Death To All Lawyers - Sam

“Do something!”

“What do you expect me to do, Chief?” Ellison drawled, smirk firmly in place though his eyes never left the gun being aimed at the two of them; the gun currently being held in a badly shaking hand. “He’s your client.”

Blair only snorted, his hands also raised due to the simple fact that although, yes, it was his client currently holding the gun on ADA Ellison, Bradford was also holding the gun on him. He knew he should never have gotten out of bed this morning. “Cute. Real cute.”

“Glad you think so.”

“Shut. UP!” Bradford screamed, the gun wavering between the two of them as he glared. “This is all your fault! BOTH of you!”

“Me?” Sandburg glared back. “I’m trying to represent you, you idiot! And here you go and steal the bailiff’s gun. Not only that but hold the judge, the prosecuting attorney and 12 jurors hostage! Not to mention myself who – hey whaddaya know! – just so happens to be your attorney!”

“But what have you done? HUH?” Bradford screamed, his arm waving the gun between the two of them. His attention never stalled long enough on either one of them for the other to make a grab at it.

Not that Blair would, not really, but the thought had crossed his mind. For all of about two seconds – the time it took for Ellison to catch his eye and make a minute shake of his head. Blair snorted. So much for spectacular tv courtroom heroics. They were lawyers, not supermen and, last he checked, neither one of them had brought a spare cape in their briefcase. At least Rafe had managed to slip the judge and jury out the back way through the judge’s chambers while Bradford had been focused on the two of them.

In a swift movement, the gun suddenly shifted again, focused solely on him with a blood-chilling stillness. “NUH-thing! That’s what. I’m still on trial and you haven’t done a damned thing!”

Blair scooted back an inch – all he was able, as he was currently sitting bunched up in his suit and tie, not quite cowering on the slick marble floor – until his back was pressed against the cold white wall, hands raised out in front of him in what he hoped was a placating gesture. “Take it easy, Jerry. Listen to me, man, ok?” He coaxed, hoping to sooth the growing paranoia. “That’s what this trial is for, Jer,” Blair insisted. “To prove your innocence -”

“Man, even you don’t believe that!”

Well I certainly don’t anymore, Blair snorted. Stealing Rafe’s gun and holding the entire court hostage certainly tended to take care the whole ‘predisposed presumption of innocence’ thing. Ellison tried to tell him he was in over his head with Gerald Bradford, two time home invasion turned would-be bank robber…fuck but he did not want to hear the inevitable ‘I told you so’s…

“Ok. So stealing the bailiff’s gun is a bit of a set back…”

A snort came from his right and Blair turned to hiss at the ADA not to make things worse, only to be caught dumb at the cold glare coming from the ice blue eyes, narrowed in on Bradford a few feet away. He may have pulled the fool stunt of committing a felony during his own trial, but he was apparently more than competent enough to keep enough distance between them to insure that, even if they carried through on Blair’s half-formed ideas of jumping him, they would never make it before he pulled the trigger.

Especially not from ten feet away, sitting on the courtroom floor.

“Give it up, Chief,” Ellison told him, voice flat and full of derision. “Forget the trial, this guy’s not going to make it out of here alive. Isn’t that right, Jerry?”

Brown eyes darted between them, the main door out into the courthouse hallway and back. Nervous eyes and Blair closed his own; noting before he did, the hand holding the gun was once more beginning to twitch. If Ellison didn’t shut up, Blair was going to kill him himself.

“You don’t know that.” The voice cracking with borderline hysteria was only further evidence of a psycho with a gun unraveling by the minute as his client denied, “You can’t know that!”

A stark contrast to the nervous fear, Ellison’s voice was calm, his body still beside Blair’s as their legs touched, pressed in close where they sat crowded together on the floor. “Of course I can,” he refuted. “The moment you pulled the bailiff’s gun – held two court officials hostage – you know the SWAT team was called in. It’s only a matter of time before those guys get into position and when they do…”

And then Blair remembered. Ellison was a former Army Ranger, Special Forces, before he had returned home to Cascade to follow in his judicial father’s footsteps. Of course he knew what had been put into motion when Bradford suddenly went haywire and started shooting up the courtroom. Blair opened his eyes to see the former Ranger smirking, almost as if he were enjoying Bradford’s discomfort.

