nolanfitz

[nolanfitz]

A light scoff left his lips, followed by the rare sound of a genuine laugh as Troy approached. “Maybe you’re just slowin’ down, Windsor. Heard pushin’ paper ain’t exactly high-intensity brainwork.” Nolan teased, reaching out for a firm handshake. It had been a while since they were constantly clashing in court, their friendly rivalry once sharp enough to cut tension in any room they walked into. But that was then — now, with Troy’s title granting him a bit of professional distance, Nolan found he didn’t mind the guy’s company.. Plus, it wasn't a bad thing, having the Attorney General in your good graces. "I have a hard time believin' that anything truly escapes your judgement — but sure, I'll never say no to a free drink." A pointed smirk followed as they walked out of the courtroom, a wink tossed in for good measure, knowing full well Troy hadn’t actually offered. "How's government work treatin' you these days? Get yourself a nice cocobolo desk with my tax dollars?"

CLOSED FOR: @nolanfitz

LOCATION: court

Troy offered Nolan a short nod in greeting as he approached the lawyer, hand extended out for a shake as he did so. "You know, been a while since I've seen you in action. You're finally catching up." He teased lightly, no heat behind his words, instead they were lace with a fondness of old time friends and safe competition. Once upon a time, it'd been friendly rivalry, now that Troy wasn't at court everyday, having a drink with the other man or even catching up was near impossible; they lived such different lives. With everything going on though, he figured a chat was needed. "Want to grab a beer, you can have some of those nasty peanuts you like from the bar down the street and I'll try not to judge you."

[nolanfitz]

He’d briefly considered turning around altogether — throwing down some cash for the drink and walking right back out the door, maybe toward a different bar, one with fewer ghosts. But if there was one thing Nolan Fitzpatrick had in abundance, it was pride. In the face of a poor personal decision, he rarely weighed his options or considered the smartest course of action — that kind of strategy was reserved for the courtroom and the courtroom only. When it came to his ex, though? Judgment didn’t just go out the window. It leapt.

Tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, he tightened his grip on the sweating pint of Guinness in front of him, condensation pooling around his fingers like it might anchor him to the bar. Don’t take the bait.

"Yeah?" he tossed back, slowly sliding the glass over and — of course — taking the bait anyway. "Waiting for your Tinder date to show up? By all means, don't let me intrude." A pause, and he kept her gaze, as if he was almost daring her to turn him away now. "'Less you're just waitin' for any poor bastard to buy you cheap shots to get you through the night. Might as well skip the bullshit and let me do the honors. Yeah?"

FOR: @nolanfitz LOCATION: sip happens

Had it been months since they'd last seen one another? She couldn't exactly remember. At least, not in any real sense. The last flicker of any memory she had of Nolan was the image of leaving him on the side of the pacific coast highway in the midst of some heated argument, one she can't even trace the cause of anymore. Hell, maybe all the lies she'd spun were finally catching up to her. LA was big enough to avoid ghosts if she tried hard enough, but lawyers? They always had a sick way of circling back when the timing was least convenient.

She'd spotted him minutes prior, weaving through the bar until he'd stopped just paces away from her, and that burn of something left unsettled that wanted to claw it's way out of her chest once her gaze locked on his. "Seats taken." A lie, considering the slew of open bar stools on the corner she'd claimed. Still, a brow quirked upwards, as if challenging him to take the seat or to break the months of silence that followed a relationship she'd pretend never occurred.

[nolanfitz]

"Yeah? That got somethin’ to do with the sun goin’ up and down, too?" Nolan shot back dryly, the sarcasm laced with a tired kind of amusement that tugged faintly at the corners of his mouth. Maybe he was running on fumes—too many hours buried in strategy and red ink, ideas starting to blur, letters damn near lifting off the page. Still, the promise of a cold beer and something greasy was a preferred way of his to close out the night whenever he could. "Now you're speakin’ my language. 'Cept for the wine—doesn’t hit the same with fries." He paused, brow twitching as he considered. "Though, after a whole bottle, probably don’t matter much anyway."

Locking away the more sensitive files in his cabinet, Nolan fell into the usual closing routine alongside her — the kind of rhythm born from habit, the two of them moving around each other with the same practiced ease they'd done a thousand times before. No doubt she was already cataloging her next complaint about the disaster zone that was his desk. He met her by the exit a beat later, a few feet shy of the door. "Right, right, of course. Couldn’t stomach me without there bein’ somethin’ in it for you, huh?" he teased, holding CC’s gaze as he plucked the coat from her hand. Draping it over his arm, he reached out to open the door for her, a flicker of smugness beneath the gesture. "You’re lucky you’re half-decent at your job."

