Work Text:
Mock trial days were the worst, Ben reflected, staring at the bottom of his empty coffee cup. Being a first year associate in a top tier law firm was stressful enough, but the cutthroat competition that surfaced when mock trial came around heightened to a fever pitch. Where the firm was usually a tank of sharks, mock trial week was a shark tank full of blood.
Ben could hear the Jaws theme song now.
“Are you going to get coffee, Tallmadge, or are you just going to stare at it?” Alex’s voice was smug, that teasing lilt that put Ben even more on edge. “Or am I going to have to beat you to the coffee and the mock trial?”
Ben sighed and reached for the coffee pot, pouring a healthy amount into the cup. “Do you ever get tired of being unnecessarily antagonistic, Hamilton?” he asked curiously, tilting his head like he so desperately wanted to know. “Or is being a complete jackass just your nature?”
“It’s just my nature,” Alex shrugged, completely nonplussed. “You should know that by now.”
Ben nodded and turned away to pour sugar into the warm coffee. “I guess I just keep hoping you’ll change,” he said nonchalantly. “I figured being annoying was just a phase. Guess you proved me wrong.”
“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, Tallmadge,” Hamilton replied, stirring his coffee just slightly sharper than usual. “You’re trying to rile me up before the mock trial so I’ll slip up, and you can win.”
Ben stared at the hand stirring the coffee for a moment before bringing his eyes back up to Alex. He took a step closer, just enough so he could have clinked his mug against Alex’s if he really wanted to. He could just barely smell Alex’s cologne, a soft spicy scent that he always vaguely smelled when he walked through the mall during the holidays. “I don’t need to rile you up to make you mess up, Hamilton,” he said quietly. “You’re going to mess up because you’re not a good lawyer.”
Alex’s face flushed dark red. “Benjamin –”
“Mock trial is in half an hour, Hamilton,” Ben called as he retreated, holding his coffee up in triumph. “Don’t be late. I’d hate to win on a technicality.”
Ben sat at his desk for the next twenty minutes, looking over his mock trial notes, his ears hyper-aware of the clicking of the clock as it moved inexorably forward. They were arguing a case of fraud; an investment banker was accused of skimming funds from his firm and putting it in a personal account overseas. Ben was in charge of prosecuting the banker, Alex in charge of defending him.
It would be an easy win, except the accused worked with another man closely; most of their accounts were co-managed. It would be easy to convince a jury that the partner set him up as a patsy. Reasonable doubt would be hard to manage.
It was exactly the kind of case that Hamilton was good at.
“Tallmadge,” Washington’s voice was just severe enough that he jumped, just barely managing to keep his coffee cup upright. “Mock trial in ten minutes. I’m assuming you’re…” he paused for a moment to look over Ben’s almost painfully rigid attire, his hand clenched tightly around the handle of his mug, the files and notes spread out in front o f him. “Prepared.”
“Of course, sir,” Ben said with a pinched smile.
“But…?” Washington prompted, leaning against the wall of Ben’s cubicle.
Ben glanced around the bullpen momentarily before he could reasonably prove that Hamilton wasn’t in the room. “This is…this is Hamilton’s bread and butter.”
“You mean financial law?” Washington asked.
“No, the murky ones,” Ben corrected. “He’s great at diverting reasonable doubt. And if he wins –”
“We will all have to hear about it forever,” Washington finished with a cursory nod. “I can see how that would make you uneasy, but you are also a very talented lawyer. And Alex has just as much to fear from your victory as you do from his.”
Ben bit his lip. “But –”
“No buts, Tallmadge,” Washington interrupted. “If you don’t acknowledge your talents, Hamilton is going to beat you easily. If you do, then I think we’re in for a pretty good fight.”
Ben opened his mouth to say something else, though what that would be, he couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t planned that far ahead. He missed his chance; Washington was already moving away from him, his intimidating figure sending heads lower into their desks, keyboards clicking louder as if to prove their worth.
