Disclaimer: Not mine, never.

Author's Note: Just as I wrote "That Day" and "Breathe" playing on Abbie's departure, I thought to write on the series aftermath of said departure, as it will be 5 seasons since this date. For all the quasi Serena-bashing I do, I do promise that I will eventually post something positive for her. I recently wrote a 2nd POV fic for the animated Teen Titans fandom, thought I'd see if lightning struck twice. Check out "Perfect Stranger" for the alternative POV.

Beta: My beta has life to deal with, so patience.

Timeline: Transition from "Deep Vote" to "Who Let the Dogs Out?"

Ready Go!

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She was from Civil Investigations, Nora informed you. A laurelled investigator but she was currently immaterial to New York's Executive Assistant District Attorney. It was all irrelevant, since the one person who resurrected you with your job (after your beloved Claire) had departed for a better job opportunity herself. You did not wish to become embittered, yet you could not help it — she was absent and you longed for her in your typical human reaction.

Your brow ruffled with ponderings and emotions swarmed within your eyes. You passed by her office and noticed it being converted into a cold file room — a sign of Nora's lack of respect. It was not a shocker to you for the two women endlessly bickered. She occasionally stormed into your office and vented about Nora's academic point of view and the frustration churning within her.

You realized that you shouldn't have such sentiments about another A.D.A., yet, how could you resist the drama and angst? You were intimate with both with Claire's passing. After Jamie revitalized you out of the drunken husk you fashioned for yourself, you vowed no future attachments. Of course, your pledge lasted only a second as your then-new assistant turned everything on its ear with her sense of justice, her energy, and her similarity.

You naturally savored your time together, nevertheless, the adage "here today, gone tomorrow" applied itself. Before you could grieve your loss, Nora already dumped an A.D.A. to her specifications upon you: blonde, perky, and a complete W.A.S.P (minus the relished conservatism). Despite the fact she would be a decent A.D.A., you would offer nothing beyond mere collegial cordiality.

With a profound sigh, you meandered away from the vacant office (how many countless days have you spent in that room, you quizzed yourself), dwelling on your caseload. Granted, your life was no longer in horrific flux, however, your personal five-year-old abyss remained. Why did she have to desert you when you were ready to be yourself again? A blonde woman approached you while you internally cursed that special lady's name.

"Hello, Mr. McCoy. My name is Serena Southerlyn. I believe we'll be working together?" She extended her hand out.

"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Southerlyn. And call me Jack," you replied in your genial tone. Of course, your proper reaction involved imbibing the contents of the scotch bottle, as you did half a decade ago.

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