The Shock of It All

Jack McCoy looked at the cell phone in his hand, and sighed.  Just for the fun of it, he began pushing buttons, to see how many times he’d dialed the same number.  Instead of getting the list of outgoing calls, he got every other feature of the cell phone.

No, not his phone book.

No, not email.

No, he didn’t want to change the sound of the phone’s ring.  Although, it was annoying.

"Sonovabitch."

The bartender came over.  "Jack.  Give me your keys."

"I’m not dri-riding.  I’m not riding the bike.  Don’t worry."  McCoy frowned at the phone.  "Why do they make the buttons so damn small?"

The bartender shrugged.  "The whole thing is supposed to be small."  He set a large glass of cola in front of McCoy.  "Drink up."

"I don’t like rum."

"Its not rum.  Drink it.  That or coffee."

McCoy shoved the glass away, nearly spilling it.  He tried pushing the phone’s buttons again.  "Here we go...who says the only techno geek around here is Our Dear Mr. Curtis...Jesus..."  he scrolled down the list of the last numbers he’d called.  "7, "  he said.  Under his breath, he muttered, "Called her 7 times."

"No, you are not having a 7 and 7."  The bartender scowled.  "You’re pissing me off, Jack.  Let me call you a cab."

McCoy scowled back.  "I want another scotch."

"No."  The bartender shook his head as Jack swayed on the barstool.  "If you fall off, so help me God, I’ll-hey Lennie, get him out of here, will you?  He’s giving the place a bad name."

McCoy stood.  "Look, I just want a-"

Detective Lennie Briscoe shoved McCoy back down on the stool. "Counselor.  Don't you think you’ve had enough?"

McCoy swore.  "Don’t start on me, Lennie."

"Where is Curtis?  He said he’d meet me here.  Josh, give me a Club Soda.  You seen Rey?"

The bartender came back with a glass of the clear soda, adorned with a slice of orange.  "No charge, Lennie, if you’re the if you‘re the designated driver.  I haven’t seen Rey in a few days."  He looked at McCoy.  "Just DD his ass out of here, ok?"

Briscoe looked at McCoy, whose eyes were a little too unfocused for his liking.  In a little bit, he’d be either puking his guts out, or passing out.  Lennie decided the New York County District Attorney’s office, and Adam Schiff, the DA, in particular, would not appreciate picking up his morning paper to read that John J. McCoy, Esq. was sleeping it off in a drunk tank.

He wondered if Jack would call Adam for bail money...as much as the DA argued with his star Executive Assistant District Attorney, Lennie knew the two men were fond of each other.  He didn’t think that fondness would extend to bail for being drunk and disorderly, however.

He knew Jack McCoy’s father had been a drunken bully, a man who hit his children often, his wife even more.  Lennie had learned a little of it, a few years back.  A case of domestic abuse turned into murder for hire...3 children trooping into court, to recount horror stories of years of abuse at the hands of the father their mother had hired a man to kill.  And, they’d had the emergency room reports to back it all up.

Jack McCoy had had no choice but to prosecute the woman...that was the law, and too often for McCoy’s liking, the law had no gray areas in such matters.

McCoy would be the first to say, that he was bound to uphold the law, but there had been something about this case, that had obviously bothered him.

The woman had been convicted, but the District Attorney’s office had recommended leniency.  The woman had been sentenced to time served, and to do a year’s worth of community service.

Before she had even gotten home, her ex-brother in law had stabbed  her to death.

That night, Lennie had come to this very bar, to find Jack McCoy getting just as drunk as he was now.  Pissed off at a justice system that, despite restraining orders, and pressed charges over the past 3 years, a woman had felt she had no choice but to hire a murderer to kill the ex-husband who was sure to kill her one day.  And now, she was dead.

"My mother could have ended up like that. My old man beat the shit out of her the whole time they were married...the last time I saw him...hooked up to oxygen, weaker than shit, trying to take a swing at her for not getting his fucking cigarettes fast enough."  McCoy had rubbed his face.  "I am so glad that bastard is dead.  I thought I’d kill him myself."

Lennie had asked, "Did he ever go after you, or your sister or brother?"

McCoy had given a short laugh, and lifted his shirt sleeve.  An old scar, from a burn, it appeared, ran from the back of his wrist, nearly to his elbow.

"My old man.  I was about 6.  I ran all the way home from school, because I got all A’s on my report card.   Thought, my dad will be so happy, I got all A’s, I finally made him happy, and he‘ll love me now.  He said I made too much noise.  He had a  stove burner on...it was one of those old gas stoves...bastard held my arm to the flame."  McCoy had closed his eyes.  "I’ve had my appendix out, wiped out on my bike and broke my leg, had a lot of hangovers...but nothing has ever hurt like that did.  And he kept it there, when I screamed...told me to shut up, that’s what I got for making noise.  And that was just one time, he went after me.  I have other scars."

Lennie had known, that McCoy’s father had done worse to him.  He had wondered if the abuse had been always physical and emotional, or if it had also been sexual.   It was hard to know;  McCoy rarely talked much of his life before moving to New York.

Lennie had gotten Jack into a car after that, and to his apartment.  He’d never talked to McCoy about his father again, but he now knew why McCoy went after domestics like he did.

"Jack."  

"Huh."

"Lets go home."

"To what."  McCoy folded his arms on the bar and laid his head down. "Gonna stay right here."

The bartender nearly groaned.  He wanted to close up and finish cleaning.  He still had at least an hour of tort cases to read for Schindler’s class tomorrow.  Why had he ever thought to get a job in a bar where lawyers hung out?  Why did he even want to be a lawyer?  They were all drunks.

"Jack, you can’t stay here,"  the bartender said.

There was a muffled, "Why not."

"You can’t afford the rent here.  You’re a county employee, remember?"

Lennie nearly laughed.  "Josh has a good point."

"My other name is John Grisham.  I’m fuckin’ rich.  I can afford the rent here."  McCoy looked up, and gave a drunken grin.  "Ok?  I’ll put you in my next book.  Josh, my hero’s landlord."

The bartender leaned against the bar.  "Jack, this is your last warning.  Go home.  If Lennie won’t take you, call Claire-no, you get a cab.  I’m not getting her pissed off at me."

"Oh, she’s pissed off at ME, " McCoy said.  "Lennie, I bet you got someone pissed off at you, seeing as you’re in a bar, at...what time is it, anyway?  Fergit it.  I don’ wanna know.  I don’ care wha’ time it is."  He looked at Briscoe.  "What’s her name?  Tell me.  I’m a lawyer, and people tell me things all the time.  Might as well be a shrink, ya know?"  His head went down on his arms again.  "You need a lady, Lennie.  You really do.  And so will I, after tomorrow."

Briscoe sighed.  "Why’s that?"

"Cause I’m not any good for her.  I don’t listen.  I got no time.  SO, from now on, its no ladies.  Jus’ women.  There’s a diff’rance."  He looked up at the bartender.  "If there’s any advish I ever give you, thash it.  Fergit the ladies.  Stick to the women."

"Yeah, well at least yours is Irish."  Lennie stood and grabbed McCoy’s arm.  "If you’re lucky, she’s still yours."  He pulled McCoy to his feet.  "Come on.  The bus is leaving."

Outside the bar, the street was deserted.  Briscoe nearly dragged McCoy to the car Lennie Briscoe had somehow convinced a police garage attendant that he needed 24/7, some weeks ago.

He’d put 1,000 miles on it, and  turn it in.  Get another Cavalier.

