Pound the Table by An_October_Daye

[A 90's Era X-Men Self-Insert]

"There is an old adage among lawyers that says: If you have the facts on your side, pound the facts. If you have the law on your side, pound the law. If you have neither the facts nor the law, pound the table." – Martin A. Davis, Jr.

Mutant law is an emergent field, more or less the wild west of the legal profession, and on a good day, you're lucky if the law and facts aren't all dead-set against you. And when your list of recurring clients includes the Wielder of Cerebro and the Master of Magnetism?

Well... suffice to say, there is plenty of pounding the table to be done.

Chapter 1: PrologueNotes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Prologue

April, 1996

Hank McCoy | Beast

"Order! Order!" The judge presiding over his arraignment, the Honorable Sean McMahon, brought his gavel down upon the bench. "I will have order in this courtroom! Bailiff!"

At the judge's command, the bailiff of the court moved towards the gallery to intimidate any rabble-rousers among the observers to quiet down, though not without sparing a moment to sneer in Hank's direction. Hank did his best not to let his hackles raise in annoyance; he worked hard to ensure that his body language spoke of the gentleness that his appearance belied, and would not have it undone by such a petty slight as this.

"Much better," the judge said, sitting back down in his elevated chair. "Now that we've all decided to behave like civilized people again – Mr. McCoy, I believe somebody is missing from your table."

"Ah, yes, your Honor." Hank stood before speaking, eyeing the empty chair next to him where the court-appointed attorney, a… oh, what was his name? Dodge? Lodge? No, Hodge, that was it, where Mr. Hodge was supposed to have been seated before he even arrived. And yet, the man was nowhere to be seen. Hank wanted to sigh; he should have expected this, truly. After the injustices mutants such as he had faced in the courtroom, it had been optimistic of him to expect—

The door at the back of the courtroom creaked open, the hinges holding old, heavy wood groaning in protest with every motion. A quick staccato rhythm of heels on tile followed, and as they drew closer an unexpectedly familiar and unwelcome scent, almost reptilian, filled his nostrils. This time, he could not keep his hackles from raising, though Hank tried to disguise it by shifting his posture. Of all the people to have possibly shown up…!

"My apologies for the delay in meeting with my client, your Honor," a blonde-haired woman, clad in a smart black skirt suit, said as she approached the front. She passed the bar of the court with the air of long practice, then slid in front of the chair on Hank's right at the table, closer to the aisle, as though she belonged there, placing her briefcase on the table in the same motion. "I am sure you can understand why somebody such as myself would have a hard time making her way past the crowd out front."

"Of course," the judge said, an odd grin spreading across his face even as his eyes narrowed. "I can certainly see how a woman of your stature and… ahem, reputation would find the crowd outside hard to manage. Very well, now that all parties are present. We are here today for the arraignment of Henry Philip McCoy. Would the attorneys please come forward and announce your names for the record?"

Both women before the bar of the court stood and made their way roughly halfway between counsel's table and the bench, angling to face the court stenographer.

"Michelle Dawson, for the People of the State of New York," the prosecutor said.

"Noa Schaefer, on behalf of Dr. Hank McCoy."

"Very well, if both Counsels could return to their tables." Once Schaefer was back at the table with him, Hank turned to whisper towards her, only for a finger to come up. She reached into her briefcase and retrieved a notepad and several pens; curiously, Hank noted, she did not touch any of four large, visibly-expensive pens that all lay clipped to the front of her briefcase. She instead clicked the pen she'd retrieved and underlined something already written on the notepad, which she slid over to Hank.

Your job here is to say as little as possible, the note read. Sit down, shut up, look somber, and at most say 'yes your honor' or 'no your honor'. We can talk in private later. Hank looked up from the note, but Schaefer had already turned away from him and towards the judge.

"Now, Mr.—my apologies, Dr. McCoy," the judge said, though the slight smirk on his face was enough to tell Hank that the 'slip-up' was anything but. "You are being charged with the following: criminal trespass in the first degree, criminal mischief in the first degree, criminal tampering in the first degree, and destruction of government property. How do you plead?"

"My client pleads not guilty, your Honor." Schaefer's answer drew jeers and boos from the gallery of the court, though they quickly died down when the bailiff took a single step towards the public.

"So entered," Judge McMahon said, with a look at the court reporter. "Mrs. Dawson?"

"Your Honor, due to the severity of the defendant's crimes and the demonstrated danger he poses to the community, the People move to deny bail and request that he be remanded into custody immediately." Hank tensed, the hair on the back of his neck rising, but Schaefer's hand on his shoulder, light as her touch was, might as well have been an albatross around his neck.

"I see. Ms. Schaefer?"

"Your Honor, the defense moves that Dr. McCoy be released on his own recognizance and—"

Whatever else Schaefer was about to say, it was lost in the sudden uproar from the gallery. Shouts and jeers erupted, all of it blending into a cacophony of raw noise harsh enough that Hank couldn't help but bring his hands up to cover his ears, if only to muffle at least a small part of it.

