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perpetual_motionTitle: Unorganized Snapshots of Prep School Life: Mike Gets a Clue, Kind Of [13/?]
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Law & Order
Pairing: Ed/Lupo, Jack/Mike Cutter, Mike/Connie
Rating: PG
Summary: Mikes get up late, and starts getting a clue.
Disclaimer: They're not paying me. Hell, I'm not sure they even know this is out here.
Author's Note: As per the usual, some credit for this goes to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amazonqueenkate, who was chatting with me when I laid down the basics. Mike Cutter, in high school, was probably an awkward kid, and the only person who really got him was his mock trial coach, Mr. McCoy. If you're not connecting the dots yet, you may want to get off the trolley. In short: High School AU, because it can be done.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve
Unorganized Snapshots of Prep School Life: Mike Gets a Clue, Kind of [13/?]
By Perpetual Motion
Mike wakes up one morning to discover that he’d been so tired the night before he hadn’t remembered to turn on his alarm. He’d slept through first period, and he had exactly seven minutes to get up, get showered, get dressed, and get to Mr. McCoy’s class.
He made it in eleven.
“Mr. Cutter,” Mr. McCoy greets him without looking up from his notes. “You’re late.”
“I forgot to set my alarm,” Mike explains before he can stop himself. He hates giving explanations to teachers. They always think they’re excuses.
“And your roommates?”
Ed leaves early to run laps at the track. Lupo leaves early to have breakfast before he begins his cafeteria monitoring duties. “I’m the last one to leave in the mornings.”
“I see,” Mr. McCoy nods and makes a note in his attendance book. “Take your seat.”
Mike slides into his desk, relieved and slightly flushed from the way everyone in the room is still staring at him. Connie gives him a sympathetic smile and slides her notebook to the edge of her desk so that he can scrawl the notes he’s missed.
“Thanks,” Mike whispers.
“You’re welcome,” Connie whispers in return.
Mike looks to the front of the room and blinks when he discovers that Mr. McCoy is watching him as he lectures. He sinks against his seat, shoulders coming up as he lowers his head, and he doesn’t offer any answers or information when Mr. McCoy asks for them during the run of class. The bell ringing almost makes Mike sigh in relief.
“Mr. Cutter, if you could wait for just a minute.”
“Sure, Mr. McCoy,” Mike says as he feels his stomach drop. He tucks his notebook into his backpack and walks to the front of the room, standing in front of Mr. McCoy’s desk. He tries not to wring his hands when Mr. McCoy looks at him.
“Relax, Mr. Cutter. Lateness happens to everyone.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. McCoy reaches into his desk and pulls out a candy bar. He slides it across the desk. “I assume you missed breakfast.”
“Yes.” Mike takes the candy bar and tears open the wrapper. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Mr. McCoy pulls out his hall pass pad and scrawls his name on the bottom line. He tears off the page and hands it to Mike. “Get going.”
“Yes, sir.” Mike looks at the hall pass for a moment. “Mr. McCoy?”
“Yes?”
Mike wants to ask if he keeps candy bars in his desk all the time. Mike wants to ask if he gives them out to everyone who’s late and missed breakfast. Mike wants to ask if he’s allowed to ask a teacher questions like that. “Thanks,” he says instead of asking anything.
“Mr. Cutter,” Mr. McCoy says just as Mike grabs for the doorknob. “We’ve spoken about your undershirts.”
It’s all Mike can do not to groan aloud. He already has two demerits for lack of an undershirt, and he hasn’t yet come up with an argument for Mr. McCoy that will let him get away with not wearing one. They bunch and itch and Mike hates the way the extra layer makes him sweat just enough to feel grimy at the end of the day. “I managed to get to class forty-five seconds earlier by not taking the time to put one on.”
Mr. McCoy smiles. “Not quite.”
“Another demerit?”
“Until I hear an explanation that can be backed with evidence that isn’t completely self-serving, yes.”
“I’ll work on it.”
“I look forward to the polished results.”
Mike nods goodbye and lets himself into the hallway. It’s nearly deserted, being thirty seconds from the late bell, and he hustles down the hall to Music Appreciation. He steps into Mr. Briscoe’s room as the bell finishes ringing but saves himself from any wry remarks by handing over his hall pass.
