall away when she closed the door. "Is everything okay? Did something happen? Please tell me you didn't have another break-in, I swear to fucking god—"
"No, it's not a break-in," I confirmed, and saw Cate simultaneously deflate in relief and tense her shoulders with anxiety. "Something… unexpected, I suppose, came up at the office."
"And that something was important enough that you needed to see me, in my office, on New Year's Eve?" Cate asked, worry leaking into her voice. "Noa, what the hell could possibly have 'come up' that it couldn't wait until Wednesday?"
"Something to do with your white whale," I answered.
Cate stopped.
All the expressiveness I was used to seeing in her just… disappeared. Her face went flat as a pane of glass, eyes boring into mine like chips of stone.
"Noa, if you're about to tell me that you've just signed on to defend that fucker, I swear to god I'll—"
"My client," I interrupted before Cate could build up too much of a head of steam, "wishes to negotiate an offer of immunity in exchange for his testimony and evidence in his keeping, for use against the individual known to law enforcement as 'The Kingpin'."
Once again, Cate seemed to shut down. The hurt indignation swelling in her heart guttered out in an instant, I could see that from her body language, and I was instead seeing a picture perfect example of anxiety. She brought a nail up to her mouth, and was about to chew on it before I stood from the couch and pulled her hand away from her lips.
"Thanks," she murmured, then laced her hands behind her, rubbing one thumb over the other as she walked towards her desk. "Holy Jesus fuck, Noa. Could you maybe take a rest in the near future?" she asked. "Maybe spend a week not jumping off the diving board into the deep end of everything?"
"I didn't seek this one out, Cate," I told her. "Client found me. Apparently as a referral from a pro bono case I headed at LL&L back in '84."
"And do you believe that?" Cate asked, concern writ large on her face. "Do you have any idea — no, you don't, not something I could share. Look, you bringing this comes right after several informants on the Kingpin turned up dead, informants who were in witness protection on the other side of the country. I'm just about to archive our entire file because we no longer have a workable case, and then my best friend walks in with the golden ticket?"
"What do you want me to say?" I asked. "I already made what checks I could to see if this was kosher or not, including the other person I know who could legitimately get classified information, and he seems to think this is a case of pure dumb luck."
"Other person…? Wait, right, that's your guy in Mossad, isn't it? Your godfather the Nazi hunter?" Cate asked, to which I nodded. "Fuck… okay. Alright. What else are you allowed to tell me?"
"Until I get my client in front of the US Attorney and negotiations begin in earnest, I'm not at liberty to reveal anything else," I said with a heavy sigh. "Attorney/client privilege."
"Damn it." Cate slumped down into her office chair, and ran a hand through her hair. "I had a feeling you were gonna say that."
"Then why ask?"
"Because I was really hoping you'd surprise me," she answered.
Okay, you know what? That was fair.
"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but things are as they always are with these things." I sighed, and didn't bother to stop myself from playing with the shoulder strap of my briefcase. "It'd be easier if I could just outright let you know what my client has that has me angling for full immunity, but that's not how the system works."
"If fucking only," Cate groused. "Alright. I don't think I'll hear from him tonight, but I guarantee Wilcox will want to talk."
"AUSA Wilcox?" I asked, perking up at the name. "He was my law student advisor when I was on the mock trial team back in undergrad! Oh, that's great, he already knows me!"
"You sure he'll remember you?" Cate asked, arching an eyebrow.
"After my senior year mock trial, he asked me out, I turned him down gently, he didn't get weird about it," I replied with a shrug. "So he's one of the good ones."
"If you insist… I'll call and leave a message once you're headed out, since I assume you can't be in the room for this." I nodded, and Cate jotted down a note.
Then she got up from behind her desk and came to sit down next to me on her little sofa.
"Hey, I know it's a bit of an abrupt change of tacks, but has, uh… has Lorna, you know, said anything?"
"No." I couldn't help my mournful sigh and drooping tail. "I… I don't know what to do about this, Cate. What if she wants me to stay away from her? What if she never wants to come back, and just stays at her boarding school full-time again? What if she suddenly hates me now because of this, and there's no way to fix that, and—"
"Noa." Cate grabbed me by the shoulders, and looked me in the eye. "Calm. Down. Some of my brothers' kids had similar reactions when I had to explain it to them, but my brothers helped out, and soon things were all hunky-dory. Look, pre-teens especially get weird about this, alright? Part of it is that they're scared of the 'what if I am too' question, and don't know how to process it. Just… give her time. Let her talk to people she grew up with. She'll come around, I just know it."
