@magicomsworld prompted me to write something, and I had to oblige!
Nolan admits to Sam during a big case that he thinks someone is following him after court.
"Wait a minute, Nolan, are you okay? You look anxious, even for you," his junior partner, Samantha Maroun told him fondly, shaking her head, her dark hair tossed over her shoulders.
"Wait — since when do I look—" Nolan started, not realizing that he often had certain ticks that gave away his pre-trial jitters. He rolled his eyes. Now was not the time. He hurriedly set down the Chinese takeout that he'd gotten for the two of them to eat while doing trial prep, ripping apart his chopsticks with more force than necessary, the wood snapping. "No, no, Sam — listen," Nolan urged. "I think I'm being followed," Nolan confessed, glancing around to make sure none of the night cleaning crew heard him.
"Wait a minute, Nolan, are you okay? You look anxious, even for you," his junior partner, Samantha Maroun told him fondly, shaking her head, her dark hair tossed over her shoulders.
"Wait — since when do I look—" Nolan started, not realizing that he often had certain ticks that gave away his pre-trial jitters. He rolled his eyes. Now was not the time. He hurriedly set down the Chinese takeout that he'd gotten for the two of them to eat while doing trial prep, ripping apart his chopsticks with more force than necessary, the wood snapping. "No, no, Sam — listen," Nolan urged. "I think I'm being followed," Nolan confessed, glancing around to make sure none of the night cleaning crew heard him.
"Followed?" Maroun perked up instantly, leaning in closer, heading into Nolan's office and closing the door, her Beef and Broccoli forgotten. "By who? Did you get a look at them? We can call Brady or Riley and —" she rambled, already in a lawyer's problem-solving mode.
"No, no, Sam it's nothing like that," Nolan said. "I just have… like I have a feeling. A feeling that I'm being followed. I just felt, felt like someone was tailing me all the way back from the courthouse."
"Oh," Sam said, swallowing a chuckle. "A feeling, now that changes things," she said, unable to resist gently ribbing her coworker and friend. "What does that mean, Nolan? Like a spidey-sense or something?" she teased, laughing. Then she stopped herself, taking a sip of water, seeing Nolan's glassy ocean eyes filled with vulnerability.
"Wait, Nolan, you're really serious about this, aren't you?" she said, brown eyes softening with concern. "Do you think it has something to do with one of our cases? A witness? Someone who wants to prevent you from kickin' judicial ass?" she smirked.
"Somethin' like that," Nolan acknowledged, the compliment bringing him a small twitch of his lips. He sat, manspread in his office chair, picking at bits of General Tso's, careful to avoid splattering spicy sauce on his now rumpled white dress shirt. He yanked his tie loose, it now feeling claustrophobically tight, unbuttoning his top two buttons, tossing his tie over the visitor's chair. He didn't know why he was so upset about this, to the point that his stomach was roiling. Chinese takeout had completely lost its appeal. "I mean, there's the upcoming Sorensen trial, the Park case, and the witnesses for the Hocanson murders…" Price rattled off the lists of people he'd been recently associated with, he'd met with for witness prep, or would be facing on cross-examination.
"The Hocanson family had connections," Sam agreed. "Made enemies. Old money tends to do that," she pointed out. "With a case like that, all the press that it's been getting — all the press you've been getting?" she raised a perfect eyebrow. Nolan knew what she was getting at. There was a target on his back.
"Listen, Nolan, it's okay. Tomorrow we'll talk to Baxter, and Riley, and Connie, and the rest of the team at the precinct and we'll figure this out. Trial or your spidey-sense, you have to admit, they're good at their jobs and they can help."
"No, I don't wanna bother them," Nolan shook his head. "I'm just probably overreacting," he sighed. "The city's big. Lots of people coming and going, maybe I was just… being paranoid," he scoffed, going to his dusty bookshelf to find Jack McCoy's gift of a half-drunk bottle of Scotch. He poured himself two fingers, offering some to Sam, who shook her head.
"None for me, thanks," she told him politely, raising her Stanley cup instead. He gulped his drink with a shrug, feeling the warm burn down his throat and to his knotted insides.
"And you're not overreacting," Sam said. "Trust your gut, Nolan. The one that wins cases. The one that says you've been followed. We both know — you, certainly from experience — this job isn't for the faint of heart, and the city doesn't exactly scream safety when you try murderers on the daily," she reminded him. "And besides—" she added. "You'd do the same for them, if they asked, wouldn't you?"
Nolan's shoulders slumped in agreement.
"Hey—" Sam offered, seeing that Nolan was reluctant to leave and go home, as he paused, rearranging his pens and paperclips, long after the takeout boxes were in the trash, voir dire questions prepared. "Do you wanna stay at my place?" she asked softly. "On the futon. In my spare room," she clarified pointedly. "Next to my boxing bag and the treadmill I store my next day's skirt suit on," she said wryly. "It's not going to be the Ritz Carlton or anything, but… at least you won't be alone?" she said, nudging Nolan's shoulder gently. Nolan leaned against hers, grateful for the contact, the company.
"No, Sam, I couldn't — I couldn't impose," Nolan hedged.
"It's not an imposition," Sam promised Nolan gently. "It's giving my nosy neighbors in 4B new gossip fodder," she joked. "Should I get us a cab?" she asked, reaching for her coat. While Nolan got his tie, suit jacket, and coat, Sam walked down the courthouse steps and pressed 'Send.'
While September may seem unremarkable to some, to us, it can mean a whole month of Samlan content! And it can be whatever you want-- fanfics, fanart, aesthetics, ANYTHING!
Tag as #samlanseptember or #Samlan September so that I will be able to reblog it.