“Take your seat,” Mr. Briscoe orders as he tucks the hall pass into his roll book.
Lupo gives Mike a questioning squint as Mike sits down. He writes in the margin of his notebook and angles it so Mike can see it.
EVERYTHING OKAY?
Mike writes in his own margin.
ALARM WASN’T ON. RAN LATE.
Lupo’s reply is eloquent in its simplicity.
SHIT.
Mike shrugs to let Lupo know it’s all worked out and finds that he has a hard time concentrating when Mr. Briscoe starts to lecture. Music Appreciation, which Mike always thought should be boring, is actually fun with Mr. Briscoe. He’s got a sarcastic sense of humor and doesn’t think anything of taking a few jabs at some of the supposed rules. But Mike’s mind is wandering, and he’s considering the lack of his undershirt. There has to be a way to argue it, he thinks, that’ll make Mr. McCoy get off his back.
“Mr. Cutter, give me an example of modern music that draws on classical music.” Mr. Briscoe’s tone holds a knowing note that he’s caught Mike making notes about something else.
“Does Queen count?” Mike asks, trying to sound interested.
Mr. Briscoe looks pained. “I’m going to say yes, and no one gets to call me old because I control your grades.” There’s a smattering of laughter around the room. “Nice save, Mr. Cutter.”
Mike returns Mr. Briscoe’s wry smile and looks at his notes again once Mr. Briscoe calls on someone else. He’s got the basic outline for a non-undershirt argument, but it’s all based on personal comfort. Mike crosses out the argument and turns to a new page.
Lupo has to nudge him to get him to pack up and move to fourth hour, and it’s halfway through Mr. Logan’s lecture on the ethics of necessary violence that Mike finally finds his point. He almost wants to shout for joy, except that Mr. Logan is mid-sentence and Mike’s certain he’s hit his embarrassment quota for the day.
Lunch is after fourth hour, which means Mike can slide into Mr. McCoy’s room and have a one-on-one conversation. “Saves water,” he says as an opener.
Mr. McCoy is packing his briefcase, but he pauses and gives Mike a shrewd look. “Explain,” he orders.
“The school handbook states that undershirts are a requirement for all students as part of their uniform. The handbook further clarifies that the undershirt should be clean.” Mike pauses and raises his eyebrows. Mr. McCoy nods at him to continue. “This means each student wears five undershirts a week, adding half a load of laundry to their weekly total. Most students do their laundry every two weeks, meaning that undershirts alone are responsible for roughly 500 loads of laundry a week. By not wearing my undershirts, I’m saving the school money on their water bill as well as saving water in general.”
Mr. McCoy’s eyebrows go up, and the beginnings of a smile slide across his face. “You’re arguing from an environmental standpoint?”
“And from a monetary standpoint.” Mike grins, proud of himself. “Well?”
“Not bad, Mr. Cutter.” Mr. McCoy closes his briefcase and lifts it off his desk. “However, you’re still required by the rules of this school to wear an undershirt.”
Mike sighs, “I know.”
“But I’ll give you a week’s grace for the effort.”
“Really?”
“You’ve earned it.”
A laugh breaks from Mike before he can stop it. He presses his lips together, embarrassed, but the way Mr. McCoy grins at him makes a chuckle escape. “Thanks.”
“Get to lunch, Mr. Cutter.”
Mike hurries out of the room, high on his accomplishment. It doesn’t hit him until he sits down between Ed and Lupo that he’d just spent two hours putting together an argument for no other reason than to show Mr. McCoy he could do it. Except that Mr. McCoy’s been the one showing him how to deliver an argument. He’d joined mock trial for that exact purpose.
“Mike,” Ed pokes Mike in the arm to get his attention. “You okay? You’re quiet.”
“Fine,” Mike says distractedly as things start to crystallize. “Just figuring some stuff out.”
“Need help?”
Mr. McCoy’s grin is stuck in Mike’s mind. He can’t shake it or the way it made him feel. The way the memory of it makes him half-hard. Shit. “No,” Mike hears himself tell Ed, “I think I’ve got it.”
What he’s going to do with it, however, is an issue to which he doesn’t have an answer.
Part Fourteen
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Law & Order
Pairing: Ed/Lupo, Jack/Mike Cutter, Mike/Connie
Rating: PG
Summary: Mikes get up late, and starts getting a clue.