Ben turned his eyes back to his pile of files before he gathered them all up messily in his hands and shoved them into his briefcase. He couldn’t be late, he thought, trying to force himself to be confident. The butterflies in his gut fluttered mockingly.
He could win this, he told himself. He could.
***
There was something inherently nerve-wracking in seeing his colleagues portraying defendants, plaintiffs, and witnesses. Seeing Gilbert standing beside Washington as the bailiff made him smile, but seeing Arnold sitting on Hamilton’s side, playing the smug defendant, made him impossibly nervous. He straightened his papers, clearing his throat even though he hadn’t ingested anything since he poured that cup of coffee he didn’t drink. He brought his eyes up to Washington, who gave him a raised eyebrow. Ben smiled in spite of himself.
“Ready to lose, Tallmadge?” Hamilton’s voice was almost a whisper, but Arnold snickered, and Ben felt heat in his cheeks.
“For once in your life, why don’t you accept this as a learning opportunity instead of using it as an opportunity to inflate your ego?” Ben muttered as Anna slid into the chair beside him, ready to play the plaintiff.
Hamilton didn’t say anything, but Ben could feel his eyes boring into the side of his face. He pursed his lips and turned to Anna. “You ready for this?”
“Are you?” she asked, her eyes on Hamilton. “Because it looks like this is going to end in a fist fight.”
Ben shrugged as Washington stood. “Opening statements.”
***
Anna had been on the stand for less than four minutes before things started to go south. She was supposed to be representing the company the defendant allegedly stole from, and after the cursory questions about the evidence already presented against the defendant, Hamilton swooped in.
“Can you tell me what this is?” he asked, sliding a folder of papers over to her. “Just read the top.”
“These are financial statements for the defendant,” she said clearly, her eyebrow quirked. She was smart enough to know when Hamilton was ramping up to something.
“And can you tell me what this is?”
“The financial statements of Mr. Bromkowski,” Anna replied, passing the papers back, but Hamilton pulled his hands back, forcing her to keep the pages.
“And can you tell me about the highlighted portion?” he asked.
Anna reluctantly dropped her gaze to the pages again. “Transfers to his personal account, amounting to over two million dollars,” she said, determinedly giving the pages back. “But the dates –”
“Please just answer the question I asked,” Hamilton interrupted. “How much money was the firm missing?”
“Close to five million,” Anna muttered.
“I’m sorry?” Hamilton asked, motioning for Anna to repeat herself.
“Objection,” Ben jumped up, irritation pounding in his veins.
“On what grounds, counselor?” Hamilton asked innocently. “I’m just doing my job. I can see how that would confuse you.”
“Easy,” Washington’s booming voice said from the podium. “Stay focused, you two. Proceed, Hamilton.”
“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Hamilton tossed an easy, relaxed smirk over his shoulder to Ben and he felt the irritation spark into anger. Of course he would be so smug, so at home here, being a complete jackass. “If Mr. Bromkowski had two million in his accounts and the amount stolen is close to five million, isn’t it feasible to think that he was, at least, a partner to the defendant, or perhaps the mastermind of the scheme?”
“Objection, leading the witness,” Ben snapped, standing up.
“Sustained,” Washington said, with a momentary smile. “Answer the question, and wrap this up, Hamilton. We don’t have all day for you to wax philosophical.”
“Yes, I suppose it is feasible,” Anna replied. “But Bromkowski didn’t do anything.”
“I didn’t ask that, but thanks for your input,” Hamilton said, turning away from her and toward his desk. “Nothing further, Your Honor.”
Ben stood, trying to wipe the clamminess from the palms of his hands onto his pants before anyone could see. Anna gave him a reassuring nod. They had practiced this. He just had to follow the script. He could hear very quiet muttering coming from Arnold and had to suppress the urge to look back at them. Hamilton snickered.