"Order! Order!" The judge banged his gavel down on the bench five times, and the noise quieted to a dull, but still loud roar. "I will not have my courtroom devolve into a circus! Anyone and everyone who dares interrupt these proceedings again will be found in contempt of court, and sentenced to the maximum fine and prison sentence! Do I make myself clear!?"

In mere moments, the gallery was silent as a grave. No matter the vitriol they may have held for mutants such as they, nobody in the gallery was willing to risk prison time just to demonstrate their anger.

"Now, Ms. Schaefer, if you would please continue."

"Of course, your Honor." During the whole commotion, Schaefer hadn't so much as budged, holding her position with an iron composure that Hank wished he could emulate at this particular moment. "As I was saying, the defense moves that Dr. McCoy be released on his own recognizance, and removed to a secure location. As evidenced by the assassination attempt on my client's life by the criminal mutant commonly known as 'Magneto', and the resulting casualties sustained by the brave men and women at Riker's, keeping Dr. McCoy in the proximity of regular persons poses a grave threat to life and limb. The lengths to which this 'Magneto' was willing to go to, only withdrawing once the captain of the guard called for reinforcements from the military, clearly show us that keeping Dr. McCoy in a known location would be an unconscionable risk on the part of the People. As such, the defense requests that Dr. McCoy be released on his own recognizance, that he may be removed to a secure location known only to select few."

It took every bit of Hank's self-control to not turn and boggle at Schaefer, though the sudden murmuring from the gallery certainly served to echo his own thoughts. What in the world was she trying to spin? Hank knew very well that what had happened was an attempted jailbreak, not an assassination attempt.

How in the world did she expect anybody, let alone a judge, to believe this, this… cockamamie story?

"Your Honor, the People strenuously object—!"

The judge raised his hand, and the prosecutor went quiet in an instant.

"What you're proposing is, I'll admit, rather interesting," he said. "Ms. Schaefer, on what grounds are you calling this an assassination attempt?"

"Your Honor, in addition to multiple accounts of clashes between this 'Magneto' and other mutants that my client is known to associate with," Schaefer said, withdrawing a pair of manila folders from her briefcase as she spoke, "I also have with me a pair of signed affidavits from the guards assigned to Dr. McCoy's cell, both of whom stated, under oath, that they clearly saw 'Magneto' pose a serious threat to Dr. McCoy's life prior to their intervention and subsequent incapacitation. In fact, it is likely only due to their heroism, and the time that they managed to buy, that Dr. McCoy is with us in this courtroom today. Furthermore, the fact that Dr. McCoy's restraints remained in place, even as the rest of the prison cell and structure was torn apart, clearly demonstrates that 'Magneto' was there for some reason other than Dr. McCoy's well-being. Given the past enmity between 'Magneto' and my client's known associates, the only reasonable explanation is that he meant to do my client harm in some manner. With this in mind, it would be irresponsible in the extreme to risk the well-being of both the prison staff and everybody incarcerated at Riker's, both serving sentences and awaiting trial, simply to have one person who has no criminal record and is yet to be convicted of any crime, locked in a cage like an animal at a zoo."

"Your Honor," the prosecutor stood up again, "I must once again reiterate that the People strenuously object to this—"

"You will keep the People's objections to yourself, Mrs. Dawson," Judge McMahon said, his voice echoing with finality. "Ms. Schaefer, whether or not I actually believe that the motive behind last night's kerfuffle at Riker's is the one you put forth, the fact of the matter is that gambling on its accuracy with human lives is a risk I do not have the right to take. As such, I will be granting your motion, but do be warned – if the defendant does not show up for his day in court, and you do not have a reason for his absence backed up with proof so ironclad it could take a missile and stay intact, then you will find yourself having a particularly bad day. Are we clear?"

"Yes, your Honor," Schaefer said, bowing her head to the judge. "The defense would like to thank the Court for its generosity."

"Of course. So ordered, the defendant shall be released upon his own recognizance. Counsel for both parties will submit discovery requests and tentative witness lists to the Clerk within fourteen days, barring any motions for extension, and make appointments with a court stenographer for any depositions taken. Once discovery is complete, we'll go from there. To the peanut gallery, all of you will remain in place until the defense has left the courtroom, and I would remind any of you that dare so much as think of accosting them that my previous threat remains in place. Court is adjourned."

The judge's gavel came down, and Schaefer was on her feet in an instant, collecting her things and slipping out past the bar. Hank made to follow, a court police officer trailing him, and even though they were halfway down the hall when the courtroom door closed after their exit, he could still hear the uproar.

She led him through the halls, the click of her heels echoing through the oddly empty halls of the courthouse, before she stopped in front of the door to one of the many conference rooms the courthouse reserved for use by attorneys and their clients.