Disclaimer: They're not paying me. Hell, I'm not sure they even know this is out here.
Author's Note: As per the usual, some credit for this goes to
amazonqueenkate, who was chatting with me when I laid down the basics. Mike Cutter, in high school, was probably an awkward kid, and the only person who really got him was his mock trial coach, Mr. McCoy. If you're not connecting the dots yet, you may want to get off the trolley. In short: High School AU, because it can be done.Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve
Unorganized Snapshots of Prep School Life: Mike Gets a Clue, Kind of [13/?]
By Perpetual Motion
Mike wakes up one morning to discover that he’d been so tired the night before he hadn’t remembered to turn on his alarm. He’d slept through first period, and he had exactly seven minutes to get up, get showered, get dressed, and get to Mr. McCoy’s class.
He made it in eleven.
“Mr. Cutter,” Mr. McCoy greets him without looking up from his notes. “You’re late.”
“I forgot to set my alarm,” Mike explains before he can stop himself. He hates giving explanations to teachers. They always think they’re excuses.
“And your roommates?”
Ed leaves early to run laps at the track. Lupo leaves early to have breakfast before he begins his cafeteria monitoring duties. “I’m the last one to leave in the mornings.”
“I see,” Mr. McCoy nods and makes a note in his attendance book. “Take your seat.”
Mike slides into his desk, relieved and slightly flushed from the way everyone in the room is still staring at him. Connie gives him a sympathetic smile and slides her notebook to the edge of her desk so that he can scrawl the notes he’s missed.
“Thanks,” Mike whispers.
“You’re welcome,” Connie whispers in return.
Mike looks to the front of the room and blinks when he discovers that Mr. McCoy is watching him as he lectures. He sinks against his seat, shoulders coming up as he lowers his head, and he doesn’t offer any answers or information when Mr. McCoy asks for them during the run of class. The bell ringing almost makes Mike sigh in relief.
“Mr. Cutter, if you could wait for just a minute.”
“Sure, Mr. McCoy,” Mike says as he feels his stomach drop. He tucks his notebook into his backpack and walks to the front of the room, standing in front of Mr. McCoy’s desk. He tries not to wring his hands when Mr. McCoy looks at him.
“Relax, Mr. Cutter. Lateness happens to everyone.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. McCoy reaches into his desk and pulls out a candy bar. He slides it across the desk. “I assume you missed breakfast.”
“Yes.” Mike takes the candy bar and tears open the wrapper. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Mr. McCoy pulls out his hall pass pad and scrawls his name on the bottom line. He tears off the page and hands it to Mike. “Get going.”
“Yes, sir.” Mike looks at the hall pass for a moment. “Mr. McCoy?”
“Yes?”
Mike wants to ask if he keeps candy bars in his desk all the time. Mike wants to ask if he gives them out to everyone who’s late and missed breakfast. Mike wants to ask if he’s allowed to ask a teacher questions like that. “Thanks,” he says instead of asking anything.
“Mr. Cutter,” Mr. McCoy says just as Mike grabs for the doorknob. “We’ve spoken about your undershirts.”
It’s all Mike can do not to groan aloud. He already has two demerits for lack of an undershirt, and he hasn’t yet come up with an argument for Mr. McCoy that will let him get away with not wearing one. They bunch and itch and Mike hates the way the extra layer makes him sweat just enough to feel grimy at the end of the day. “I managed to get to class forty-five seconds earlier by not taking the time to put one on.”
Mr. McCoy smiles. “Not quite.”
“Another demerit?”
“Until I hear an explanation that can be backed with evidence that isn’t completely self-serving, yes.”
“I’ll work on it.”
“I look forward to the polished results.”
Mike nods goodbye and lets himself into the hallway. It’s nearly deserted, being thirty seconds from the late bell, and he hustles down the hall to Music Appreciation. He steps into Mr. Briscoe’s room as the bell finishes ringing but saves himself from any wry remarks by handing over his hall pass.
“Take your seat,” Mr. Briscoe orders as he tucks the hall pass into his roll book.
Lupo gives Mike a questioning squint as Mike sits down. He writes in the margin of his notebook and angles it so Mike can see it.
EVERYTHING OKAY?
Mike writes in his own margin.
