Chapter Text
The first thing she noticed about Pope Cody was that he was staring at her.
He had been staring since she’d walked into the room.
She’d felt his eyes on her before she’d even pulled the chair out.
Now she sat across from him, folder resting on the table between them, and he hadn’t looked away once.
She opened the folder.
“Pope?”
Nothing.
His eyes stayed on hers.
She waited.
Nothing.
“I’m your attorney.”
Still nothing.
His expression didn’t change.
She glanced down at the paperwork.
“I’m going to be representing you through the proceedings. I’ve gone over the initial reports, but I’d like to hear your side of things before we discuss how we’re going to approach the case.”
Silence.
She looked up.
Still staring.
It was unnerving.
Not because there was anything particularly aggressive about the way he looked at her. If anything, that would have been easier to understand.
There was simply no attempt to hide it.
He watched her like she was something he was trying to figure out.
She shifted slightly in her chair.
“Do you understand what you’re being charged with?”
A pause.
“Yeah.”
His voice was low.
Then silence again.
She waited a beat.
“Armed robbery. Conspiracy. Possession of a firearm during the commission of a felony.”
Nothing.
“You understand that?”
“Yeah.”
She made a note.
“And you understand the potential sentence if you’re convicted?”
A small nod.
She looked at him.
“Okay.”
She turned another page.
The room went quiet again.
She could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning.
Pope didn’t move.
She tried to ignore the feeling of his eyes on her.
“According to the police report, you were arrested at the scene.”
Nothing.
“You were carrying a firearm.”
Nothing.
“You were identified by two witnesses.”
His eyes remained fixed on her.
“Pope.”
He blinked once.
“Were you there?”
“Yeah.”
She hadn’t expected the answer to come quite so easily.
“You were involved in the robbery?”
“Yeah.”
She studied him.
“And the other people involved?”
Nothing.
She waited.
Pope said nothing.
“You don’t want to tell me who they were.”
His jaw moved slightly.
“No.”
“Okay.”
She made another note.
She wasn’t surprised.
She’d already read enough of the file to know he wasn’t going to cooperate easily.
Still, there was something strange about sitting across from someone who seemed completely unconcerned about the situation he was in.
Most people talked when they were scared.
Pope seemed to retreat further into himself.
She closed the folder halfway.
“I’m not here to judge you.”
Nothing.
“My job is to represent you. That means I need to know as much as you can give me.”
He stared.
She held his gaze for a moment.
Then looked away first.
“I’m going to need to see you again before the preliminary hearing.”
A pause.
“Okay.”
She gathered her papers.
When she stood, his eyes followed her.
She slipped the folder beneath her arm and reached for the door.
She opened it.
His eyes lifted to hers.
“When?”
She paused.
“Thursday,” she confirmed. “I’ll be here.”
His gaze stayed on her.
Not questioning the answer. Measuring it.
Then, after a moment, he said, “Don’t be late.”
It was so unexpected that she almost smiled.
“I won’t.”
A small nod.
She stepped into the hallway.
The door closed behind her.
For a moment, she just stood there.
She’d spent the entire meeting talking to a man who had barely spoken ten words to her.
And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been the one being examined.
She looked down at the file.
Pope Cody.
Armed robbery. Multiple suspects. One defendant caught. The others missing.
She’d represented difficult clients before.
Angry clients. Manipulative clients. Frightened clients.
Pope was different.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on why.
Maybe it was the silence.
Maybe it was the way he’d watched her without ever seeming embarrassed about it.
Or maybe it was the strange weight behind that final exchange.
Thursday?
She’d answered without thinking.
Thursday.
She’d be back.
—
Thursday came around faster than she expected.
She’d spent most of the week going through Pope’s case.
There wasn’t much she could do with what she had.
The evidence was substantial. The police had caught him at the scene. They had the weapon. They had witnesses.
What they didn’t have were the other men involved and Pope wasn’t going to give them up.
She walked into the interview room a little after ten.
He was already there.
Same chair. Same expression.
His eyes lifted the moment she entered. They moved over her briefly—not lingering, exactly, but taking in the damp edge of her hair, the folder tucked against her side, the faint crease between her brows.
She closed the door.
“Morning, Pope.”
Nothing.
She pulled out the chair opposite him.
His eyes followed her.
She sat.
He kept staring.
There was something different in the way she settled into the chair. She looked tired. Not enough to complain about it, but enough that her movements were slower than they had been before.
She set her folder on the table.