"I hope so." I turned to give Cate a hug, for which she already had an arm out. She predicted the hug, of course. Cate had known me for years now, and I was a very huggy woman. She pulled me into a tight hug, and before I realized it, I'd started rubbing my horn against her.
"My god, you really are a cat," Cate murmured.
"I'm not a cat," I half-hissed back. "I have scales."
"Alright then," Cate said, pulling out of the hug. "Iguana."
"You little…" I sighed, and stood up, prepping to wrap my glamour back around me. "Sorry, I'm intruding on your work. I'll let you get back to it so you can get home sooner."
"No, this was important," she said, brushing off my concern. "Rather have the work sooner. Now, I'll call the US Attorney's office, and you?" She pointed at the door. "Go home. Do whatever prep you have to. I'll call you once I know what's up."
"I appreciate it," I said. Then with a flex of will and a spark of magic, I conjured some light, which I spun around myself in my usual glamour. "Happy New Year, Cate."
"Yeah yeah, Happy New Year to you too," she said, sounding exasperated. "Now go, I have a few calls to make. And keep the guest pass, you'll probably be using it a few times."
I gave her a confirmation that I'd heard, and headed for the front. As I walked past the reception desk, I noticed that Agent Sloane wasn't there anymore, and another man had taken his place. I gave him a nod as I got on the elevator, and then took off the guest pass, placing it in my purse.
It was time to head home. Hopefully Lorna would be ready to talk. And if she wasn't…
Well. I'd figure it out.
Getting home that afternoon took an annoying amount of time. A call to the car service I usually used left me with a 45 minute wait time for what was ultimately not that far of a walk, if I was willing to do so. Thankfully, sundown was at least another couple of hours away, so I was actually somewhat safe to walk home under cover of daylight.
After about an hour of walking later, given that I had to slow down for both traffic and winter weather, I arrived at my building, and walked up the stairs to my front door. A kiss on my fingers and a tap of the mezuzah gave me no warning, so I opened the door and went inside, locking it behind me before removing my layers and dispelling my glamour.
"Lorna?" I called, unsure if she was here. "I'm home!"
There was no response. Just cold silence in an empty home.
Part of me wanted to cry at that.
Briefcase down and shoes off, I walked past the foyer – and saw something out of the corner of my eye that had me doubling back. It was a piece of paper on my dining table, with a pen laying next to it.
I walked over, saw something written on the paper, and began to read.
Ms. Schaefer;
Lorna gave us a call this morning, asking us for transportation back to the manor for our New Year's festivities, and that she didn't want to ask you to interrupt your work for it. We're writing this and leaving a message on your answering machine, letting you know where Lorna is, and where to reach her. Sorry you have to work on New Year's Eve, but we wish you a happy holiday regardless.
Sincerely,
Jean Grey & Scott Summers
I set the paper back down on the table, turning it over in my head. Lorna hadn't said anything about Xavier's having a New Year's Eve party, especially so soon after they had a Christmas one, but it wasn't surprising. It was just, I don't know. Disappointing. I couldn't put a finger on why or how, exactly. In fairness, I hadn't exactly expected to take this role in her life, and it was still incredibly new. Months, at most.
And yet, a part of me just felt… hurt. A hurt that I didn't really know how to put into words. I just… I'd grown so used to being alone on New Year's, or with friends, or down at the Stonewall.
This would've been the first time I got to spend it with family that wasn't my parents.
During this thinking and worrying, I somehow wound up going on autopilot, such that I'd changed into sweats and poured myself a glass of chardonnay. The next thing I knew, I was on the couch, watching rerun episodes of Night Court and critiquing all the absolute bullshit I saw happening. God, these writers really needed even just a 1L in the writer's room with them, that was not how—
… actually, no, that reminded me. I hadn't checked my mail since Christmas, had I?
With a groan, I got up from my comfy, comfy sofa, stuck my feet in some slippers, and shrugged on my bulkiest coat so I didn't have to bother putting my glamour on if any of the other residents were around. Well, not like I needed to hide myself from them, the ones that actually cared had left after I got outed last year, but… anyways. I schlepped downstairs to the mailboxes, opened mine up, and withdrew several envelopes. Some of them were small, some of them were obvious junk, but one of them?