"Jack, you aren’t going to puke, are you?"

McCoy groaned.  "Thank you SO much for putting that idea in my head."  He leaned against the car.

Lennie went to the driver’s side.  "OK?"

"Yeah."  McCoy opened the door.  "Oh shit-" he turned away suddenly.

Briscoe waited while the last few scotches and God knew what else, ended up on the pavement.  At least McCoy hadn’t gotten inside the car.  Briscoe still remembered all the perps who’d lost some kind of bodily fluid in his patrol car.  It was a wonder that cops back then never ended up with one of those diseases they said were spread by coming in contact with puke, shit, piss, or whatever.

McCoy slumped into the car.  "Got any gum?"

"Here."  Briscoe started the car.  "Here we go."

"Claire’s pissed at me."

"No shit."

"No, I mean REALLY pissed this time.  She won‘t answer my phone calls."

Briscoe sighed.  He’d been witness to some of the arguments between Jack McCoy and Claire Kincaid...usually the sort that happened between one person who knew he  was never wrong, and another who knew she was always right.

They always managed to make it up, maybe because the arguments were usually about some point of law.  

But Jack and Claire worked together, sometimes 12, 14 hours a day, sometimes 6 days a week.  And after almost two years as lovers, they had nearly lived together too.

Why did Jack insist on having affairs with co-workers?  How could he stand being with someone that much?   Or was he just another workaholic looking for the ease of sex with a fellow workaholic?  Or, did he think he was entitled to a little on the side?  Or...was he one of those men who needed to be taken care of, and when he found a woman who was perhaps smarter than himself, he latched onto her?

More to the point, how could any sane woman stand being with Jack McCoy that much?  The man was a smart ass, stubborn, a workaholic, had an opinion on everything, and was a true black Irish...either on top of the world (in which case he thought everyone else ought to be, too) or depressed as all hell (in which case he thought everyone should drop everything and pat his shoulder).  Either way, he also drank too much.  At least, he was drinking too much this past  month.

"Jack, it was a rough day.  All of us are shook."

"It was rougher on someone else."

Briscoe saw in his mind, the needle going into the man’s arm...the restraints, the silence in the room...then, someone pronouncing a man dead.

He had seen people die...or found them dead.  But he’d never seen a condemned man put to death by the state.

It had shaken him, more than he’d thought it would.

Lennie knew that Jack hadn’t wanted to go, that he and Claire Kincaid had argued about going to Attica State Prison.

Claire was against the death penalty-she said there were too many bad lawyers out there, representing clients who couldn’t afford the likes of  Paul Cambria or Johnny Cochrane.  Hence, innocent people were on death row.  Guilty people who would otherwise be serving life sentences, were on death row.  Guilty people who could afford the top criminal attorneys, were not on death row...or, even convicted.

Jack was for the death penalty in certain cases.  The murder of a police officer, murder by torture, serial killers.

Claire had been determined to go, to see the execution.  Maybe to see what she had in part put in motion, by being second chair to the man who had prosecuted this man.  Jack McCoy.

Lennie thought she’d gone, to punish herself, for not being able to convince Jack to ask for a life sentence.

Jack hadn’t wanted to go.  He had no wish to see someone die, not even a skank like this one.   And no need to either...he’d told Lennie, that to his mind, the case was closed.  Mickey Scott had committed a crime that was a capitol offense, been convicted, and had paid.  That was the law, and it was Jack McCoy’s job-and Claire Kincaid’s-to uphold that law.

Lennie knew Jack rarely went to the morgue either...he would get a medical examiner’s report, if necessary, call on the phone to get more details.  But he didn’t go to see dead bodies.

Lennie wondered if he really didn’t need to go;  some ADA’s went, out of morbid curiosity, Lennie often thought.  Like little kids who can’t resist looking at a car crash.

Was Jack over that?  Was he really just too busy to go to the morgue, when a phone call or an email would get him  the same information?  Or was he squeamish?  Lennie had known some damned good cops who couldn’t even look at someone who’d died peacefully, in their sleep, without getting sick and having nightmares.

"Sonovabitch!"  Lennie slammed on the brakes, as an SUV barreled through an intersection.  "You asshole!"

He stopped, and watched the SUV weave at a high speed down the street.  Jack had his seat belt on, or he would have gone into the dash board.
"What the fuck-"

"He must’ve been drinking with you."  Lennie got on the radio and spoke to a dispatcher, giving the make, model, and location of the SUV.  He looked, and drove on, his nerves more than a little rattled.

"Lennie...I never should have let Claire go today."

"Like anyone could stop her.  Or any of us.  None of us shoulda gone."
"No, Lennie.  I should have put her on a case."

"Keep the kid busy."

"Yeah."

"Maybe.  You know she’d have gone anyway."

"Lennie."

"What."

"She’s late."

"What?  Huh?"

"You know what I mean."

"Christ."  Lennie sighed.  "Its probably nothing.  Women get out of whack once in awhile.  And this past month...don’t tell me you haven’t been off your feed.  I mean, everything leading up to last night..."

"Yeah."  McCoy looked out the window.  As they pulled up to Jack’s apartment building, McCoy groaned.  "Oh God."

"If you’re going to throw up again-"

"I think she’s here.  I didn’t leave any lights on.  Shit, Lennie, what am I gonna do?"

"You’re going to go upstairs.  She won’t get into it with you, when she sees how drunk you are.  Then, you‘re gonna wash the barroom stink off you, and go to bed."

"I’m not drunk enough."

Lennie laughed, and got out of the car.  "Come on.  When is Jack McCoy afraid to face a judge and jury?"

"You’ve never seen her really mad.  Let me stay at your place-"

"Oh no.  Come on."

Lennie helped Jack to the elevator, and groaned as Jack squeezed his eyes shut.  Jack stunk of equal parts booze and cigarette smoke.  Lennie decided that anyone who thought that smoking was ok in bars, should smell Jack McCoy right now.

"God, I hate cigarettes."

Lennie grimaced.  "Great. Now I have a psychic link with a drunken lawyer."

"Wha?"

The elevator stopped, and they walked down the hall.

A door opened.  "I saw you drive up.  Thanks Lennie."  Claire Kincaid wore a bathrobe, and a pair of white socks...Lennie couldn’t see if there was anything on underneath.  

Even with no makeup, she was lovely, he thought.  Deep brown eyes, perfect skin, glossy thick hair that was almost black.  And long legs....Lennie nearly sighed, thinking about those legs...

"Come on.  Lennie, you want some coffee?"

"No.  I should get home."

Claire let Jack walk past her.  "Thanks."

"No problem."  Lennie saw the door shut in his face.  "Oh, Jack, are you in for it now," he muttered.

Jack went into the bathroom, where he turned on the shower.  He pulled his clothes off, letting them lie on the floor.  Like he used to, before Claire began staying so much...the woman was a neat freak. Who cared if your clothes were on the floor, when you lived alone?

He  gagged as the water began to wash the smoke out of his hair-it seemed all the bar room stink was going right into his nose...and stomach.

He could hear Clair moving in the bathroom.

"Leave them there, " he yelled over the sound of the  shower.

"So you can trip over them?"

He heard her leave, and leaned against the shower wall.  He saw the tattoo on his upper arm.  Claire, on a heart.

Not long after they’d become lovers, he’d had a college reunion...of sorts.  6 of his old frat buddies, in town for some bar association convention.
All of them were in private practice, and all of them, teasing him about being the last of them to stay in the employ of the government.