His eyes didn’t leave hers.
She opened the folder.
“I’ve been going through the evidence.”
Silence.
“The prosecution is going to argue that you were a key participant.”
Nothing.
“They have enough to make that argument.”
Pope watched her.
She turned a page.
“I want to know exactly what happened that night.”
Nothing.
She looked up.
He was still staring.
“Pope.”
No response.
“You know I can’t do much for you if you won’t talk to me.”
His gaze dropped briefly to the folder.
Then returned to her.
She waited.
Nothing.
The room hummed softly around them. She shifted in her chair, and the sleeve of her jacket pulled back just enough to reveal a faint red mark around her wrist, probably from the strap of her bag.
Pope’s eyes caught on it.
Only for a second.
She exhaled quietly and leaned back.
“Okay.”
She let the silence sit.
He watched the way she handled it. Most people filled silence because they couldn’t stand what it might reveal. She didn’t. She let it remain between them, patient and steady, even when it made the room feel smaller.
After a moment, she tried again.
“Were you carrying the gun?”
A pause.
“Yeah.”
She wrote it down.
“Did you fire it?”
Silence.
She looked up.
He stared back.
“Okay.”
She made another note.
“Was anyone hurt?”
Nothing.
She waited.
Pope’s jaw shifted.
“No.”
She looked at him.
It was the first word he’d offered in several minutes.
“Good.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
She wasn’t sure why.
Maybe he didn’t like the word. Maybe he didn’t like the way relief had softened her voice when she said it.
She continued through the questions.
Who planned it. Where they had met. How they’d gotten there. Where the money had gone.
Every time she got close to the other men, the wall came down.
Sometimes he answered with a single word.
Sometimes he didn’t answer at all.
Still, she kept going. She didn’t snap at him or threaten him with consequences he already understood. When he refused to answer, she simply made a note and moved on.
Eventually, she stopped trying.
She closed the folder.
“You’re not going to tell me about your family.”
Silence.
She nodded.
“I figured.”
Pope looked at her for a long moment.
Then his gaze dropped to her hands.
She began putting her things away. Her fingers were careful but slightly stiff, and she fumbled once with the clasp of her folder before getting it shut.
She noticed.
“What?”
His eyes lifted.
Nothing.
She waited.
Still nothing.
He could have told her she was tired. He could have told her to stop coming in here looking like she hadn’t slept. The words felt too close to something else, so he kept them behind his teeth.
She glanced down at herself, then back at him.
“Did I do something?”
He shook his head once.
She frowned slightly.
“Okay.”
She stood.
Pope’s eyes followed her.
The movement was automatic. He noticed the way she straightened, the small pause before she lifted the folder, as if her back hurt or she had been sitting too long. He noticed because there was nothing else in the room worth watching.
She gathered the folder beneath her arm.
“I’ll see you Monday.”
Nothing.
She reached the door.
Behind her, he heard the handle shift beneath her hand. The thought of the room returning to its usual silence came before he could stop it.
“Don’t be late.”
She turned.
He was watching her.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. His expression stayed flat, but his fingers had tightened against the edge of the table.
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“I won’t.”
She opened the door.
As she stepped into the hallway, she glanced back once.
Pope was still looking at her.
She closed the door.
Inside, he remained completely still.
His eyes stayed on the place where she’d disappeared.
Monday.
She’d said Monday.
He’d remember.
—
The trial was over before she had time to get used to the idea of it.
Three days.
That was all it took.
Three days of evidence, arguments, witnesses, and long stretches of sitting beside Pope while he stared straight ahead.
The verdict wasn’t a surprise. Neither was the sentence.
She’d fought for less time. She’d argued everything she could. It hadn’t been enough.
When the judge finished speaking, Pope looked at her.
Just looked.
No anger. No surprise. Nothing she could read.
She told him she’d keep working on the appeal.
He told her she didn’t have to.
She told him she was going to.
That had been that.
For a while, the case remained on her desk: appeal documents, court dates, requests for records, letters she had to explain.
She kept handling what she could.
And she visited him.
The first time, she brought a folder. By the third, she’d stopped pretending the visits were purely about his case.
They still talked about it sometimes, but there wasn’t always anything new to say.
“How are things going?”
“Fine.”
“Eating?”
“Yeah.”
“Sleeping?”
A pause.
“I guess.”
“You’re very talkative today.”
Nothing.
Sometimes, the corner of his mouth would move. Not quite a smile.
She learned not to push.