One of them had some substantial heft to it. And just from testing the width with my fingers, I could tell it held at least fifty sheets of paper in it. Then there was the last bit of weirdness – the return address.
It was to Universal Television. In Los Angeles.
Why was I getting mail from the other side of the damn country?
I opened up my front door, intent on opening up this mail to see what the hell it was, except that I heard my phone ringing when the door opened, so I had to attend to that first, clearly! I dropped my mail on the little table I kept in my entryway, took off my coat and hung it on the hook, and walked over to the phone—
The ringing stopped. Ugh. Okay, either they'd hung up, or…
"Hello, you've reached Noa Schaefer," my answering machine started, letting me know somebody was still on the line. "I can't come to the phone at this time, but if you could leave me your name, number, message, and a good time I can get back to you, I'll respond as soon as I am able. Thank you!"
The expected beep came next, but a beat passed, and for a moment I didn't expect anybody to start speaking on the other end. Then there was a slight throat-clearing, and a newly-familiar voice came through.
"Bloody machine got my hopes up there – Noa, hello, it's Betsy. I hope the afternoon finds you well, and lest I forget, Happy New Year. I was calling both because I wished to firm up our weekend plans, and also to note that I briefly stopped in at Charles' school, and saw Lorna when I was there. She seemed—"
I picked the phone up off the cradle in a hurry, and managed to fumble it, cursing under my breath as it did. The handset fell to the floor, and I picked it up with a wince, hoping that it hadn't been too loud on the other end, and held it up to my horn and mouth.
"Ah, h-hi, Betsy," I began awkwardly. "Sorry, uh, I was getting my mail from downstairs, and heard the last ring while I was opening the door, so I waited on the answering machine to pick up and see who was calling, then I heard it was you and tried to grab the phone and it fell to the floor, so, uh. Um." I suddenly realized that I had no idea where I was taking this. "Sorry?"
Betsy's tinkling laughter spilled through from the handset, and I smiled despite my thoughts.
"Oh, I needed that," she said. "Honestly, you would not believe how horribly busy the day before a holiday can get."
"No, I absolutely would," I told her, sighing. "I had one of those days myself, and much as I wish to talk about it, I can't."
Aaaaand that was an incredibly awkward thing for me to say. Shoot, okay Noa, try to get the conversation going again, quick!
"Anyway, I didn't quite catch what you were calling about?" I prompted, hoping that would suffice.
"Well, I suppose I'll start by, what was that American idiom? Ripping off the bandage?" Betsy asked.
"That's the one, yeah, but we tend to use the band-aid brand name," I answered.
"Very well," Betsy said. "I was on my way back to the city, or rather would have been had I not been there when Jean and Scott arrived with Lorna. Scott was visibly discomfited, while Lorna ignored all decorum and flew off, headed towards where Logan frequents. I did ask them what Lorna was doing at the manor so many hours before Charles' planned celebrations, but Scott gave me a non-answer. I regret to admit that this did not sit well with me, and so I asked Jean, between telepaths."
"Let me guess: Lorna mentioned something, it upset one of them, and whatever discussion they might have had instead became an argument."
"Needless to say, I immediately reached out to Charles, and last I heard, he was speaking with both of them in his office." Betsy sighed, and I could just imagine her fingers pressing on her temples, desperately trying to forestall a headache. "I wouldn't have expected those two to hold such prejudicial opinions, or foist them off on another, particularly given their relative youth."
"To be fair, they probably picked it up subconsciously. Expectations from watching TV shows and commercials," I said, twirling the phone cord around a finger. "And it's not like there's many openly gay mutants to refute those expectations."
"I would say you're one of the few, yes."
I think I let out an inarticulate squeak, and felt the heat rising in my cheeks. Oh God, was I that obvious?
"Yes, luv, you are that obvious."
"Oh, God, just kill me now," I murmured, feeling the butterflies take flight in my belly. Oh nooooooo…
"What? It's not as though I chose my words at random when I said it'd be a date," Betsy teased, tone lightening even as I couldn't hold back the squeak again. "Anyway, before we pivot, I should mention that Logan has apparently discussed this with Lorna, followed by quite the row with Scott and Jean, so I would anticipate a discussion with your goddaughter upon her return."
"That's… that's really good to know, actually," I said. "Thanks, Betsy. It means a lot."