After all the family photos had come out and been put back in, after all the commiserating about incompetent judges, and court scheduling conflicts, and how hard it was to get a Jaguar serviced adequately (Jack had seen some envy, when he told them he either took the subway, or rode his bike...he was also the last of them to have a motorcycle), the talk had turned to women.

All of his old friends were married...and cheating on their wives, and praying not to get caught.  Jack was divorced, with a daughter he knew he spoiled outrageously, but he had never cheated on a woman...at least not where sex was concerned.  A few had claimed that his job was his "other woman."

He had shown them a picture of Claire, whom he had just started seeing, only a few months before.  

There had been a silence, before one of them said, "Damn, Jack, you still know how to pick ‘em.  You lucky shit."

He had taken them to a bar he knew, a bit rougher than the one they were in-and cheaper.  Closer to the type of place they’d all hung out in, back in their NYU days.

Next to the bar, was a tattoo parlor, and half drunk, he’d let them talk him into a tattoo.

He’d picked it off a wall, just a simple heart.  It had stung like hell, but hadn’t taken as long as he thought it would.  The tattoo artist had been an old man, bald, skinny as a rail, with a 3 day growth of beard.  Jack had begun to wonder about AIDS, and hepatitis.  Posters along the wall told about safe sex, dirty needles, and told the patrons that all equipment was sterilized between clients.  God, I hope so, he remembered thinking.

A coat of Neosporin, and some gauze, and a sheet of directions ...and the old man, saying, "If Claire gets one, its half price."

Damned if she hadn’t laughed herself silly when she saw it.  And damned if the next day, she hadn’t gone there herself...but her tattoo of his name, wasn’t on her arm...

Jack came out of the bathroom, and Claire shoved his bathrobe at him.  "I made some eggs."

"I’m not hungry."

"You need to soak up the booze."

"I’m not-"

Claire shot him a withering look, and he followed her into the kitchen.
They sat at the table; a plate of scrambled eggs sat at one place, still steaming.  

"Aren’t you having any?"

"I ate."

"I tried to get you."

"I know."

"I thought we could go to dinner...or I could bring something home."

"Just eat."

He managed to get some of the eggs down.  "Claire, I’m sorry."

"Jack, don’t start."  Claire got up and went into the bedroom.

Jack followed her.  The hangover was starting already; his head was beginning to pound.  "I-"

Claire got into bed.  "Just shut up and go brush your teeth."

He did so, and came back.  Claire lay with her back to him.  "Claire-"

"Just go to sleep."

"We need to talk."

"You got that right.  Tomorrow."

He laid down, and wondered if he should try to put his arm around her.  After a few minutes, he laid his arm over her side.  She didn’t push it away, but neither did she turn into his arms, as she would have a week ago.

"Claire...I love you.  Don’t do this-"

"Oh God.  Will you shut up and go to sleep?"

Stung, Jack laid there,  his head pounding and threatening to spin, his stomach burning all the way up his throat, wondering if tomorrow she’d be leaving him.




"Christ."

Claire Kincaid shook her head, as Jack eased himself back into the bed.  He hadn’t vomited, just gotten up to urinate and brush his teeth.  Evidently, the short trip to the bathroom had been too much.

He’d put on a pair of sweat pants.  She wondered if he was meaning to get dressed.

He curled into a ball, and she sat on the foot of the bed.

"You were in fine form last night."

"I bet.  If I wasn’t then, I am now."

"Lennie brought you home."

"I remember.   Oh God, I remember a lot.  Did Lennie call?  I heard the phone."

"Yes.  A little while ago."

"What time is it."

"Almost 11."   There was no answer to that.  "Jack, he couldn’t find Rey yesterday.  He thought Rey was with you."

"Rey went off to the park.  Someone told me he was walking with some woman.  Not Debra.  They were kissing."

"He..."

"I think so, the little bastard.  Fucking Catholic."  There was a silence.  "No, I didn’t go fuck some bar fly,"  he said in a nasty tone of voice.

"No, you let me do that."  Claire got off the bed.

Jack sat cross-legged.  "I didn’t mean  that."  He tried to reach for her, but Claire moved away.

"Its what you’re becoming.  A drunk. A bar fly."

"Claire, I-look, yesterday was the day from hell.  So I went and tied one on.  I should have been with you, but you apparently didn’t want my company.  I tried calling you all day-"

"Could you have come home?  NO!  Instead, you decide to let Rey cheat on his wife-and probably never told him to go home to Debra-"

"I didn’t know about it until a few hours later!  How was I supposed to prevent-"

"-and then you try to drink the yearly gross national product of Scotland all night, until Lennie has to go hunt you down."

"Why DID Lennie hunt me down, anyway?"

"He called here looking for you.  I told him where you were, and that you were probably drunk.  He offered to go get you.  I told him to let you find your own way home."  Claire got up and began putting some folded t-shirts away.  "I think he wants to sponsor you for AA."

Jack laid down again.  "I’m not an alcoholic.  I know what that looks like."

"Do you think that because you don’t beat me up, or tell me I’m stupid, or hold your daughter’s arm to a stove burner, you don’t have a problem?"  Claire saw his face twist.  "I’m sorry.  But Jack...I can’t go on like this.  After this last month...I know the execution upset you too.  But off you went, to the nearest bar, to drown it all."

"And you came here to stew about it.  Alone, when you knew I was trying to get a hold of you.  I wanted to see if you were ok.  Tell me the difference between what you did yesterday, and what I did."

"I didn’t get drunk."

"No, you sat here and pouted, instead of talking about it with me."

"Oh, yeah, talk to you.  That is if I could understand you.  I could barely understand the last two messages you left.  And I‘ve been trying to talk to you for the past month about it."  She waited for him to say something.  "I’ll get my stuff tomorrow."

Jack got out of bed, and grabbed his robe. "Claire-wait."  He followed her into the living room.

"Why should I."

He caught her arm.  "Because I love you.  And I need you here.  With me."  
He paused.  "And we have something else to talk about."

"What."  She looked away from him, then sat on the sofa.

"Did you get your period?"

"No."

"So..."

"It happens once in a while."

"I could make up a calendar by you.  And I thought if you were on the pill, it made you regular."

"It does.  Most of the time.  Stress can screw things up once in a while."

Jack sat beside her.  He must not be an alcoholic...he remembered telling Lennie he thought Claire might be pregnant.  Alcoholics never remembered what went on when they were drunk.

"What if it isn’t stress?"  Jack saw her shrug.   "What would you want to do?"

"So its up to me."

"Well, I expect to have a say...but I think the final decision is yours."

"How many women have you had this conversation with?"  Claire shot him a hard look.

"One.  Almost 16 years ago.  Margot wasn’t sure..."  Jack hesitated.  "I didn’t know either...There’d been a few miscarriages, and we didn’t know if we wanted to risk that again. But, we never regretted it."

"I’m only a week late."

"When can they tell?  There are those tests you can buy..."

"I don’t know."

"If you’re pregnant...You only had your period two days last month-sometimes that happens, the first month-"

"Look, Jack, I said I didn’t know what I’d do!  Will you stop harping on it!"

"Ok, I drink too much, I work too much, but if you’re pregnant, I’d cut back on my hours-and the drinking.  If you aren’t  pregnant, I’ll do the same.  This is too important."

"And if I’m not pregnant!?"

"I meant you!  I know you’re upset about going to Attica-"

"Going to Attica?  You can’t even say it!  We saw a man put to death, Jack!"  Claire’s voice rose.

