A/N: Features young Lawyer Deeks.

"So how was work?" Roberta asked as she placed a steaming plate of lasagna in front of her son. Deeks stabbed his fork into the slice, glaring at the slab of cheese and noodles, covered in sauce.

"Miserable," he answered. Sitting down across from him, his mom put a serving of salad on her plate and then offered him the bowl. He shook his head, brooding over his plate. She chuckled, clearing not picking up on his bad mood yet.

"You say that every time I see you."

"That's because every day is miserable. I swear all I do is get criminals out of jail." He sighed and shoved a forkful of lasagna in his mouth, even though he wasn't particularly hungry. The last two times he'd been over for their weekly dinner, he hadn't eaten and Roberta had been first worried, then offended once he assured her he was fine. It was much easier just to eat, especially since it was usually his favorite and he knew how much effort she'd put into making it.

"The world's not perfect, Sweetie. You know that," she offered, which was her typical maxim and one Deeks was getting fairly sick of.

"Maybe it isn't, but I'm getting really tired of having to defend the bad guys all the time. I went into law thinking I would be actually helping people. Instead, I just got a drug dealer off on time served because there was an issue with the chain of evidence. And I can't refuse to defend these guys because it's literally my job to provide the best counsel and defense possible, regardless of what they've done," Deeks complained, not for the first time.

From the beginning, he had no illusions about how unfair and terrible the world of law could be. Both he and his mom had experienced that first hand dealing with the aftermath of him shooting his dad. But, he'd thought he could actually make a difference. Maybe change things, even if it was just a little bit.

"You're still doing a good thing, Marty," Roberta insisted, reaching out to hold his hand. "Think of that woman you told me about last month. You know, the prostitute. Didn't you get her a reduced sentence or something?"

Deeks let out a long sigh at that and chuckled bitterly.

"Yup, I got her a reduced sentence. And then two days after she was released, somebody killed her. The police figure it was probably whoever she was working for, but of course they can't prove it."

"Oh," Roberta whispered. "I'm sorry, Honey." He sighed again and pushed his mostly full plate to the center of the table. The thought of eating anything else made him slightly nauseous.

"She was only a couple years older than me." He remembered how she'd tried to seem tough when he first introduced himself, but after a couple minutes had started crying. "And she had a little brother she hadn't seen in years."

"It's not your fault." Deeks looked up at Roberta, his anger at the situation leaking out.

"Well it certainly wasn't hers. No matter what she did, she did not deserve to be killed," he said fiercely. His mom looked shocked at the anger in his voice and then she narrowed her eyes at him.

"I never said she did," she said quietly. "I think it's horrible. But I don't see that there's anything you can do."

He was quiet for a couple minutes and then voiced something that had been on his mind for months.

"Maybe this isn't the right job for me." Every day, he hated himself, and the world, a little more. He hated defending rapists, killers, and drug dealers. The first time he'd been handed a domestic abuse case-with him defending the abuser of course-he'd nearly punched something. Naturally, he'd kept those cases to himself.

Sure, he also had his share of cases where the defendant wasn't a terrible person. Sometimes they weren't even guilty. But it didn't make up for all the other ones. The ones that ate at his soul.

"Well, now that you're established, maybe you can get a position with a firm or something." He could let her believe that's what he meant and keep the piece a little longer, but he hated lying to her.

"No, mom, I mean I don't think I want to be a lawyer at all," he told her. She stared at him in disbelief for a moment and then shook her head.

"But you've worked so hard for this. For years all you talked about was becoming a lawyer so you could help people like us," she reminded him desperately.

"Yeah, but that doesn't seem to be working, does it?"

"What would you do instead?" She sounded completely rattled, even more than he had expected.

"I don't know," he said, trying to sound casual. "Maybe I'll become a cop." His mom stood up abruptly.

"No," Roberta said firmly. "No, that's not funny, Martin."

"I'm not joking, mom. I would be able to help a lot of people, way before they ever got to court. And I could make sure that everything's done correctly, so criminals don't get let out on technicalities."

"No, it is too dangerous. After all we have been through, I will not let you put your life at risk every day." He started to object, but she shook her head and repeated. "No." There was a slightly manic, panicked gleam in her eye. Before he could respond, she snatched up their still-full plates and left the room.

Sighing, Deeks pressed his palms against his eyes, guiltily thinking of the LAPD application on his bedside table at home.

A/N: Most of my lawyer knowledge comes from a few quick google searches and Boston Legal re-runs.