ALARM WASN’T ON. RAN LATE.
Lupo’s reply is eloquent in its simplicity.
SHIT.
Mike shrugs to let Lupo know it’s all worked out and finds that he has a hard time concentrating when Mr. Briscoe starts to lecture. Music Appreciation, which Mike always thought should be boring, is actually fun with Mr. Briscoe. He’s got a sarcastic sense of humor and doesn’t think anything of taking a few jabs at some of the supposed rules. But Mike’s mind is wandering, and he’s considering the lack of his undershirt. There has to be a way to argue it, he thinks, that’ll make Mr. McCoy get off his back.
“Mr. Cutter, give me an example of modern music that draws on classical music.” Mr. Briscoe’s tone holds a knowing note that he’s caught Mike making notes about something else.
“Does Queen count?” Mike asks, trying to sound interested.
Mr. Briscoe looks pained. “I’m going to say yes, and no one gets to call me old because I control your grades.” There’s a smattering of laughter around the room. “Nice save, Mr. Cutter.”
Mike returns Mr. Briscoe’s wry smile and looks at his notes again once Mr. Briscoe calls on someone else. He’s got the basic outline for a non-undershirt argument, but it’s all based on personal comfort. Mike crosses out the argument and turns to a new page.
Lupo has to nudge him to get him to pack up and move to fourth hour, and it’s halfway through Mr. Logan’s lecture on the ethics of necessary violence that Mike finally finds his point. He almost wants to shout for joy, except that Mr. Logan is mid-sentence and Mike’s certain he’s hit his embarrassment quota for the day.
Lunch is after fourth hour, which means Mike can slide into Mr. McCoy’s room and have a one-on-one conversation. “Saves water,” he says as an opener.
Mr. McCoy is packing his briefcase, but he pauses and gives Mike a shrewd look. “Explain,” he orders.
“The school handbook states that undershirts are a requirement for all students as part of their uniform. The handbook further clarifies that the undershirt should be clean.” Mike pauses and raises his eyebrows. Mr. McCoy nods at him to continue. “This means each student wears five undershirts a week, adding half a load of laundry to their weekly total. Most students do their laundry every two weeks, meaning that undershirts alone are responsible for roughly 500 loads of laundry a week. By not wearing my undershirts, I’m saving the school money on their water bill as well as saving water in general.”
Mr. McCoy’s eyebrows go up, and the beginnings of a smile slide across his face. “You’re arguing from an environmental standpoint?”
“And from a monetary standpoint.” Mike grins, proud of himself. “Well?”
“Not bad, Mr. Cutter.” Mr. McCoy closes his briefcase and lifts it off his desk. “However, you’re still required by the rules of this school to wear an undershirt.”
Mike sighs, “I know.”
“But I’ll give you a week’s grace for the effort.”
“Really?”
“You’ve earned it.”
A laugh breaks from Mike before he can stop it. He presses his lips together, embarrassed, but the way Mr. McCoy grins at him makes a chuckle escape. “Thanks.”
“Get to lunch, Mr. Cutter.”
Mike hurries out of the room, high on his accomplishment. It doesn’t hit him until he sits down between Ed and Lupo that he’d just spent two hours putting together an argument for no other reason than to show Mr. McCoy he could do it. Except that Mr. McCoy’s been the one showing him how to deliver an argument. He’d joined mock trial for that exact purpose.
“Mike,” Ed pokes Mike in the arm to get his attention. “You okay? You’re quiet.”
“Fine,” Mike says distractedly as things start to crystallize. “Just figuring some stuff out.”
“Need help?”
Mr. McCoy’s grin is stuck in Mike’s mind. He can’t shake it or the way it made him feel. The way the memory of it makes him half-hard. Shit. “No,” Mike hears himself tell Ed, “I think I’ve got it.”
What he’s going to do with it, however, is an issue to which he doesn’t have an answer.
Part Fourteen
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on 2008-04-03 04:26 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-04-03 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-04-03 05:19 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-04-03 01:58 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-04-03 06:43 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-04-03 02:05 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-04-03 06:43 pm (UTC)God, I was so proud when that piece came together, because Mike's really doing it because he just doesn't like them, and Jack is slowly dying inside.
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on 2008-04-03 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-04-04 12:58 am (UTC)