"Yes, we saw a man get fried, get executed, however you want to put it!"

"Christ."  Claire got off the couch and began to pace.

"I told you how I feel-you sat right there and helped me convict the guy, and recommend the death penalty.  How would you feel if it was someone in your family he murdered!  Or Lizzie!"

"That's not an argument for-"

"Then what is?  If that had been Lizzie-or you- I would have killed him myself!"

"Oh, shut up, Jack!  You sanctimonious motherfucker!"

"Me?!"  Jack followed her into the bedroom.  He began pulling clothes out of drawers, leaving them open.  He dressed without noticing what he put on.  Claire was making the bed.

He tried to get in her face, but she turned.  He took her arm.

"Take your goddamned hand off me or so help me I’ll break it!"

He dropped his hand.  "Taking the law into your own hands?"

Claire went out into the bathroom.  "Just....GET OUT OF HERE!"  She yelled. She slammed the bathroom door.

 Someone was pounding on the door.  

"Go answer the fucking door."  Claire’s voice was muffled.

Jack turned and smacked his knee into one of the still open dresser drawers.  Swearing, he went into the living room to the door.

He looked out the peephole.  One of his neighbors was looking back, concerned.  Trust me to have the only nosy neighbors in all New York.
He opened the door.

"Everything ok?"

Jack tried to smile. "Just an argument, Harry."  He began to shut the door.

Harry Schwartz put his foot in the door.  "Look you dumb ass.  I don’t care if you and Rudy go to lunch or whatever.  You touch her, I got a 12 gauge just waiting."

Jack sighed, and leaned his head against the door.  "Harry...she’s going to kill me first."

"Stupid jerk."  The old man walked off across the hall to his door.

Jack shut the door.  He turned.  He could hear Claire coughing in the bathroom.

"You ok?"

"I’m-"

"Christ-"  he opened the door.  Claire was on the floor, retching into the toilet.  Jack held her hair back, and fought to keep from vomiting himself.

Even after her stomach was empty, she still tried to bring something up.  When she had stopped, he handed her her toothbrush;  as soon as she put it in her mouth, Claire gagged, and  was bending over the toilet again.

"You better call your doctor,"  he said, finally.

"Its Saturday."  Claire blew her nose on a piece of toilet paper.

Jack wet a washcloth, and held it to the back of her neck.  "Let me go get one of those tests.  Then we’ll know, one way or the other."

"So we can scream at each other some more?"

"Claire-"

"Just get out of here for a few hours."

Jack sat on the edge of the tub.  "We need to talk about-"

"About what?  Us?  Work?"

"All of it."  Jack hesitated.  "I could teach.  NYU approached me again."

"Oh right.  You, teaching."

"I’ve taught a few classes here and there-I do like it-"

"A bunch more minds for the great Jack McCoy to mold."

"Will you stop it?"  Jack followed her into the kitchen.  He opened the refrigerator and got out a 2 liter bottle of ginger ale, then a frying pan.

"What are you doing."

"I’m going to heat it up, to get it to go flat.  When it cools, drink it.  It might help."

"Jack, I meant it. Get out of here."

Jack looked at her.   "What?"

"Go.  If I have to look at you any longer,  I’M going to leave."

He slammed the frying pan down on the burner. "Fine."  He went to the closet, and grabbed his jacket.  He saw his helmet on the closet floor, but decided against it.  He wanted to walk.

"Just give me a few hours-"

"How about a few days?  How about a few weeks?  How about you shove this crap up your ass!"  he yelled.

Claire watched the door slam, and sat weakly on the sofa.  She thought she should be crying, either through sadness or rage...she was surprised that she felt neither.





He didn’t know where he was when he finally slowed down.  He realized he’d been running, that his heart was pounding, and his legs were begging him to slow down.

Claire had gotten him running again, and she always made him stretch before and after.  He'd feel this tomorrow.

He saw a park bench, and walked over to it.  Putting one foot on it, he stretched out his quads and hamstrings, then switched legs.  

He sat, and let his lungs ease up.  His heart slowed.  All in all, he wasn’t in bad shape for a man his age, but then he’d always been on the thin side.  The physical he took once a year for the County of New York told him his cholesterol was fine, that his blood sugar was actually a  little too  low, and his blood pressure was also low.

Claire said he yelled too much to have high blood pressure.

What did I say to her.  WHY did I say that to her.  I never talk to her like that.

He leaned forward and held his head.  Never run on a hangover.  He felt as if his head was going to blow off.  He wished it would.  It’d save everyone a lot of trouble.

He could feel his wallet in a jacket pocket, and remembered putting it and his cell phone there last night.  He stood to dig it out of the deep pocket.

He sat, and looked to see how much money he had.  A little over $50.00 in tens and fives.  And a Master Card.

He dialed his number.  No answer.  Not surprising.  After the recorded voice that had come with the answering machine and the beep, he cleared his throat.

"I’m sorry.  Claire...I love you."  Jack held his breath, trying not to cry.  "I’m sorry...Claire, don’t go.  I’ll  stay away a few hours....but don’t go.  Stay there. Sweetheart, I do love you, I want this to work-I hope there’s a baby, I need you-I never had-"

The machine came to the end of the allotted time for a message, and he stared at the phone.

He wiped his face, and sniffed.  He looked up, and realized he was in the same park where they’d first kissed.

There was a movie theater near here.  And a little Italian restaurant...no it was a Greek place now.

He tried to think of little things, about this neighborhood, but couldn’t.   

Claire stared at the phone.  He was crying, or nearly was.  She’d seen him cry before...he‘d cried that night they rented "Steel Magnolias."  And when his daughter had fallen off a horse, ending up with a bad concussion and a broken arm.

Jack had been nearly hysterical, shaking, and pacing nervously, at the hospital that day.  Claire had finally gotten him to sit down, where she had held him tightly, feeling his arms clinging to her.  

It was 2 months after they had become lovers, and the first time she had felt such a deep, caring love for him.  Not admiration for his brilliant mind, his devotion to justice, his passion for researching the smallest point...or the way he could change, one moment a being a man who could make her laugh so easily, then becoming an inventive, affectionate lover who thrilled her as no man had before.

His ex wife, Margot, and her second husband, Ted Kostic had been there too, Margot just as upset, but somehow cool;  she’d sat, stone faced, stiff... allowing her husband to hold her hand.

Claire had wondered how Jack had ever managed to have a child with such a woman, much less stay married to her for almost 11 years.

Claire curled up on the sofa, and hugged a pillow.  She couldn’t bear to see him now.  If she did, she’d tell him she was leaving.  

They had been fighting about everything, for a month.  The closer the execution got, the louder the fights got.

Once, they had even started fighting at work...something about how he’d forgotten to pick up her dry cleaning.  Before long, they had been yelling about other things, stupid things even pettier than his forgetting to do her a favor on a day she had known he was extremely busy.

She had left his office, and heard him slam the door after her.  That was nothing new, before they had become lovers, he had slammed the door on her before-and she on him-when she had scored some legal point in one of their "discussions."

But this hadn’t been about a legality, it had been personal, and Jack had told her, he would never bring anything personal to work.

"So don’t expect me to jump you on a desk," he’d said once.  And he’d been serious.  His mind was full of compartments, it seemed.  He’d argue about a case with her, just as he would with Adam, or any other ADA, but only at work.  Once he left Hogan Place, he left work there.

