Chapter Text
Nolan was competitive.
You’d known that going in, when you accepted Jack McCoy’s offer to be the new Manhattan ADA. Known it before you'd even had a proper introduction. You only needed his resume and about 2.5 seconds in his presence as he cross-examined a witness to piece it together.
The man was the Manhattan EADA. He got his J.D. from Yale and graduated with honors. He moved like a shark in the courtroom, swift and smooth, concealing his well-targeted strikes until the very last moment. He hated an unearned win as much as he hated any loss. He didn’t just want to get the W. He wanted to sweep the court with it. He wanted it to be an unimpeachable act of legal justice.
What was surprising was how he handled the losses.
The losses didn’t happen as frequently as the wins, but when they did happen, he didn’t sulk or lash out. He sat in his office with a finger of whiskey and re-read the case. Studied it hungrily, like he was trying to wring everything he could out of it. Understand every corner of where it went wrong, if there even was a place it went wrong.
And then the next day, he showed back up, ready to work twice as hard.
It was commendable.
And unfortunately for you… kind of hot.
That was the other unpleasant surprise.
As you and Nolan settled into your working routine and a few weeks became a few months and eventually turned into a full year and a half of working together, you learned a few things that weren’t on his resume.
You learned he was an adventurous eater. (“Insects, and crickets especially, are a delicious, environmentally friendly form of protein enjoyed by most of the global population. We only see them as lesser because we’re snobs about our hyper processed food.”)
You learned he was a voracious paperback novel reader. (“Tom Clancy might be cliche, but that’s because he invented those cliches-”)
You learned he preferred coffee from the coffee cart or the office coffee machine over something from an expensive cafe. (“If it’s good enough for the rest of our staff, it’s good enough for me.”)
You learned he had a nervous habit of running his hands through his perpetually slicked back curls. (He had lovely curls. Ones that hung in his eyes when you spent long nights in the office reviewing cases and doing research together.)
You learned he had a seemingly never-ending well of compassion for the victims. He never lost sight of their right to dignity and justice, even in death. Even if they’d been considered a "terrible person" in life. (Sometimes especially if they’d been considered a "terrible person" in life.)
Most importantly, you learned he was a massive nerd.
That also shouldn’t have been surprising (see: yale, law school, learning latin for fun, competitive nature), but somehow, discovering that the ultra buttoned up man had an entire wall of board games had shocked a laugh out of you.
You were curled up on the couch in his office, heels kicked off, toes tucked up under you as you read police notes when he’d made a phone call to one of his friends, telling them he was going to have to cancel “game night.”
Your face lit up at the words, immediately grinning and locking eyes with him as he hung up.
“...Game night, Nolan?”
His typically serious expression softened a little at your playful tone and the corner of his mouth lifted. “Yeah. Game night. I do have a social life, you know.”
“That makes one of us.” You huffed and set the file you were holding aside. Your eyes were blurring from trying to make out the tiny text. You needed a break and this revelation needed discussing.
He was already back to reading another file and making notes. The low light cast shadows across his clean cut features, making him look a little more rugged than normal. He’d loosened his tie, too, and you could nearly make out the lines of his chest through the thin fabric of his dress shirt. The combination of his ridiculously hot physical appearance, his unrelenting courtroom demeanor, and the quiet moments like these that the two of you shared shook something awake in you that you didn't know how to put back to sleep.
This stupid school girl crush; your brain unhelpfully conjuring images of Nolan pulling you into his lap, stubble against soft skin, all of that intense courtroom focus on you and only you. He was probably one of those men that could take women apart just by talking to them. You could feel a slight blush as warmth flooded into your stomach.
Thank god he still had his nose in a file and couldn't see the way you shifted slightly, pressing your thighs together, willing your body to cool it.
He ran a hand through his hair, freeing one of his deliciously unruly curls and sending it cascading down across his forehead.
No one would hold you accountable for what you did next. Not guilty by reason of mental disease or defect.
“...So, what does one have to do to be invited to an Official Nolan Price Game Night?” You tilted your head, relishing the soft blush that crept across his cheeks at your continued prodding.
“You have to enjoy board games.”
“I’ve been known to play Candyland from time to time.”
His shy smile widened a little. “My game collection is a little more advanced than that.”
“Your… collection?”
His tongue darted across his lower lip, teeth biting down a little. Considering how much to admit to.
“I have a shelf-”
“A shelf?”
“A few shelves… A- A whole wall of them.”
You giggled a little at the admission. “Oh my god you’re a nerd -”
The way his blush deepened across his neck was incredibly unfair. And ridiculously cute.
“I plead the fifth.”
“So are you more of a ‘Catan’ guy or more of a ‘Diplomacy’ guy?”
His understated little smile broke into a full grin. “ Now who’s the nerd?”
“You’re totally a Diplomacy guy, aren’t you?”
He leaned back in his chair and eyed you a little, fully owning the accusation now that he knew you were also (on some level, at least) a closeted dork. The sudden flex of confidence was so much hotter than it had any fucking right to be. And there was a little smugness there, too. His win/loss record at the gaming table was probably just as impressive as his record in court.
“I may or may not have made a grown man cry the last time I played.”
“Big talk, Mr. Price.”
Diplomacy was a notoriously difficult board game. Unlike some board games (Monopoly, Risk, Scrabble) that had reputations for silly amounts of goodnatured infighting, Diplomacy had a reputation for causing WWI to break out amongst its players. Literally, the premise of the game was to play as the seven powers of Europe in the years leading up to WWI. The game designers apparently hadn’t seen fit to limit the global politicking immersion to just moving miniature armies around on the map. They’d implemented rules that allowed players to make nearly any kind of diplomatic agreement to win…. And rules that allowed players to entirely break those agreements at any point and for any reason. And the game took an average of 6 hours to play. Imagine, spending two hours setting up an alliance with another player and then around hour five, being blindsided and betrayed.
It didn’t just ruin friendships. It nuked them.
Nolan rolled up his sleeves and leaned his elbows forward onto his desk, regarding you with the kind of intense curiosity he usually saved for people in the witness box. There was a little gleam in his eyes that sent electricity zipping across your skin.
“When was the last time you played?”
“Graduation weekend. My roommate didn’t speak to me for three weeks afterwards. Made it tough to study for the bar together.”
He let out a soft hum, features playful and challenging. “I don’t know… you sound a little rusty- Might be unfair to subject you to six hours of unrelenting global domination.”
If it got him to say the words “unrelenting” and “domination” again in the same sentence, you would play six hours of chutes and fucking ladders.
“I face off with you here, every day, for 10, sometimes 12 hours. You don’t think I can handle a measly little board game?”
“I never said that. Name the time and place.”
“After this case is wrapped up. Your place. I wanna see that wall.”
“Your funeral.”
“You wish.”
You picked the file on your lap back up, unable to conceal your grin, entirely missing the soft, flustered look he gave you from across the room or the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard before forcing himself to look back down at his own work.