Just a few blocks by foot and they were there — tucked into the bar of one of Nolan’s go-to spots for when he couldn’t be arsed to make the longer drive to one of the pubs closer to his own place. With their order in and a Guinness already sweating in front of him, the place was nearly empty save for a couple of stragglers and the bartender. Apparently, Tuesday nights weren’t high demand for late-night drinking — which, frankly, Nolan had a hard time understanding. Though, which evening he took himself out to get properly fucked up more or less depended on things other than the day of the week. "Mmh -- I almost bought a boat over the weekend. I tell you that?" he remarked, fingers resting lazily around the base of his glass, amused grin on his face. "Real good deal. It was, like, brand spankin' new. Fit ten people, a bar area and bedroom down below. Got real close -- 'til I remembered I ain't got a place to park the damn thing. I'm already on my landlord's shit list, don't need to add to that by havin' a huge hunk of metal taking up four parking spaces six outta seven days of the week."

Eyes remained fixed on the document in front of her, wondering if she read it for a third time it'd somehow manifest the information that she waned it to contain. Heels long since kicked off and her legs tucked up beside her in some attempt to get comfortable. But the truth was this kind of night quietened her restless energy more than anything else, focus zoned in on what was in front of her instead of looking for the next source of excitement. "Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first fifty times." He was right but that didn't mean she needed it drilled into her. If she didn't know him so well she might have found it insulting that he felt the need to repeat himself but she knew it was just him processing their best course of action. "Don't worry, my lips are sealed." Though perhaps he could be somewhat ( but only somewhat ) forgiven for being sceptical that she could keep her mouth shut. She was so good at letting it run, after all. But her work had always been an anomaly in that, realising quickly that information was power and she wasn't about to give any of it away freely or easily.

The clatter was enough for her to finally look up, eyes narrowing at him for the sudden noise but they immediately softened at the mention of the time. Shit, it was. "Generally how the passage of time works." Dry but she flashed him a smile, she'd gotten lost in the work too after all. The papers in her had were sat down, arms stretching over her head before she rolled her head from side to side to try to work out the kink that she'd earnt after too long hunched over. "Pub, always pub." Quick glance was sent his way as if she couldn't believe he'd suggested anything else. "I need a beer or maybe a whole bottle of wine." Both sounded equally good as the urge to unwind hit her. Hands smoothed the hair she'd tousled absentmindedly when she'd been lost in documents.

As she stood, a slower more languid movement than usual, she straightened out her skirt before padding over to his desk. Nose wrinkled slightly at the state of it, fingers already inching towards a stack she couldn't help but straighten. Once she'd succumbed to doing one she was unable to resist organising more, hand moving slowly but deliberately in case he had some sort of maverick system going. It just looked like chaos to her. "Your treat though, as compensation for keeping me so late." Smile was flashed, full of faux sweetness. Before he could argue with her very reasonable suggestion she started to move to grab her bag and both their coats.

[nolanfitz]

"Hm." Nolan’s brows lifted, a flicker of thought behind the gesture. "Organizations like the Network? They don’t make those kinds of mistakes." It wasn’t meant to reassure her. If anything, it was a casual observation—one rooted in years of off-and-on dealings with their people. Out of all the syndicates running the LA underground, the Network was one of the few that operated with a spine of steel and a brain to match. "What—murder and sabotage ain't your thing?" he quipped, raising his glass again before taking another slow sip. Maybe he should’ve been more shaken by what went down on that yacht—by the blood spilt, the body discovered, the sheer weight of the implications that spread over the evening—but Nolan had never been one to rattle easily. Dwelling on the chaos didn’t pay the bills. Flipping it into leverage? That did. "I’ll neither confirm nor deny that statement, lass. But let’s just say—we definitely have that reputation for a reason."

"Maybe it's nice to hear anyway though." Rachel gave him a smile as she felt like it didn't hurt to be honest about enjoying compliments. It was certainly not like it was precisely a compliment, but her company being wanted was nice. "It's funny, I think that there are about twelve other people who asked me the same if not similar questions that night. I guess someone made a mistake in putting me on their list." Rachel definitely was shocked especially when she had seen some of the other invited guests including the Attorney General who just happened to be her college boyfriend. "My literary agent got an invite for me, networking was kind of her goal. So now I have an excuse as to why I don't like going to networking events at least." She smiled, trying to keep it light, although what happened that night still felt like a puzzle with a large amount of pieces missing. "Ah so you're thriving then. That sounds about typical for a lawyer. Someone's tragedy is always a lawyer's gain." Rachel poked fun a bit, knowing there were plenty of cutthroat lawyer jokes that she could give him that he'd probably heard plenty of times before.

[nolanfitz]

Contrary to popular belief, Nolan didn’t hold any real contempt for his former boss. Even during those few grueling years when she rode his ass like a drill sergeant and he returned the favor by exploiting every loophole and bending every rule just short of breaking them—he couldn’t deny she’d made him sharper. Smarter. Meaner, maybe. But better. Whether the lessons she taught were intentional or not, he’d taken them to heart, and somewhere in the chaos of their push-pull dynamic, Nolan had carved out the kind of lawyer he was today. Now, of course, they found themselves on opposite sides of the courtroom—symbolically, these days, given her elevated position within the city—which only fueled the mutual disdain they wore like armor. Still, he’d be lying if he said Breslin hadn’t left a mark, and even if his motivations were typically pure, he wasn't outright out to get her. Not at the moment, at least.