“…when they *do*, Jerry, “ Ellison grinned, “all you’ll be is a greasy stain for the janitor to mop up.”

“You shut up!” The gun swung around to Ellison. “Just shut UP!”

It was a demand Blair found himself seconding whole-heartedly. “Yeah, Ellison,” he muttered furiously, whisper-quiet. Leaning as subtly as he could manage into the older man’s shoulder while Bradford stalked away, Blair hissed into the dark gray wool/silk blended suitcoat, “What are you trying to do, get us killed?”

“Not at all,” Ellison whispered back, blue eyes meeting his for a fraction of an instant before turning back to track the con’s jerky pacing. Talking to himself, it looked as if whatever plans Bradford were making, they weren’t turning out too well in the light of this newest setback. “Trust me on this, Sandburg. No matter what happens, this guy isn’t going anywhere. He may get out of this room with just the two of us, but there will be a whole city waiting for him the second he walks through those doors.”

He couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the utter certainty in the statement or maybe it was the fact that Ellison had been one-upping him during the entire trial; never wasting an opportunity to metaphorically pull his pigtails. Whatever it was, something inside was prompting him to nettle the older man. “What makes you think he won’t just kill us and slip out of here?”

Looking over at him, Ellison only raised an amused eyebrow. “Bright orange jumpsuit, Chief,” he pointed out, stating the obvious that, up until now, Blair had been too preoccupied with being held hostage and having a gun waved in his face to notice. “Little conspicuous, don’t you think?”

Smug bastard. Feeling a smile tug at his lips, unable to help himself, Blair allowed Ellison to see the admission. He dropped his head before Bradford could see it and come back over to see just what was so funny. “You could have a point there.”

Looking back over he could see Ellison smile. “Just as long as Junior there doesn’t get the bright idea of changing his clothes, I’d say we’re all set…”

--

Twenty minutes later, handcuffed to each other, short chains having just enough leeway to thread around the leg of the defense table, the pair had been stripped down to their boxers, socks and tank tops. Bradford had indeed gotten the bright idea to change his clothes and had escaped out the same way the jurors had, through the judge’s chambers.

“Any more bright ideas, big guy?” Blair snorted, glaring through the curly strands of hair that had come undone from his ponytail at the haste in which they had been made to strip. He couldn’t help but notice even the other man’s boxers were of high quality blue silk. Blair snorted in amusement, this time to himself. They had probably matched the prosecutor’s tie.

“Yeah,” Ellison glared back, tugging half-heartedly on the metal cuffs and sawing on Blair’s wrists before giving up. “I told you so.”

Despite the taunt, Blair grinned, suddenly seeing the humor in two opposing attorneys, handcuffed together under a table – a heavy mahogany table which, unfortunately, had been bolted to the floor – dressed only in white undershirts, silk and cotton boxers (gray and white striped for him) and black socks.

Blair tried to wave the accusation away, forgetting his hands were otherwise occupied. He shrugged instead. “Yeah, yeah. The guy’s an idiot, what can I say?” Sighing a patently false, heavy sigh, Blair shook his head in mock regret. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Have dinner with me.”

Blair cast a sharp, surprised look at the older man. “You have got to be kidding.”

“I’m not. I’ll even cook.”

Eyeing the seemingly sincere offer with suspicion, Blair repeated doubtfully, “You cook.”

But Ellison only nodded, his lips stretched in a magnanimous smile. “I’ll even let you bring the wine.”

Blair gave in. Who was he to pass up a chance at dinner with Cascade’s Man of the Year and current rising star? Even if he was on the opposite side of the Force so to speak. “You’re on. Red or white?”

“Depends. Italian or chicken?”

“Well I’m not sure,” Blair returned, feeling his way around this sudden detour into the twilight zone. “Are you wooing me or just wanting to rub that ‘I told you so’ in a little deeper?”

“Trust me, Chief, the only thing I plan on rubbing in deeper will NOT be an ‘I told you so’.”

Suddenly speechless, it took the younger a few moments before he could form a response to that. Because, Jesus, the man was serious. When he finally managed to gather what few remaining brain cells that had stayed up north of his bellybutton together, all he could croak out was a rusty, ragged, “In that case… Red. Definitely red.”

End

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Acknowledgments: Thank you to Mary for the beta and to Patt for the cover art.