"My pleasure," she said, warmth plainly evident in her tone. "But now, for brighter pastures. I recall you mentioning a difficult day with work; are you still available this Saturday?"
"Oh, absolutely!" I slipped the handle of the handset between my horn and my head, then slid it forward so it could just hang off. "Was there anything in particular you had in mind? Brunch, lunch, dinner? In Manhattan proper? Hop on a train to one of the other boroughs?" I paused. "Not hop on a train to Jersey, I see no reason to grace that foul state with our presence."
"Being frank, I almost certainly know less of the city than you do," Betsy admitted, a slight sheepishness creeping into her tone. "I admit, I've only been attached here for two, almost three years now. If we found ourselves down in Washington DC or its outlying areas, I would have better recommendations, but I am afraid to say I'm at a loss."
"Hmm…"
I thought it over, rolling some thoughts around in my mind. The less transit needed, the better, and given the fact that we would be two women visibly on a date…
"So, I will admit this suggestion is a tad selfish for me, but the area of Manhattan that I live in? Greenwich Village?"
"I'm afraid the sum total of my knowledge regarding the area is to ensure Captain Britain steers clear of the Sorcerer Supreme's base of operations in the area," Betsy said. "At least, without permission."
"Yeah, Stephen gets ornery when unknowns come into the area," I said, more out of musing than to actually reply. A small, choked-off gasp on the other end told me that maybe I shouldn't have referred to Stephen by name? Ah, hehe, oops. "Anyway! Not why I was mentioning it. The part that's most worth talking about? Probably the most gay-friendly neighborhood of Manhattan."
"So I presume that is why you chose to live there, then."
"Oh, I was already living here before I knew that," I told her. "My alma mater, NYU? Right here. I live roughly equidistant from NYU's law library and the Sorcerer Supreme's sanctum, actually."
"You would put equal importance on both of those, wouldn't you?" Betsy asked, amusement in her voice as she chuckled slightly.
"Hey, it's cheaper than ordering another copy of the court reporter for home," I fired back. "Regardless, I did have an idea for a locale, if you're interested."
"Oh, I'm listening," Betsy chimed in.
"Well in that case," I began, reaching into the drawer for the right menu. "How do you feel about italian?"
Wednesday, January 2, 1991
As my employees filtered into the office after New Year's, they'd all see (or in Matt's case, have it read to him) a message. There was one taped to a seatback in the waiting area, and another taped to the inner door of the back exit, the one that led to my office.
URGENT MEETING. COME TO THE CONFERENCE ROOM ASAP.
Sophie was the first one to show up. I'd left a voicemail for her and her family yesterday, wishing them a Happy New Year's and letting Sophie know that she was still more than welcome to take more time for Michael. I supposed this meant that either her eldest triplet was doing well in his recovery, her husband and/or other sons had things well in hand, she was going stir crazy, they just wanted her to get out of the house, or some combination thereof. Regardless, she came into the conference room, took one look at my face, eyed the already-empty mug of tea in my hand, and disappeared to the break room.
By the time she returned with a fresh mug of tea for me and a pitcher of coffee, Karen had arrived and begun to sit down. Then her eyes saw the pitcher and the second mug of tea being handed to me by Sophie, and she excused herself to the breakroom, returning with four mugs, three spoons, the sugar dispenser, and the bottle of creamer she kept in the fridge.
Matt, Foggy, and Joshua all arrived at around the same time, and I was able to hear when their casual joking cut off as my message became apparent. Foggy said it aloud, and moments later, the three of them joined us in the conference room.
"What's going—"
"Coffee first," I interrupted Matt, then removed the teabag from the second mug, and transferred it to the first, now-empty one.
All three of the boys looked like they wanted to say something. Joshua was the first to move, pouring out a coffee with some space, setting it off to the side, then pouring a second with no room. His other hand grabbed the creamer and poured a healthy glug into the first mug, grabbed a spoon to stir it, then he pressed it into Matt's awaiting hand. Foggy had put sugar and creamer into his mug first, then added the coffee, but he grabbed a spoon anyway to make sure it was properly dissolved.
Once all three of them had taken a seat, I stood up and began speaking.
"I'm sorry if the message at the door frightened any of you," I began, "but frankly, having everyone a bit spooked is better for this. Now, I know Joshua is familiar with this, and it's not as important for Sophie or Karen, so I'll ask you two."