"They rarely do." He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, absently running his palm over the stubble on his cheek, trying to suppress the mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips when she broke out the tumblers. "Mum's the word. Funny — the office has changed, but the crystal sure hasn't." Old habits died hard, even when you were in charge of the wellbeing of an entire city. Nolan twisted the cap off the bottle with a soft pop, pouring the whiskey into each glass with an easy familiarity. He didn’t wait for a toast—just raised his glass halfway before leaning back into the chair, eyes flicking back to her. "How she doin' these days anyway, hm?" Her wife, he meant. "I beg to differ. My week has been great. Strays to you means money to me." He sipped, lazy in posture but sharp in tone, the usual glint of smugness just beneath it. "I know better than to ask what it is that you know, but — at least tell me you got somethin' good. 'Else I wager we'll be finishing this bottle within the hour and the smell of indignity on your breath will get you in hot water with the wife before I ever could."

Some things never changed. Their jobs and titles, their offices, sure--but still Nolan eased into her office with confidence infuriatingly, unfortunately, earned, and she had half a mind to dismiss him less than politely until her gaze dropped to the bottle of expensive whiskey. He was smart, she'd give him that much, and it was perhaps why he found himself on the receiving end of her wrath years ago. Forever a yes, but-- on her lips as he cut a clear line from point A to point B, even at the expensive of respectability and morality in her eyes. The most clever pain in the ass ever to work for her. A muscle in her jaw feathered as she studied him with sharp blue eyes, still half-tempted to throw him out and continue on with her miserable day, but instead she relented, slouching somewhat as she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I have a feeling the coming weeks won't get better," she said finally, her tone dropping slightly as she allowed the exhaustion to seep in. As he dropped into the empty on the opposite side of her desk, she leaned down and opened one of the drawers to produce a pair of crystal tumblers, then placed them on the desk with a serious expression. "If you tell my wife, I will make it look like an accident," she warned, then pushed the pair of them towards him so he could pour. "I doubt your week has been considerably better than mine--every lawyer I know either wants to know what happened or is somehow catching strays over it."

[nolanfitz]

“Most, not all. And you know just as well as I do—money talks, especially to the ones who already have too much of it. Wouldn’t take much to twist their attendance into something messy. Coercion, false pretenses…whatever sticks best.” Nolan didn’t need to spell it out, but that was half the fun. Their conversations were always part intel, part chess game. He tipped the glass in her direction, voice casual, but edged with something sharper. “Might be your best move, honestly. Get ahead of it before someone else spins the narrative for you.”

He took another sip of whiskey, the burn of it grounding, though it didn’t quite snuff out the amused  chuckle that slipped from his lips. There weren’t many people Nolan did business with who made him feel like he could loosen his tie without consequence—but Esra had always had a knack for balancing wit with wariness, even in darker matters. After all --at his core, beneath the tailored suits and charm, Nolan was still that mouthy, scrappy kid who drank more than he should and talked even when he shouldn’t. And in Esra’s company, that version of him tended to slip through the cracks more than he liked to admit. "What? What do you mean you people?” he shot back, lifting a brow in faux offense. “I don’t get VIP access to the yacht?” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh. “After all the drinks we’ve shared, Esra. Here I was thinking we had somethin’ real.”

He set the empty glass down with a soft clink, absentmindedly turning it between his fingers as he leaned back a little, eyes on her. “I believe you can do anything you set your mind to,” he remarked sarcastically. “I wouldn’t say it makes things harder for me. Richer? Definitely.” And busier, though Nolan was always busy—it was just the flavor of the chaos that changed. “This ain’t my first rodeo, Es, and it sure as hell ain’t yours either,” he added, tapping the rim of the glass. “We’ve both fought fire with fire before and came out on top. No reason this time should be any different.”

"Noted." Both on the advice and because Esra knew that she would be buying the next round since neither of them worked pro-bono. Granted if push came to shove, she would undoubtedly work this hard to clear Cami's name even without a check, but considering the depth of Nico's pockets... She wanted a car for this stretch. "Most of the guests were extremely high profile, we hand selected anyone who wouldn't want TMZ to reveal they were in attendance." She sighed, knowing it might not be enough to stop those who didn't live in gilded mansions. "I'll talk to Corvin and get his read on it, see who's litigious enough to ignore optics and cause a stir."

A warning look cuts between them on impulse, but there was clearly no venom in it and she almost smiled while turning back to her drink. This was precisely why Esra agreed to an evening out with Nolan amidst the chaos and general sleep deprivation, he offered a certain brand of levity that no one around her could muster right now. "The only blood will be mine when I cut my hand from popping too many champagne bottles," she replied from behind the rim of her glass. "That boat's going to be my one-way escape from you people."

Idiots and the LAPD might as well have been synonymous at this point. "So glare at them and say nothing, two things I'm completely unskilled at." Now she did smile, albeit small and laced with self-deprecation. "No, but I was part of the group who planned the party and now I'm running a smear campaign against their entire unit. It paints an easy target if they want to be frivolous and make my life harder. Which in turn makes your life harder."