God, no, he didn’t.  How many times had she found him in Rose’s?   When she had been Ben Stone’s ADA, Claire had heard how Jack McCoy would be found at the bar, going over a case in his head, wondering what had gone wrong, if he hadn’t gotten a conviction.

And that he could drink anyone under the table.

He hadn’t been drinking much at all, not until these past few  months.  The execution had bothered him as much as it had her...it was one thing to convict a man, another to see him die.  Jack just wasn’t going to admit that to himself.  Or, to anyone else.

She had seen it.  And he was right...she had helped put that man in jail, and to death...once, he had said, for no other reason than it was her job to uphold the laws of the state, and if she couldn’t do that, she was better off teaching or defending.

Clair shut her eyes.  With his blunt logic, he was right.

Later, here, he had tried to apologize.  He had told her, that if she felt so strongly about the death penalty, maybe she should work for one of the legal aids.  Defend people who couldn’t afford a good lawyer.  He’d told her she was the best lawyer he’d seen in Hogan Place in years.  She was brilliant, and if she defended someone, that person would have the best lawyer available.

She had said nothing.  He had held her, but not made love to her.  Just held her, and told her he loved her, and he hated fighting with her.  She had felt him smile against her forehead, when he’d said that she kept her head when she was pissed at him, and that made him work too hard.

They had always argued.  Taking sides in a case.  One of them being devil’s advocate.  He said it made him think better, to anticipate what the defense attorney might have in mind.

But most of the time, they did disagree.  Rarely over whether a person was guilty, but over some  matter of law.  Whether evidence had been obtained legally.  What might be grounds for appeal.

She’d learned fast, that Jack McCoy hadn’t liked to loose.  Not at anything.
She had learned from the beginning, that he wanted her, and got the impression that he didn‘t want to loose on that front either.

She caught him looking at her, but unlike other men, he didn’t look away, or seemingly have the sense to be embarrassed.  He’d smile at her, and before long, she found herself no longer flustered, or irritated, but amused at his silent persistence.  

He never came right out and told her he wanted her, like some men.  He didn’t boast that one day he’d have her, and she’d love it-Claire had run across many men like that.

He worked with her, the total professional.  He asked her opinions, agreed with her, disagreed with her.  When she made a point he hadn’t thought of, he gave her credit for it, even in Adam Schiff’s office.

And he flirted with her.  At Rose’s, where many of the lawyers who worked in the court system, on either side, often went at the end of the week.  He’d tell her jokes,  try to get her to like The Clash, point out some young male ADA to her, then tell her what he perceived as the man’s faults...and tell her HE wasn’t like that...

She told him she wasn’t about to be another in a line of his conquests.  He told her that it wasn’t his fault if he found the women he worked with more  stimulating than women at the gym.

Claire had found that remark odd, until she had gotten to know him better.  A man at a gym, surrounded by perfect female bodies in leotards, not interested?

Jack McCoy was certainly attracted to a pretty face and a shapely pair of legs, but more than that, he appreciated a brilliant mind.  He had no patience for the ignorant, Claire had found, and would reduce some bigoted cop or some self important defense witness to a pile of nerves; a woman relying on her looks at Rose’s, he’d ignore completely.  Once, she had heard him sneeringly tell one woman, who’d been trying for a half hour to pick him up, to go home and do her roots...if, that was, she was literate enough to read the directions on the Clorox bottle.

She found she actually liked him, as well as admired him.  She was learning more about the law, and more practical applications of her trade than in any law school class, when she realized he had a wicked sense of humor, a penchant for practical jokes, and that he had a daughter he was crazy about, who had her first boy friend.  He was known by every Chinese restaurant in Mott St, he loved Italian food, and hated to cook.  Every Friday he groaned that maybe this weekend, he’d hoe out his "dump."  Judging by his office, Claire decided his apartment probably was a dump...but that he probably knew where everything was.  He had a motorcycle, and was always trying to get the DA to go for a ride, even keeping an extra helmet in his office for "the occasion."  He left a weeks worth of suits at Hogan Place, and generally arrived and left there in jeans and a leather jacket of some sort, all battered.

He was regarded as the best thing to hit female lawyers, said to be hung like a horse (judging by his jeans, he was), and a superb lover.  He never ignored you, even after a one night stand that was never repeated, like other men would-he‘d treat you as a friend, and wouldn‘t be vulgar or rude.  Usually, anyone around him at happy hour at Rose’s, was laughing.  

Claire was with no one...she had had an affair with an older man, a judge, that had ended badly.  He had been married, and she had been clerking for him-she was sure Jack knew about it, as after Thayer’s conviction for threatening another lover’s child, everyone had known about Claire Kincaid’s affair with him also.

He had seemed to know about another former lover, who was doing all but stalking her after she ended that affair.  Maybe that was why he had put his arm around her shoulders at Rose’s one night, when he had seen the man come in...seemingly because he was telling her a joke, but from across a crowded bar, it night have looked like something more.

That night, he had followed her home, unknown to Claire.  She had heard a commotion outside her apartment building, and looked out the window.

She had gone to the door, and heard Jack McCoy tell her ex lover that if he ever was anywhere within a mile of Claire Kincaid, Jack McCoy was going to beat his brains in.  That if the harassment didn’t stop, McCoy was going to stop it...and no police were going to be involved.

It had worked.  There were no more phone calls, no more hang ups.  No more notes or pornographic pictures under her windshield wipers. She didn’t go into a store, to find the man only a few yards away, leering at her.

It had been another side of her boss, that she had never suspected was there.  When she learned of how, and where he’d grown up, when he’d told her of gangs, and petty crimes, and fights...Claire had known that Jack wasn’t tough just in a court room, and that he wouldn’t hesitate to fight just inside court with words.

She learned that he was a man who did all he could for his friends, but who took betrayal and disloyalty badly, whether to himself personally or professionally, or to a friend.

She admitted it to herself.  He was like no other man she‘d ever met.  He intrigued her; there was something that could be very dangerous about him, cunning, and shrewd, but at the same time, there was a gentleness, a tenderness to him.  He was "mad, bad, and dangerous to know," and Claire found herself attracted to him not only on an intellectual level, but on a level much more primal.

She decided to set him up with one of her friends, thinking if he was occupied elsewhere, he would not be so eager to want her, and it might put him out of bounds to her. He  put her off for a few weeks, then told her that he was going to set her up with an ADA he knew.

The four of them were to go see a movie, but on that Thursday, Jim and Maria had canceled.

Jack had said, "Well, I can always see a Monty Python movie...you’ve never seen this one, so lets go see it."

They had gone to dinner first, an Italian place that closed shortly after.  Jack had later said he hoped it wasn’t an omen.

The movie had been Monty Python and the Holy Grail-Claire had never seen a Monty Python movie, and Jack said her education had been sadly lacking.

She hadn’t laughed so hard in ages.  Jack had kept saying, "Wait until the next part-it gets better"  Every time one of them reached for popcorn, they found the other’s hand in the bucket.  Once, he’d grabbed her hand, and pretended to take a bite out of it, making her laugh more.  By the end of the movie, her sides had ached.

Coming out of the theater, it had seemed natural to hold hands.  In the park, she had stopped walking, pulled him to her, and kissed him.

She had asked him if he lived nearby, and he said he did.  They kissed  again, and he’d told her he didn’t want a fuck every now and then, when both of them were horny, he wanted more than that.  If she wanted less, he’d take her home, and they wouldn’t mention it again.

She had kissed him hard.  Other men were always turned off by her aggression.  This man responded to it.