She learned other things about him without his telling her. He hated being asked the same question twice. He didn’t like people standing too close behind him. He noticed everything in a room. He remembered things she’d forgotten saying.
And he watched her.
At first, the staring unsettled her. Eventually, she stopped noticing it—or thought she had.
She’d bring her folder into the visiting room, put it on the table, and start talking. Halfway through explaining something, she’d realise his eyes weren’t on the paperwork.
They were on her.
“What?”
Nothing.
“Pope.”
Nothing.
She’d shake her head and continue.
Sometimes she caught herself tapping her pen against the folder.
Three times.
Pause.
Three more.
She did it when she was thinking, though she hadn’t realised it until one afternoon when Pope looked down at her hand.
“You’re doing it.”
“Doing what?”
He looked at the pen.
She followed his eyes.
“Oh.”
She put it down. A minute later, she picked it up again and tapped three times.
His eyes dropped to it.
She laughed quietly.
“Apparently I can’t help myself.”
He said nothing, but she noticed him watching her hand.
After that, the pen became one of their small, unspoken things. She’d catch herself tapping and stop. Sometimes she’d look up and find him already watching.
Nothing important.
At least, she didn’t think it was.
The months settled into a routine. She came when she could, and he was always there when she did.
Sometimes she brought news about the appeal or paperwork. Sometimes she spent forty minutes telling him about a difficult case and only realised afterward that she’d never meant to tell him any of it.
He listened.
Mostly.
He remembered names. Months after she’d mentioned another attorney in passing, he asked:
“Still working with him?”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“The lawyer you told me about.”
She remembered.
“Yeah.”
He nodded.
Nothing else.
She didn’t think about it until later.
Pope remembered everything.
The first Christmas passed without her visiting. She’d intended to go, but a case ran late, another client needed something, and by the time she looked at the clock, it was too late.
She told herself she’d go the following week.
She did.
Pope didn’t mention Christmas. Neither did she.
The next year, she remembered. When she put her folder down, he looked at her.
“You look different.”
She frowned.
“Different how?”
He shrugged.
She waited.
He didn’t elaborate.
“You’re supposed to say something useful after making an observation like that.”
Nothing.
She smiled.
“Right.”
The visit continued.
Years didn’t pass all at once. They passed in pieces: a change in the visiting room, a different guard at the door, a new haircut, a new case for her, a new scar on him, a birthday she almost forgot, a birthday he never mentioned.
The legal documents grew thinner. The appeal was denied. Another motion was filed, then denied.
Eventually, she stopped bringing the folder every time, and he stopped asking whether there was news.
They talked about other things.
Or didn’t.
Sometimes they sat across from each other for nearly an hour with barely a dozen words between them. With anyone else, the silence would have been uncomfortable. With Pope, it wasn’t.
She learned she didn’t need to fill every empty space. If he wanted to talk, he would. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t.
So she let the silence exist.
Pope seemed to prefer it that way.
Then life got busier.
She took on more work. Her office grew. There were more clients, more courtrooms, more mornings when she left before sunrise and didn’t get home until late.
The visits became less frequent: once a month, then every few months, then longer.
The first time she missed a visit without cancelling, she felt guilty. The second time, she told herself she’d make it up to him. By the third, she stopped counting.
Pope noticed.
When she finally returned after several months, his eyes moved over her slowly.
Not suspicious. Not angry.
Just taking her in.
“You’re late.”
She looked at the clock.
“I know.”
“You said you’d come sooner.”
Her stomach tightened.
“I know.”
He stared at her.
She smiled faintly.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked away.
That was all, but she thought about it afterward. She didn’t know whether he’d missed her. She didn’t know if Pope Cody missed people.
She only knew he’d noticed she was gone.
For a while, she tried harder.
Then the gaps returned: six months, eight, almost a year.
Eventually, she stopped making promises about when she’d come back.
Pope stopped asking.
Neither of them said anything about it.
And then, one day, she didn’t go back at all.
Not because she’d stopped caring. Not exactly.
There was simply less and less of her left to give.
The case was over. The appeal was over. Pope became one of those names from an earlier part of her career that occasionally surfaced in the back of her mind without warning.
Then even that stopped.
Other cases replaced it. Other clients. Other deadlines. The years moved on, and Pope Cody disappeared completely from her thoughts.
She didn’t wonder whether he was still inside.
She didn’t wonder when he might get out.
She didn’t wonder what had become of him.
She forgot him.
And the years continued to pass by.