[nolanfitz]

Nolan immediately let out a snort, shaking his head.  “Think I could be a hell of a lot worse, considering my one and only employee’s a mouthy little brat,” he said, tone rough around the edges but laced with something softer—something dangerously close to fondness. His brows lifted as he held her gaze, meeting the tilt of her chin and that spark in her eye with a quiet challenge of his own. There was always that flicker of rebellion in her, that stubborn defiance that could put them toe to toe at the best and worst of times. CC had a way of pulling things out of him—oftentimes it was frustration, rage, and sometimes it something closer to amusement. The setting, the hour, maybe even the buzz from the drink still lingering in his veins—whatever it was, he wasn’t quite as quick to bite tonight. “What—because I’d wipe the floor with whatever half-baked lawsuit you threw at me? Let me guess, your definition of 'fun' growin' up was just any game you were winning.”

He couldn’t help the way his brows lifted, a low laugh slipping past his lips at her next words. “Oh, okay, right. An eight, huh?” Delight didn’t quite cover it; no, this was something richer, something smug that curled at the corners of his mouth and took up residence there. She was tipsy—of course, had to be. It was the only explanation for the way she was even able to go near the topic of him being attractive. And by God, she just kept going. He turned then, shifting his weight as he leaned back against the railing now, no longer facing the water but her instead. His sleeves were rolled up with an easy, absent gesture, arms crossing over his chest in that self-satisfied way he did when he knew he’d won, even if neither of them were sure what game was being played. “So, as long as I keep my trap shut and my shirts unbuttoned to my fuckin' sternum, I can get the Catherine Cooper stamp of approval?” he teased, grin sharp and entirely too pleased with himself—fully aware she was about to knock him down a peg or two for that one. Probably three, more like.

Still, like the gentleman he occasionally pretended to be, Nolan slid a hand behind her upper back and began to guide her away from the railing, toward the front of the ship where they'd just docked. “Alright, lass,” he muttered, voice low with a thread of levity, “let’s get your ass home before that hole you're diggin’ yourself goes any deeper and I start thinkin’ you actually enjoy my company.”

Scoff left her at his words before she smiled sweetly at him, insults given in overly honeyed words. "Luckily for you, I love my job. Even if my boss is a self satisfied, workaholic asshole." She grinned then, chin tilting up at him in familiar rebellion, eyes remaining fixed on him for whatever reaction he gave only vaguely aware that the view she was supposed to be looking at was behind her. Shoulders rolled into a quick shrug, shaking the thought off more than anything else. "Besides, if I wanted to make some quick cash there's at least a dozen others I could sue before you. You'd somehow manage to suck all the fun out of it."

Usually eyes would have narrowed at his teasing but this time she just nodded, agreeing with him just to take the fun out of it for him. "You bet. Us tens gotta stick together - by that I mean me and Cher. You're more like a -" Face screwed up slightly as though she was weighing him up in spite of herself, begrudging number eventually given. "- eight, when you're not talking." The alcohol that was somehow still in her system after their little timeout in the dark ( a testament to just how much she had drank ) almost dared her to look again. Gaze flickered over him again, the lack of inhibitions making her change her mind. "Maybe a nine in that outfit." God, she needed to learn when to think before she spoke. But the compliment was out there and any damage control she could do would feel clumsy and haphazard, not that it stopped her from trying. "Still hinges on the mouth shut part of it though."

[nolanfitz]

Nolan didn’t bother knocking—never did when he paid his old boss a visit. Just eased the door open and stepped inside like he still had a key, like he actually belonged there. “Mayor Royce,” he greeted, his perpetually smug grin somehow larger than normal, something he knew probably wouldn't help her already obvious bad mood. He held up a bottle of whiskey in his hand—something nice aged, something expensive he'd tasked CC with picking up earlier that day (more than likely it'd been so expensive because the paralegal had probably helped herself to one, too -- but there were only so many battles he was in the mood to fight). “Brought you something. Figured you could use a drink. Or twelve.”

He set it on the desk without waiting for an invitation, eyes flicking to the shredded edge of a police report with a slight tilt of his head. “Tough week, huh? I’d say I’m surprised, but -- well, 'LA's finest' doesn't actually hold the same weight as it used to." Though Nolan hadn't been involved in the Family's 'legal strategy' -- that had been left up to Mia Barone this time around -- he figured that the weapon going missing was more than likely not a mistake. Part of him had a feeling that Breslin knew that, too. "And no, I don’t need anything. Just thought I’d check in. Old times’ sake.” A pause, helping himself to the seat across from her desk. “Besides, I missed seein' that look on your face when you’re trying real hard not to throw something at me.”