I turned to look at Matt and Foggy.
"Matthew. Franklin. I'm not sure whether you two have taken your mandatory legal ethics course yet, but are either of you familiar with the concept of 'screening off' somebody in a firm to prevent conflicts?"
"Well, yeah," Foggy answered. "But I'm not sure why it would matter, unless you took on a new client with a possible conflict of interest?"
"Not a conflict, per se," I answered, trying to figure out how to put this delicately. "In theory, there would be nothing wrong with me sharing any of this. There's no conflict of interest with any other of the firm's clients, nor with any of your work histories. None of you are being screened off for a conflict."
"It's a safety issue," Matt chimed in. "Isn't it?"
The mood in the room, while already chilled, plummeted into feeling positively glacial. Sophie, Karen, Joshua, and Foggy were all exchanging uneasy glances with one another.
And I could hear Matt's cane straining under his grip.
"It is."
There was no use beating around the bush here.
"How dangerous are we talking?" Once again, Matt took the lead, asking the questions I didn't think any of the others would consider.
"I've already contacted the FBI field office, who will be reaching out to the US Attorney's office."
Foggy and Joshua both hissed at that, while Matt frowned. Karen seemed a bit lost, and Sophie had her eyes closed, hands clasped firmly around her mug.
"Nothing to do with this case goes onto the computers here, not after Osborn. All of the paperwork and files stay in the safe in my office. If I think for even a fraction of a second that the premises are in danger, all of you are to consider yourselves on paid time off until I personally call you and say otherwise. If you feel unsafe, tell me immediately. You will be considered as being on paid leave until the case concludes."
"What about all the other clients?" Karen asked. "I don't – we can't just stop working on their cases, can we? And you can't do all of it on your own, can you?"
"If worst comes to worst, I will personally call up every judge with our cases before them, explain the situation as best I can, and get a continuance. If not, then I already spoke with Joshua's father about this yesterday," I said, giving him a nod. "He's agreed to have the cases transferred over to LL&L's litigation departments for the duration, if the need arises.
"Until and unless that comes to pass, this case will have to be my number one priority as the procedural matters come due. Franklin?" He swallowed and sat up straight, nodding. "You've proven yourself to be far more adept at handling probate matters than I ever was. If you're amenable, I'm going to offload most of that onto you, but please make sure to get my OK before you file anything that isn't just a perfunctory procedural matter, okay?"
"Yes, of course!" Foggy said.
"Matthew, Joshua. Not much changes on your ends quite yet. Just be ready to take over hard if I give the word, okay?"
Both of them nodded.
"Karen, Sophie. If a call comes in from the US Attorney's Office or the FBI Field Office, transfer that to me once you know I'm available. But if a call comes in, and the man on the other end says he's calling from 'the bar'? Put him through to me immediately," I stressed. "No checking to see if I'm free, no asking if I'm ready to accept a call. Put it through, and do not say anything beyond your introduction. Okay?"
Once again, the two I addressed nodded.
"Any questions?" I asked. None of the five said anything. "Very well. Back to work, everyone."
Karen, Sophie, Joshua, and Foggy all filed out of the room. Matt remained where he sat, still holding his cane in a white-knuckled grip.
I got up from my chair and closed the doors to the conference room, then turned back to Matt.
"Ask your questions," I told him.
"It's him, isn't it?" Matt asked.
"What's your reasoning?" I asked, rather than answering.
"Joshua told us that you knew Osborn was a super from the outset, and that nothing like this happened during that case," Matt said. "You didn't call law enforcement in the Osborn case until after you had proof something was going on. Here, you called them instantly, and apparently whatever you brought to them was big enough that they're calling up the ladder too." He paused. "Hm. Who at the FBI was it?"
"Caught that, did you?" I mused. "The Special Agent in Charge."
"Mm," Matt murmured. "Warning us of a risk. Calling the FBI immediately. Mentioning a bar." He tapped his cane. "It's the Kingpin. You've got something on the Kingpin."
I didn't answer. I didn't have to. All of the things I couldn't consciously control gave the answer away for me.
Matt rose from his chair and moved to the door, right beside where I stood.
"Be careful," he said. "Please."
"I'll try my best," I offered.
Matt regarded me for a moment, staring into my soul with sight unseeing.
Then he left the conference room, and I was alone. I supposed I'd have to get used to that, with this case.
I already hated it.
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