Once inside his apartment, he had pressed her against the closed door, and they had kissed and begun to undress each other with something like madness.  She still remembered vaguely wondering where she’d find her clothes in a few hours.

He had nearly dragged her to the bedroom, muttering, "Not here...not like that.."

She had laughed, and said, "No, not yet, anyway."  Jack had laughed and kissed her.

He had stopped cold.  "I have some condoms...and I just got tested...the county does that physical...I‘m negative."

"I hate condoms," she had said.  "I just got tested too, and I‘m negative...and I’m on the pill."

"I’m in heaven," Jack had said, grinning.

She still remembered how he had gasped, as their bodies touched.  How he had lifted her to the bed.  How he’d slowed, his hands going over her, the feel of his  mouth following...

She had offered herself at once, had told him she wanted him that instant.  She had wanted him on her, in her...the feel of him, over her, between her legs...when he whispered that he didn’t want to hurt her, she had grabbed his head, and kissed him hard, and at length.

He hadn’t rammed into her, as she thought she wanted.  Instead, he eased inside her, moaning her name softly.  She had sobbed with pleasure, feeling him stretch her, open her...

How long it lasted, she didn’t know.  She climaxed, amazed that he knew her body so well...other men had taken days, to pleasure her so well.

He praised her.  Told her she was sexy, erotic.  Beautiful.  Told her to hold him, hold him tight-don’t let go-fuck me...love me, Claire, love me...

Much later, she was surprised he was still awake.  He told her he thought it was rude to roll off a woman and start snoring and stealing the covers.   Playfully, he  snatched at the tangled sheets and comforter, and let out a loud fake snore.  Claire, laughing, tried to grab the covers back.

Before long, he was under her...she was amazed that such a man would be so passive...and it stirred her to no end.

She said something about how she should go.  His arms had tightened, and he’d whispered for her to stay.  Stay all night.  Sleep with me.

She had fallen asleep, listening to his heart, feeling the rasp of a new beard occasionally on her face, his hand moving slowly in her hair.

They had made love again, at dawn...and all day long.  They made love slowly, discovering what the other liked, and so quickly, it was like a sudden storm of pleasure.  He had taken her against the wall, and they had both laughed at the end of it, collapsing against each other before sliding to the floor...where they made love again.

That night, he had taken her home...and he had spent the night at her place.

And Monday, he had done little to even hint at the weekend...unless a few lazy looks, and a half stifled yawn in Adam Schiff’s office counted.

At 5 pm, she had been at her computer, when he’d sent her an email.

"If you and I don’t get to my place within half an hour, I’m going to cum in my pants."

Adam Schiff had been onto them at once, and Jack hadn’t minded one bit.  Clair had wondered how the DA would take an office affair, and even expected a reprimand.  Especially since the revelation of her affair with Thayer had embarrassed the DA’s office so much.

Instead, Schiff would occasionally tease her and Jack.  He told Jack to tell "the next Mrs. McCoy" about his views on a woman who claimed her children had died of crib death.  Tell Claire that when she saw Jack on Saturday, to remind him he owed the DA a bottle of scotch.  Ask her if she was a poker player, and there was a running game at his home, on Sunday afternoon...if she was like Jack, a non practicing Catholic who never went to mass.   Did she sail?  Tell Jack to bring her out to Sag Harbor on Saturday, he was going to need another crew, no experiance necesary.

Schiff would tell Claire, "I don’t know what Jack would do without you."  And he’d tell Jack, "You’re damn lucky, you know.  I have no idea what a lady like her sees in you.  No idea at all."

They still argued, about cases.  The first time Claire worked a death penalty case with Jack, she was surprised at how vehement he was in his support for the law.  How upset she got with him, to the point that she had slammed out of his office.

He had run after her, and in the hall, in front of at least a dozen people, taken her hands and apologized for snapping at her.  That it was something she felt strongly about, and he had no right to get sarcastic with  her, or get mad at her for her opinion.  

She had nodded dumbly, feeling as if everyone in the hall was leering at them.

Jack had groaned, and thrown up his hands.  "YES!" he’d yelled.  "Everyone happy now?"

Someone had hooted, and someone else had muttered, "Took you two long enough."

Lennie Briscoe had been there, and had slowly applauded.  "Now, if the show is over, can I tell you what we got on the armored  car robbery?"




Claire put her hand on her belly.  Usually, she felt a dull cramping when she was about to get her period...nothing.

She rubbed her eyes.  If she was pregnant, it wouldn’t be that difficult a procedure.  Claire had had friends who had had abortions.  They said it felt like a bad case of cramps, you took a few days off work, went back in  a week for a follow up exam, and got a lecture about how birth control pills were close to being 100% effective...but close wasn’t absolute.

They had talked about what could happen, when they had first become lovers.  He had told her he thought it would be her decision in the end, but he expected her to hear him out on it.  He hadn’t known how he’d feel, if she became pregnant.  He loved his daughter, had  wanted her, but at his age...he really didn’t know what he’d feel.  She’d appreciated his honesty.

Claire had never had a pregnancy scare.  She’d supposed, that when she wanted to have a baby, she’d go off the pill, and get pregnant.  It wasn’t like anyone in her family had ever had any problems trying to conceive-look at her cousin Terry...4 kids and one on the way, all after years on the pill.

She doubted she’d ever have to worry, ever have to wonder what to do.

The phone rang, and she heard the answering machine pick up.

"Claire...are you there? Please pick up the phone."  There was a pause. "Claire, if you’re there, I’m sorry.  And I love you.  Please pick up the phone."

Claire answered the phone.  "I’m here."

"Thank God.  Claire...I love you."

"Yeah."

"Will you stay there?"
"Yes."

"I’ll be home in a little while."

"How’s your head?"

"Clear."  Jack sounded tired.  "I’ll be there in a bit.  I love you."

Claire nodded and held her breath.

"You ok?"

"Jack...just get home."  She hung up the phone.

She hugged herself.  She remembered the first time she’d told him she loved him.

It was here on this couch. A Sunday, and they were watching TV.  It was raining out, not hard, just a constant drizzle that did little to wash away the street dust.

It had been the day after Lizzie’s fall off the horse, and the doctor had told them she was finally awake, and responding well.  Jack had still spent the night at the hospital-the doctor had made the mistake of telling him, that there was a small chance that complications could still arise.

The next day, Jack had fallen asleep with his head in Claire’s lap, on the sofa.  Claire had watched him, remembering how upset he’d been the day before, how afraid for his daughter he’d been.  She’d realized how much she loved looking at him, how he wasn’t classically handsome, how his nose was too big, how his whole face changed when he was happy, how she loved his hair, how he would muss it unknowingly, by running his hands through it, when he was thinking.  The intense look he got, when something interested him. How he had his tie off, as soon as he was out of court.  How she loved his voice, a voice any blues singer would give his eye teeth for.  How he insisted she stay over, when she had her period, just so he could hold her, and talk with her before they fell asleep.  How she loved HIM.

He had woken, and looked up at her, such trust in his eyes, that she had said it.  "I love you, Jack McCoy."

 For a long moment, he had simply held her tightly, before whispering, "I love you so much.  Tell me again."

They had made love, and she had watched him try to stay awake, and fail.

He was the most stubborn person she’d ever met...not that that was a bad thing, when he knew a witness was holding back, or when an innocent person was being railroaded by a lazy and corrupt cop.  

He was moody...but then, Claire had always found it easy to tease him out of a bad mood.  And she had her moods as well, that  he obliged.