LOCATION: breslin's office TAG: @nolanfitz

Now after decades spent working with the public in some capacity, Breslin had reigned in the knee-jerk flash of anger that formerly provoked loud, sharp words, but she'd be lying if she said the impulse wasn't there, waiting. After an hour-long phone call with a particularly dim-witted but wildly tenacious reporter, she was at the end of her rope. She'd shredded the corner of a copy of the police report following Camilla Barone's release and now sat tipped back in her chair to a precarious degree, one hand in her hair and the other white-knuckling her office phone as she begged whatever god might exist to end the call. Blessedly, it did, and after she heard the line disconnect, she dropped it onto the receiver with perhaps a little more force than necessary. A break was not to be had, however--no sooner than she exhaled the breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding, Nolan Fitzpatrick crossed the threshold.

"Fitzpatrick," she greeted stiffly, still leaned back in her chair. "To what do I owe the..." She trailed off and frowned gently. "Did you need something?"

[nolanfitz]

He let out a laugh, reacting as if Sully had cracked a joke instead of tossed an insult straight at his chest. This kind of visit wasn’t exactly unexpected — Nolan’s office saw its fair share of people who thought showing up unannounced and puffed full of attitude would scare him into compliance. Like clockwork. His business had always been a revolving door: stretches of relative quiet broken up by men who mistook violence for leverage. Truth was, Nolan had played the game long enough to know intimidation worked both ways. He wasn’t above veiled threats, wasn’t shy about getting his hands dirty when it came down to it — but his real weapon? The one that kept him standing when others fell? It was the fact that people looked at him and didn’t see a threat. That was their first mistake.

“Funny you say that,” he replied smoothly, reclining in his chair like they were discussing the weather. “You know somethin’ interesting about cockroaches?” He laced his fingers together, voice calm. “They keep themselves very clean.” Maybe it was cowardice to some — the meticulous self-preservation, the obsessively dotted I’s and crossed T’s — but to Nolan, it was the reason he was still here.

"Right. Heard he helped himself to the seat. How’s that going, by the way? Everyone thrilled with how the vote turned out?" Nolan asked pointedly, knowing very well that there had been no vote. "Actually, it's more than likely that you only know what Nico allows you to. And now that he’s Don? Those circles are tighter than ever. No one can fully trust a man on a throne -- 'specially not the one guarding it." He gave a slight shrug, the picture of mock sympathy. "People talk to me in ways they don’t talk to each other. To you. They need me – and not just your people."

He leaned forward then, elbows on the desk, grin still in place but stripped of all its usual charm. "I guess that’s my long-winded way of saying—if you fuck with me, Sully, you’re gonna find out just how many people are invested in keeping me alive." A pause. "Sound good, lad?"

As Nolan continued to speak, Sully paced aimlessly around the lawyer's office, one hand tucked comfortably into his pocket, while the other absently reached for a rather hefty law book, flipping idly through its pages. "You know," Sullivan remarked after allowing a pause to linger between them. "I've always admired your dedication to self preservation." His eyes still focused on the book in his hand, as he continued. "It's like watching a cockroach scurry under a fridge. Fascinating, truly. Yet, so utterly repulsive." With that, Sullivan snapped the book closed, and set it back on the shelf before turning to face Nolan, unable to help the humorless chuckle that escaped him when the man mentioned legal privlieges. He stepped forward, closing the distance toward the empty chair that sat across from Nolan's desk, then settled comfortably into it. "Allow me to simplify things." Sully crossed one leg over the other as he eased back, focusing his gaze onto the lawyer in front of him.

"Either those videos find their way into my possession before I leave this office, or I can assure you, Nolan. Your worries about the Bar Association will become seemingly insignificant compared to the much more immediate concerns awaiting you when Nico Barone determines you're no longer worth tolerating."

[nolanfitz]

"You know what? Yes, I would love one, actually — that’d be just about the nicest gift you’ve ever given me. Matter of fact, that’d be the only gift you’ve ever given me—" Nolan barely managed to wedge the words in edgewise, CC’s voice already cresting at full volume like it always did when they got into it. Not that he ever backed down — these little back-and-forths were practically built into the rhythm of their workdays. It was all about who could outpace the other, who could get the last word in without totally derailing the conversation. “Why not? I do it every damn day.” The way he saw it, being resourceful was a cornerstone of practicing law -- well, at least the way he practiced it. He squinted, one hand dragging down his bearded cheek as her voice hit another high note that stabbed directly into the headache he’d been nursing since sunrise. “The morale in this place is low because every time you yell at me, your voice goes up eight octaves like a fuckin’ mouse."

Sweet victory—or maybe defeat, he was never entirely sure—when CC finally stepped aside. The side-eye he’d been serving softened even further at the mention of coffee. “It’s always a fuckin’ hostage situation with you,” Nolan muttered, though the words lacked their usual bite, undercut by the faint flicker of something almost genuine in his eyes. He slung his briefcase onto the nearest couch, trading it out for the to-go cup in her hand. “’Shit’ like, rugged but in a charming, handsome kind of way? Or ‘shit’ like I look like I stole this suit off a corpse?” It was rhetorical, mostly—but he knew better than to think she wouldn’t answer it anyway. “No, no—I’ll be fine once the pills I did take kick in. Don’t need to make my week any longer by stacking more on top of it.” A beat. Then, with a raise of a brow: “Tartarus? Really? Why not just say’ ‘hell’ like a normal person?”