"Officer, if you would please remove my client's restraints?" The officer looked between Hank and his lawyer, whose arms were now crossed under her chest, one finger tapping on the outside of her elbow. "Now, officer." The man quickly complied, unlocking the cuffs that had been around Hank's wrists since early this morning. Hank rubbed at the joints, thanking his lucky stars that his fur had both prevented them from being made overly tight and also kept the metal from chafing. "Thank you. Now, if you would remain outside, I need to speak with my client in private."

"O-of course," the court officer said, stepping to the side of the door and assuming a solid, if a mite hesitant, ready position. Schaefer let out a small huff of disdain, one that Hank could barely hear even with his enhanced senses, before pushing open the door to the conference room.

The door closed with a heavy whoosh of air, and silence descended. Schaefer remained where she stood, one hand on the back of another chair at the conference table, not even turning to face him.

"Well isn't this a surprise," she said, after the silence had extended entirely too long for his taste. "After how our last meeting went, I'd expected you to be tearing me limb from limb the second we were in private. I'm impressed."

"At least have the decency to show me your real face when you say that." Hank carefully kept his voice level, not rising to the taunt, no matter how dearly he wanted to.

"Very well," she said, raising a hand. "If you insist." She snapped, prismatic light sparking from between her fingers.

In a flash, Noa Schaefer's obscurement, her 'glamour' as she'd called it, collapsed into shards of rainbow light, her true appearance shimmering back into existence with flares of rainbow static. Patches of pale scales crawled out of her skin in symmetrical arrangement, blossoming across her cheeks, her forehead, her neck, the back of the hand that could barely encircle his thumb. Horns of bone emerged and enveloped what had only looked like human ears, projecting outwards about an inch before sweeping backwards to end just past the rear of her skull. A barb-tipped, reptilian tail snaked out from beneath her skirt, the back of her skirt suit bulging out slightly at the coccyx.

"There," she said, voice low and annoyed. "Are you happy now?" She turned around and quirked one eyebrow at him, arms crossed under her chest, even as the rest of her expression remained placid and bored.

Hank wanted to sigh, but he would not give her the satisfaction. Instead, he simply pulled the largest of the chairs at the conference table out for himself, and sat down.

"Thank you," she said. Schaefer then reached into her briefcase and produced a lint roller, which she took to her suit with vigor. "Ah, this is one of the parts of spending time with you that I never liked: the shedding. Regardless, I believe you had some questions for me?"

"Some?" Hank couldn't keep from scoffing at this point, even as he ignored the clear insult in her words and actions. "I have more questions for you than you could imagine, so many things I want you to answer for! But right now there's only one that really matters." Hank knew that trying to intimidate her would serve no purpose. Despite the fact that the woman was just under five feet tall and maybe weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, his size was nothing to her. Any threat of violence to her was also moot, because his fate, his freedom, was now tied to her. So while there were many questions that he wanted to ask, there remained but one he knew would be answered. "Why are you helping me, Noa?"

Schaefer favored him with a small smirk, then put the lint roller away and took out a makeup compact in its place. "Our occasionally being on opposite sides now doesn't preclude me from being able to help you, Hank."

The four ornate 'pens', which had previously been clipped to the front of her briefcase, floated into the air and took formation in a steady circle around her. A moment later a flickering rainbow light issued from their tips, and with a grasp and twist of Noa's fingers, she bent the light around her body. That same prismatic static from earlier now obscured her inhuman features before dissipating, leaving her public guise in their place. Sparse patches of scales faded away to match the surrounding human skin, horns receded to reveal fleshy human ears, and her tail disappeared, the only sign of its existence smoothed over with a minor adjustment of her skirt. In a matter of seconds, Schaefer once again looked to be nothing more than a regular human.

"There, that's settled. Again. I'd thank you not to touch me in a way that breaks the illusion, please." She flipped her compact closed with a sigh before placing it back within her briefcase and flipping its top flap closed. An idle gesture sent her pens flying back into position, clipping into place before the dull blue glows running up their lengths faded, and they resembled nothing more than an overabundance of too-expensive calligraphy instruments once again. "Now come on. We have to get you back to the manor, then it's time to start planning your defense."

"And you think Charles will let you in?" Hank asked, utterly flabbergasted. "Let you back inside the manor, after everything you did?" His hands came down heavy on the table, the wood groaning beneath his weight and strength. "You truly think he'd let you back in after what you've done? How you betrayed him? Betrayed us!?" Hank demanded this of her with a snarl, lips peeling back from his teeth.

"Of course I do," Schaefer said, sweeping her briefcase off the table and walking towards the door. "Charles is, after all, paying my retainer. Now come on." She pulled the door and held it open for Hank, who could only stare at her in mute shock. "Limo's waiting."

Notes:

To those of y'all who read and follow my other stuff: yes. I know. Another new fic. I get it, okay? But it's hard to study for the bar exam without wondering which fandoms could do with a lawyer in the right place at the right time. And so, even while I was doing practice exams and studying and outlining and memorizing mnemonics... this started percolating in the back of my mind.

And so, a couple weeks later... well, this.

Hope y'all enjoy! And remember: if you have neither the law nor the facts, you can at least try to pound the table.