He was a workaholic.  But he had such a passion for the law, a passion Claire had seen burn out in lawyers younger than herself.  But she herself could suddenly realize, that hours had passed, as she worked.

He had the idealism of an adolescent, and the cynicism of a man who’d seen those ideals crushed.  Yet, she had seen him still try to be an idealist.  A believer in the justice system.

He was a man who seemed to have boundless confidence in his abilities, to the point of appearing immodest, and egoist.  Yet Claire had seen him express self doubt, not in order to have his ego stroked, but because he was honestly unsure.

And, unlike a true egoist, he had a great belief in the abilities of the people he worked with.  Especially in Claire’s abilities.  Somehow, a man who was one of the most competitive and aggressive lawyers Claire had ever met, was also the ultimate team player.

When she made a mistake, when she didn’t research something extensively enough, his rebuke was instantaneous, but not lasting.  Once the blame had been laid, the problem fixed,  he moved on, and expected Claire to, also.  Such confidence that she could help him fix a mistake-or fix it on her own, that she would not repeat a mistake, meant that Claire learned from what she had done wrong, and rarely did it again.

And he argued.  Even his daughter knew he loved to argue.  The first time Claire had met Liz, the 14 year old had gotten into an argument with her father about being allowed to go with friends unchaperoned to a concert.

Later, when Liz had had to accept that her father wasn’t going to let her go, any more than her mother and step father would, Liz had shrugged.

"Ok, we had our Mean Old Fart Father argument."  She’d looked at Claire.  "I have to argue with him, or he’ll shrivel up and blow away.  I keep him on his toes for court, you know.  Its why he had me."

Jack had made a face.  "I still mean NO.  And what concert is this, that everyone is going to, anyway?"

"Dave Matthews,"  Liz had muttered.  "I told  you."

Jack had smiled.  "Claire and I will take you.  We like Dave Matthews."

"Great.  Going to a concert with my folks.  Can you think of any other way to embarrass me?"

"Give me a few hours."

"Make it a doozy.  I love it when my teachers at school talk about my crazy father and what he‘s done this time."  Liz had looked at Claire.  "Birds of a feather flock together, I bet.  Welcome to the nut house."

Liz had accepted her with warmth.  Not long ago, she had shyly asked, while she and Claire had gone on a Saturday shopping trip, if she was going to marry her father.

"I’d like it.  I’d like it a lot.  I never liked that Diana.  She was such a snob."

Claire had smiled, and mumbled something.  Liz had frowned.  

"Claire...a lot of my friends have parents that are divorced.  And hardly any of them get along with one or both parents...or the people they married.  Sometimes, I think we’re all pretty odd.  Mom and Dad get along.  Ted likes Dad...as much as Ted can like anyone.  I mean, Ted is a nice guy, but he’s kind of cold...not like Dad.  And Mom is like Ted too.  But she likes you.  And...at least you don’t spit in Mom’s face or anything."

Claire had laughed at the thought.  Margot Kostic was, like her daughter said, nice, but not a woman who inspired either hate or love.  Not for the first time, she wondered what Jack had ever seen in her, and how Liz had seemingly inherited none of her mother’s cool politeness.

"You really ought to make an honest man out of my father.  I mean, what if one of you runs for DA one day?  People will say they’re all for people living together, but not when it comes to politics."

Claire had stared.  "Who says your father is going to become a politician?"

"No-not him....he says you probably will, one day.  He said, I should go see you in court.  He thinks you’re the best lawyer he’s ever seen.  And if I want to become a lawyer, I should go see you in action."

"Why not go watch him?"

"He says I make him nervous.  He’s really a nervous person, you know.  So, when are you going to become my official evil step monster?"  Liz had fixed Claire with a level gaze.  "I am NOT going to wear pink though.  So don’t go picking out some frilly pink taffeta thing for me to wear at the wedding."

That night, after Jack had taken Liz home, Claire had told him about what Liz had asked her, not as a prompt to a proposal, but because it still amused her.

Jack had looked at her.  "I told you once, I would have to marry you one of these days."

"You did not."

"I did too.  The second time we made love."  He hesitated.  "I told you I loved you.  You were...a little caught up in things, to say anything."  He shrugged.

Claire thought.  She thought of that second day, at her apartment...no, she didn’t remember him saying that he loved her.

"No. The second time we made love.  Here."  Jack waited, and saw her remember.  When she said nothing, he blew out a breath.  "Ok...Claire, I do love you...I have since..."he smiled a little.  "The day in court, the voir dire...that guy said we should hang all of ‘em, and that he didn’t believe in any settlements over $5.00.  And that he thought the judge was a Communist, and that women belonged in the kitchen.  You told him that with beliefs like the last one, he must do a lot of masturbating, so you’d let him go on home and get to it.  I thought Ruthie Miller was going to explode.  Good thing the judge asked to see all counsel in chambers...I hadn’t laughed so damn hard in ages.  Not in a courtroom at least."

Claire giggled.  "It just slipped out...and then I caught your eye, and Ruthie’s, and saw the judge trying so hard to look serious...Thank God he got us all out of the courtroom."

"I never told you this...Judge Rivera told me I better hang on to you.  He said, given my reputation for having affairs with my assistants, that if I wasn’t already involved with you, I better get a move on."

"I doubt Rivera put it that nicely."

"No, he said, ‘Jack, if you aren’t banging that one, maybe you need some Spanish Fly.  And if you are, you better keep her happy."  Jack paused.  "He also said, not so long ago, that  he’d be pleased to marry us..."  He looked at her.  "I  know you haven’t ever lived with a man...you may as well live with me, we spend so much time together, between work and either your place or mine.  Would you think about getting married?"

Claire went silent for a long moment.  "I don’t know..."

"You do love me..."

"Jack , of course!  Its just that...I like being on my own...I know it sounds trite...I was home with my family, then rooming with people either in a dorm or a house...and there were other men...I always felt...at their beck and call.  After Thayer...I was stupid for getting involved with him-"

"You were in love."

"He was married."

"It doesn’t change the fact that you were in love.  And he used you."

"I...everything revolved around me waiting for him to call.   After I got out of that...to just go home, or go shopping after work...not have to be anywhere at a certain time, not have to stay off the phone in case he was trying to call...it was like freedom.  You...you have always seemed to understand that.  Maybe its because we spend all day together...you don’t get upset if I say I have something to do, or if I want to do something with  my friends...a girls’ night out...I...think I need more time, before I think about marriage."

"What if we got a place together?  We could give it 6 months, a year...live together...see if its too much, being together."  He’d smiled.   "Or, see if its not enough."

"Jack, I don’t know..."

"My lease is up in a few months...we could start looking now..."

"So you want me to take you home on approval."

"I guess."  Jack hesitated.  "You said once...you want kids, one day...what about with me?"

"You said you didn’t know how you’d feel about that."

"I do know, now.  I think it’d be great."

Claire had moved into his arms.  "I love you.  And I do want children...our children...but not just yet."

"Ok."  Jack had tightened her arms around her.  She loved that about him...how ready he was to give affection.  Love.

"Claire...today, I got a call...from a guy I know, he’s a professor of law at NYU.  He said they want to hire me."

"As a teacher?"

"No, to sweep floors.  As a full professor.  If living together, and working together was too much, I could take them up on it."

"No, Jack...you thrive on the courtroom.  I can’t see you, making up exams, and reading thesis..."