The mention of all his supposed good deeds towards her does nothing but make her irritation rise, them meaning nothing to her when she was asking for something entirely different. "You need me to get you a St Anthony's necklace? Because you're missing the point." Sharp and sarcastic, she lets the words hang between them for a moment before continuing once again. "Just because I can overcome adverse situations with my boundless resourcefulness doesn't mean I should have to. Do you know hard it is to keep the morale of this place up when the paperwork's turning itself into my own personal Tartarus?"

"I have and I will again." It was to be expected when he knew how to press each and every one of her buttons. But she was satisfied with her victory and so decided to be gracious with it. She'd work on the regular thing part of it later. "You can." With a turn on her heel she moved out of his way, grabbing the coffee cup she'd been withholding from him until she'd achieved her desired result. "And you can have the coffee I picked up for you." It was only when she went to hand it over to him that she looked at him properly, her focus too caught up in her lecture to shift to him before then. The hangover was clear and her head shook slightly, in both sympathy and exasperation. Day ahead was starting to look a whole lot longer. "You look like shit." Frank observation rather than an insult, she decided to take pity on him. "There's more painkillers in your drawer. I can push your meetings back if you want."

[nolanfitz]

Nolan caught sight of Cassidy out of the corner of his eye just as he was finishing a set, towel slung around his neck, sweat clinging lightly to his brow. He hadn’t expected to see anyone familiar this early in the morning— least of all Cass, who looked like he’d sprinted straight through a panic attack and landed on a treadmill.

He raised a brow at the greeting, accepting the back-pat with a dry chuckle. “Hey yourself,” he muttered, tossing the towel onto a nearby bench. “Was planning to hit the bag for a bit. Get some of the bullshit outta my system before I say something in court later that gets me put in fuckin' contempt.” His gaze lingered for a beat too long, studying the younger man with the sharp eye of someone who made a living reading people. Cass was smiling — but it looked glued on, shaky at the edges.

“You alright?” Nolan asked, voice casual. “You look like you’re runnin’ from something. Or chasin’ it.” He tipped his head toward the treadmills. Cass could say whatever he wanted — Nolan wouldn’t press. The kid’s business was his own. Still, he couldn’t help the instinct to pry. Old habit. Even the smallest, most harmless-looking thread could unravel into something useful. Opportunity came in stranger packages. Besides, considering how the lawyer had helped him out once upon a time, he had a guess about what the hell could have been making him appear so on edge.

closed starter for @nolanfitz location: pulse fitness.

if there was one thing cassidy hated the most but still attended was the gym. he wasn't much of a fan of sweating or picking up large weights. he only went to the occasionally to show face with the mc and release any built up tension or energy that he had. he had been feeling particularly anxious and jittery; a side effect he's come realize is a result of the drugs he's been taking. it made him want more. he had tried calling tommy for some help, but there was no answer.

there was no relief from the anxiety he was feeling. only thing that calmed him down or gave him some sort of peace was speed walking on the treadmill. And that’s what he has been doing for the past thirty minutes. He was exhausted and sweating far too much. So that was sort of a bad thing. The good though, was that he was feeling slightly better.

cassie steps off of the treadmill, chest heaving and his breath rigged. he looks around the gym to see if he spots anyone he knows. that’s when cassidy sees nolan. he walks over to him, a smile plastered on his face. “hey man.” cassidy says walking up to him and patting him on the back. “working out today or are you going to box? i’ve seen you in the ring before.” there a pause, stepping back from him. “how’s it going, man?”

[nolanfitz]

It’d been one of those days — the kind that started with a mountain of paperwork and somehow ended with an even bigger one. Client meetings came and went in rapid succession, each more exhausting than the last, a carousel of egos, complaints, and barely-contained chaos that made his head spin. By the time he’d finished arguing his final case in court, his throat was raw, his voice frayed from hours of sharp rebuttals and fast-talking finesse.

Even for someone like Nolan — a man who thrived on pressure, on the thrill of turning chaos into currency — today had wrung him dry. Which was exactly why he’d been looking forward to the moment he could head back to his office and shed his tailored armor in favor of something looser, more lived-in, before heading to the nearest pub. The hangover that might follow tomorrow? Not even a blip on his radar. He’d earned this.

What he hadn't earned, though — at least not in his opinion — was the full-body jump scare of finding someone already in his office. His office. The one outfitted with a top-shelf security system he’d paid far too much for. “Jesus—” The word shot out of him on instinct, his body flinching hard as the door swung open to reveal Jack, parked in one of his chairs with a knife in hand like she owned the place, like she hadn’t just scaled the building and let herself in through a goddamn window. “Have you ever heard of making an appointment?” he snapped, heart still hammering against his ribs. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before shutting the door behind him and leaning against it for a beat, trying to steady the adrenaline spike. “You know, I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of people treating my office like it’s a goddamn drive-thru,” he muttered, crossing the room to toss his briefcase down with all the ceremony of a man who had just about had it. One hand scrubbed against his bearded jaw, his gaze narrowed. “What the hell are you on about?”

