Jack McCoy subconsciously kneaded his thigh as he frowned at the report in front of him. Giving up, he let his gaze wander to the window across the DA's--
no, it's mine now--office.
It still didn't feel right.
He glanced at the door that lead across the hall to the office he still thougt of as his. Why in hell did I agree to this?
Because the alternative was retirement, stupid, he responded silently.
But this isn't my office. It's the DA's office, and I'm just an Executive Assistant.
Senior Executive Assistant, he corrected himself. I'm a lawyer, not a politician. I don't want to be a politician. What the hell am I doing?
Happy birthday to me.
Standing, he walked to the place Adam had always kept his Scotch. Almost without realizing it, he'd placed his own bottle there upon taking possession of the office. He hefted it now and poured himself a dram. Sighing unhappily, he raised it in a wry toast.
Happy birthday to me.
It still didn't feel right.
He glanced at the door that lead across the hall to the office he still thougt of as his. Why in hell did I agree to this?
Because the alternative was retirement, stupid, he responded silently.
But this isn't my office. It's the DA's office, and I'm just an Executive Assistant.
Senior Executive Assistant, he corrected himself. I'm a lawyer, not a politician. I don't want to be a politician. What the hell am I doing?
Happy birthday to me.
Standing, he walked to the place Adam had always kept his Scotch. Almost without realizing it, he'd placed his own bottle there upon taking possession of the office. He hefted it now and poured himself a dram. Sighing unhappily, he raised it in a wry toast.
Happy birthday to me.