“Could you tell me what kind of an employee Mr. Bromkowski was?” he asked kindly, trying to stay focused. Gilbert smiled at the sound of his voice. It bolstered him a little.
“Mr. Bromkowski was a kind employee,” Anna said easily. “Very quiet, unassuming. He was a great worker.”
“And what about the defendant?” Ben asked.
“Objection, outside the scope,” Hamilton said without getting up.
“It is not outside the scope,” Ben snapped before Washington could say anything. “Work performance often indicates the possibility for wrongdoing. Learning about our defendant’s work attitude is important.”
“I suppose it must be when all you have for your case is paper thin evidence,” Hamilton agreed, leaning back in his chair.
“That’s enough –”
“Says the man that can’t stay professional for more than ten seconds because he knows his entire case is garbage,” Ben retorted. Anna, on the witness stand, snorted. George fixed her with a sharp glare that shut her up.
“I stay professional when the opponent needs my full attention,” Hamilton shrugged. “I’ll let you know if you ever come close.”
Ben furiously strode toward him, trying to decide if he was going to punch him or just yell. “You arrogant little –”
“Enough!” Washington’s yell was harsh and almost hoarse. Immediately, both of them fell silent. “Take a ten minute recess. Get your shit together,” he snapped. “When you come back, I expect both of you to behave like lawyers, not schoolchildren.”
Without waiting for the rest of what was sure to be a long lecture, Ben stormed out of the conference room, shoving past the jurors, anxious to stretch their legs and spread the gossip of the mock trial meltdown to the rest of the office that wasn’t lucky enough to be present.
He knew this would happen; he had practiced for this. He knew Hamilton would attack him personally to rattle his cage. He had worked to learn how to ignore it; he thought he had gotten better. But as usual, he underestimated him. As usual, Hamilton proved that no one knew how irritating, how infuriating he was except himself.
He was determined to smoke a shame cigarette in the parking garage and come back calmer. Ben patted his pocket to make sure his cigarettes were there, his other hand pushing the button to call the elevator.
The moment the elevator rattled up to his floor, he felt the presence of someone else behind him. He ignored them, as per elevator etiquette, and stepped into the elevator. It wasn’t until he turned around to see the doors closing that he caught sight of reddish hair.
“What are you –”
Before he could ask, Alex had him pressed against the wall of the elevator, one hand tight around Ben’s waist, the other one guiding his head to make sure he didn’t slam it. His lips were on his a moment later, demanding and furious, the hand at the back of his head deceptively soft. After a moment, Ben allowed himself to melt into Alex’s lips, his hand coming to rest at the back of his head, red hair fisted in his hand.
“You are such an asshole,” he growled into Alex’s mouth, tasting just vaguely of the coffee from this morning. “I hate you.”
“Of course you do,” Alex replied, his voice low and gruff, his hand reaching for Ben’s belt. “I hate you too, you spineless little –”
Ben shoved him back, hard enough that Alex’s shoulders hit the opposite wall of the elevator. The whole chamber shook. Ben followed him, his hand on the other man’s neck. “I have had it with your mouth,” he snapped, pulling Hamilton to him for another kiss. He put all of his anger, his insecurity, into the kiss, hissing when Alex sank his teeth into Ben’s lower lip. It sent a surge of heat through him. “I much prefer it when it’s not talking.”
Hamilton smirked against the firm hold Ben had on his neck. “Then I guess you’ll have to occupy my mouth some other way,” he replied. Ben pulled him forward by his neck, content to force the irritating man to his knees right here in the elevator, when he felt the chamber start to slow.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Quickly, he released Alex as a paralegal stepped into the elevator, her face buried in her phone; he moved past her, the clicking sounds of her keyboard reassuring. Ben cast one look back at Hamilton, his hair disheveled, and reached for his cigarettes. Hamilton smirked. “Later?” he mouthed. Ben nodded, reaching for his cigarettes.
He really needed a smoke now.