@nolanfitz location: his office

Scaling the building certainly hadn't been all that difficult, the conjoined buildings had certainly taken the fun out of it but it was a step up from waltzing through the front door. Jack certainly wasn't the kind to announce herself too early. The window she'd jimmied free remained propped open, letting something of a breeze flit through the room, adorned with a great many boring books and files, only some of which she chose to flick her way through as she awaited the imminent return of the man she was looking for. Her cold demeanor nothing notably different than usual - even while beneath the surface the nightshade was searing rage.

He'd been an inevitable target; if anything, Jack thought that they'd waited a little too long to suffer him the consequence of taking on the Barone and The Family themselves, but Taylor had an unnecessary death. Her best friend at the cost of Mia's stupid little sister catching a bullet to the gut. Throwing herself down into Nolan's chair, she kicked her feet up on the desk, uncaring of whatever files the dust on her boots might have dirtied and toyed mindlessly with the blade in her hand. The burn within her veins no better than the itch to spill blood that mutilated the former into something rather demented. However much she might have appraised the retaliation; the fact that it cost her the closest thing she'd had to a best friend, ever, was ... -- well, unforgivable in her mind.

The door opened, the nightshade doing little more than pointing the blade towards him in the least threatening manor, sunlight glinting like bullets off the sharpened edge, "Time to cash in, Fitzy," as if he owed her a damn thing. One thing the man was, was prudent and not once had he ever failed to pay up on the little favors he asked of her. However, this time it clung to the fine line between business and personal - highly personal. "Every head you've asked for on a silver platter - now you're gonna' get me one."

[nolanfitz]

where: nolan's office who: @ccxcooper & nolan fitzpatrick

The office had long since closed for the day, but the low hum of the city outside hadn’t let up—not that Nolan ever noticed anymore. His tie had been ditched hours ago, top buttons undone, sleeves rolled past his elbows as he leaned over his catastrophe of a desk, CC seated on the couch not too far off. The overhead lights cast a soft glow over the mess of folders, printouts, and that goddamn flash drive containing the video they still hadn’t decided what to do with. Between that and the meetings they'd been setting up for people interested in pursuing some sort of pain and suffering case against the Barones -- ones that would ultimately go nowhere with a hefty payment on the Family's behalf -- it was safe to say there was a lot that needed to get done.

“It’s too soon to let anyone know we’ve got this,” Nolan said, for what had to be the hundredth time that night, leaning back in his chair as he turned the options over in his head. “Especially with Nico Barone stepping into the Don seat. Dropping this now? It’s noise — and not the kind that does us any favors.” If anything, it’d make him look desperate. Weak. Like he was trying to play a two-pair against a table full of royal flushes.

Tossing his pen back onto the desk with a clatter, Nolan leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand down his face before glancing at his watch. A low whistle slipped past his lips. "Shit. Is it really almost fuckin' midnight?" Time had gotten away from him again — no surprise there. Opportunity had a way of swallowing his attention whole, especially when it smelled like dollar signs. A hand settled over his stomach as the dull ache of hunger finally caught up with him, and he groaned. "Christ. I say we either order in or find a pub somewhere close by. I need food almost as much as I need a fuckin' Guinness."

[nolanfitz]

A real smile tugged at his lips this time—genuine, unforced. Nolan knew Nico's word was solid, and his money even more so. So really, what the hell did he have to complain about? A few bottom-feeder clients chasing pain-and-suffering payouts (the kind that barely covered his dry cleaning) didn’t even register next to what Nico—and by extension, the Family—was putting on the table. That was real business. Everything else? Just noise. "I'll have CC make some calls, and give you a number once I weed out all the nonsense." After all, he wasn't going to set up meetings that were more or less meaningless -- no, he needed to speak to the people with real intent, with something to say other than 'oh, what happened was very scary'. With that, he stood, extending a hand for Nico to shake. "Thanks for stopping by. Always a pleasure doing business with you, Barone."

He nodded lightly - perhaps even more obviously, as Nolan reiterated what he had asked of him. Or, scratch that, told him to do. This was Nico's way of twisting the situation to his advantage, it might have been a loose end, one that didn't amount to much, but he wasn't going to stop actively looking for something that directed him into the place he wanted to be in. Nico wanted every lead he could that touched The Hollow, because even if he couldn't yet see who was behind the catastrophic events that had already taken place, he was willing to do what he could to get a tight grip. As he listened, he didn't even have to give that grace of acknowledgment to know that Nolan was after filling his own pockets. That taking advantage? It worked both ways. "Name your price, I'll come through once I get what I want." he'd need solid information, which he knew Fitzpatrick had no problem getting.

[nolanfitz]

A simple smirk tugged at his lips, noting the exhaustion evident in her tone, and truthfully he couldn't blame her. He was halfway running on empty, too -- except while he was seizing opportunity, she was doing damage control. One of those things was a bit more palatable than the other. He brought the beer to his lips, a shrug pulling at his shoulders as he considered. "One thing I can say is that people love talking 'pain and suffering' lawsuits after a night like that. Easy to file, higher risk of settlement," he gave her a pointed look, "if it ain't me representin' them, it'll be someone else. Might wanna get your lawyers to start dotting their 'I's, crossing their 't's." Giving her the head's up wasn't so much for her benefit as it was for his -- perhaps an arrangement could be made, one that would steer him away from that workload. The ball was in the Network's court there, though, as his words may have implied. 

Then there was the case of the little video he'd had CC take of the fight, something that he was keeping close to his chest. For now, at least. "Wow, plannin' on business being that good, huh? Remember us little guys when you're scrubbing blood off the deck." It was a rather macabre thing to joke about, but emotional responses weren't something that Nolan was practiced in -- not unless anger was on the table. Until then, he'd keep on with general insensitivity, which probably didn't even matter right then seeing as no one was crying over Enzo Barone. Not really.

"They should know to by now, but they're gonna act like fuckin' idiots and keep hounding you anyway. Better you just give me a ring anyway if they want you in, and don't say anything until I get there." A pause. "Better yet, don't say anything even after I get there. This shit is getting pulled and twisted every which way, like a bad fuckin' handjob." He let out a breath, bringing his drink to his lips once more before asking, "any particular reason you're thinkin' you may get called in again? Should I start preparing for a headache?"

Exhaustion seeps into Esra's veins after multiple all nighters in a row, having napped sporadically on her sofa and eaten less than an overly picky toddler. Running down contacts at various media agencies, flooding socials with alternative content, calling in favors... Upholding her promise takes a toll on the body, but Cami's reputation is worth the trouble. And, more selfishly, she doesn't want to lose the marginal trust Nico placed in her to execute on this. Alcohol is probably a poor choice in this current state, but she'll lament in hindsight.

"Depends on what you have to share." Noncommittal as ever, although she leaves the door ajar because when is talking shop ever truly off the table for them? Right now, the more information at her disposal the better. Rumors, allegations, a one-off Instagram post, she'll take it. "If you're asking whether a grisly murder has put me off of future yacht ownership, the answer is no." Rest in hell, Enzo Barone. From the bottom of her heart. "By the way, should I tell the cops to call you directly before they ask me to come in again? Don't want you suiting up without cause."

[nolanfitz]

Nolan smirked, glass tilted in her direction. “I figured that went without saying,” he remarked smoothly, taking a quick sip then. Honestly, there was little in this world that the lawyer did without an ulterior motive –ven if that motive was as simple as curiosity or keeping the upper hand. He was always playing the long game, always five moves ahead, and that didn’t stop even when he was with someone he considered an old friend, someone untethered to Los Angeles’ criminal underbelly that he now found himself thriving in. Who knows what she could have seen, what she could have heard, the little things in the pockets of her mind that he could make use of? But regardless of the outcome, at least he would get a good drink out of it. “Me neither,” he admitted, letting out a breath. “How’d you manage to snag an invite in the first place? Just – doesn’t seem like it’d be your scene. Y’know?” A shrug, asking then, “guessing you got a hell of a lotta inspiration for your next piece. Me? Nah, I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. People love hirin’ lawyers after disastrous events like that. Got CC with paperwork up her ass, though – she ain’t too happy with me right now.” His paralegal was invaluable to him, sure, but she did love to complain -- not that he didn't give her a reason to.

To say that the yacht party had been one of the wildest parties she had gone to in her life would be an understatement. Rachel kept thinking back to what Val had said to her near the beginning of the yacht party about the type of people who were at this party. It had felt like she was living out a crime thriller in real time and she had no idea how she'd been cast as a character. She found herself lost in thought even days after trying to piece together who was what, but of course she was at a total lost even still. She had no idea who the people were that they had mentioned or who was and wasn't involved and it felt like instead of red threads it was jumbled mess of knotted ball of yarn in her mind.

Rachel thought perhaps a visit to the bar might at least calm her nerves in one way or another so she happily accepted Nolan's invite. Her attention was drawn away of from her mind processing when the glass was placed in front of her and she gave him a smile as she took a sip of the elderberry martini. His words made her let out a small laugh. "And here I was thinking you were asking me to spend time together because of my sparkling personality." She was not naive in the least but appreciated the fact that he had reached out nonetheless. "Yeah, that was...a lot. I definitely can say that I've never experienced that before." Rachel spent most of her adult life writing about these types of things happening to other people and the cases that she tried her best to not glamorize in the same way crime typically was reported. "I'm still a bit shaken, what about you? Are you doing okay? I'm guessing you're rather busy at work?"

[nolanfitz]

MATT MURDOCK / DAREDEVIL

Daredevil: Born Again (2025) 01x07 "Art for Art's Sake"