"I’ve done some teaching...not in a few years...At Columbia, they had a few people out, maternity leave, and something else.   I taught a class in trial law over a summer semester.  I liked it...it was like a courtroom, always something new coming up, students always asking things I didn’t expect them to ask...some dumb questions, but most pretty profound."  He had smiled.  "Something for us to consider, maybe."





He hesitated at the door, before knocking.  "Its me."

Claire unlocked the door, and stood aside.  Instead of walking past her, Jack took her in his arms, and held her a long time.

"I’m sorry.  For the past month, yesterday, last night."  His arms tightened.  "I love you.  I know the past month has been hard on you...I shouldn’t have ridden you like I have been doing."

Claire nodded, and walked to the sofa.  Jack took his coat off, and let it drop onto a chair, then sat next to her.

"What’s in the bag?"

He looked at the plastic bag from the drug store.  "I thought..."  He handed her the bag.  Inside was a pregnancy test.

Claire set it down on a table, and sat back.  "If I’m pregnant...what happens then?"

"I want it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."  Jack looked at his hands.  "I don’t think I’ve forgotten how to change diapers."

Claire said nothing for a while, then she leaned forward and began to open the box.  Reading the directions, she found that the test would work now.  

"Want  a glass of water?"  Jack shrugged a little.

"No."  Claire went into the bathroom.

Jack sat back, and looked at the ceiling.  If she was pregnant...she’d been on the pill...some women couldn’t take the birth control pill...something about strokes, and blood clots, if you had a history of that...what if you got pregnant while on it?  Could it harm the baby?   Harm Claire?   Why didn’t doctors have office hours on Saturdays so you could call and ask these things?

Claire came out, the stick from the test kit in her hand.  A large + sign was visible.  "It says I’m pregnant."  She sat on the couch next to him.  Together, they looked at the stick.

Jack looked at her.  "What do you want to do?"

"If this test is accurate..."Claire drew a breath.  "Have it."

Jack put his arms around her, and buried his face in her hair.  "Thank you."  He held her, stroking her hair, her back.  He touched her belly, and smiled.  "Think its a girl or a boy?"

"I don’t know.  I suppose you’d like a boy."

"Not really.  It doesn’t matter.  I don‘t know."

"You have a daughter."

Jack smiled.  "I guess we have to tell Liz."

"Not just yet...lets wait until its official...from the doctor."  Claire rested in his arms;  she loved the feel of him.  How often had she had to stop herself, in his office, from simply wrapping her arms around him?  

She remembered, once she hadn‘t.  He’d been reading something at his computer, and had asked her to look at it as he read.  

She had come behind him, and leaned over, to read along with him.  She had found herself leaning on his shoulder, as he pointed out something.

Then, she’d realized she could smell him.  His aftershave, that she loved...that she had to get so close to him to smell.  A hint of one of the many cups of coffee he’d already had.

She had put her arms around his shoulders, leaning on him, loosely, and read on.  His secretary had come in with another batch of papers, and Jack hadn’t looked up, or said anything, but had put his hand on one of Claire‘s, keeping her where she was.

"I wonder when we..."  Claire let her voice trail off.  

"Being on the pill...do you think everything is ok?"

"Probably.  It must happen enough."

"Claire...we will have to cut down on our hours."

"Can you do that?"  Claire looked at him.  "Will you do it?"

"Yes."  Jack nodded.  

"This past month..."

Jack nodded again.  "I didn’t understand you, didn’t even try to.  I’m sorry.  After seeing the execution...I understand a big part of what you were trying to say to me.  What I wouldn’t hear.  We can’t just hide behind a law, that says the penalty is execution.  I wish none of us had gone to see it.  But we can’t hide, and pretend that the day he was sentenced, was just another day at work, doing our job. There are consequences to our job.  I still believe Mickey Scott deserved to be put to death for what he did.  And I can see your point, about too many people being on death row, that might not be there, but for an incompetent lawyer."  He still had his hand on her belly.  "Still flat.  I’d have thought, you being so damn skinny...you’d pop out the second you go pregnant."

Claire smiled.  "Like you’re fat."

Jack pushed her down gently, and lifted the sweat shirt she wore.  An old one, from Harvard.

He kissed her skin.  "I love you."  He laid his head on her body, and slid his arms around her .  "I love you."

Claire held him, feeling his tears, his lips on her.

They spent most of the rest of the day in bed.  She dozed, to be awakened by the phone.

Jack leaned over and answered it.  "Its Lennie," he said softly.  "Go back to sleep."

Claire half listened to him.  She closed her eyes, and thought of how gentle he had been...because of the baby?

She was still wet...from him, or her own body, or both.  When she moved her thighs, she felt it.

Jack hung up the phone, and turned to face her.

"He wanted to know if you were still around."  He smiled.  "I think he knows you are."

"And what we were doing, I bet."

"He said he didn’t know what I had ever done to deserve you.  I agreed."

"Did he find Rey?"

"Debra said Rey took the kids out somewhere."

"So she doesn’t know."  Claire sighed.

"I doubt it.  But, knowing Rey, he’ll tell her."

He shouldn’t."  Claire looked at him.  "When things were bad, in your first marriage...you never cheated."

"No.  I doubt she did either.  Although, she did remarry pretty fast."

"Did it hurt?"

"Kind of.  That she got to find someone, so fast, and be happy.  I hoped it was on the rebound, and that they’d be in divorce court within a year...but Liz liked him..."

"She does.  But she likes you more."

"I wonder how she will like, having a brother or sister?"

"Maybe we better look for a bigger place...when Liz is here..."

"Yeah...maybe one of us should go into private practice.  We’d make more money."

Claire leaned over him.  "Maybe you could be another John Grisham or Scott Turow."  She frowned when Jack groaned.  "What?  Don’t tell me, that when you have your poor exhausted ADA out doing research, you’re back in your office writing a best seller?"

"I told the bartender last night, my other name was John Grisham."

"Why on earth?"

"He was trying to get me to go home.  It was when Lennie showed up.  I told them I was staying there, and the bartender told me I couldn’t afford the rent.  So I told him my name was really John Grisham, and I was rich, and I’d make him a character in my next best seller."

Claire laughed softly.  "You are crazy.  Crazy enough to do just that."  She laid her head on his chest.  "I love you."

"Still mad at me?"

"If you want to talk about the death penalty...yeah.  I am.  If you want to talk about how we both handled it...handled the execution...no.  I’m not mad.  We both acted stupid when we got back ."  Claire felt his arms tighten around her.  "It was a shock...and neither of us knew how to handle it, the shock of it all.  I still don’t know..."

"Me either.  I just know, the way we DID handle it...wasn’t right.  For either of us...or for us, as a couple.  We should have been together yesterday.  Even if we spent all day screaming at each other.  We should have been together."  He moved onto his side, and studied her face.  "I should have been with you.  Not so much because you needed me...because I needed you."

"You’re selfish."

He saw the smile in her dark eyes.  "Maybe...probably.  But most men who are weaker than their ladies, are."


Claire made an appointment with her doctor that Monday.  By Wednesday, they knew that she was just over 7 weeks pregnant, and in perfect health. The doctor didn’t seem to think there’d be any problem with her having taken a month and a week’s worth of birth control pills, after becoming pregnant.

"7 weeks,"  Jack mused, as they left the medical office building.  "Maybe that day, we got home, and..."Claire swatted his arm.  "Do you think I like it any more than you, that my kid got his or her start, on the living room floor?"

"I had rug burns."

"Until you decided I should have some too." Jack slid his arm around her, as they walked to Claire’s car.  "I think we need a side car for the Harley."

"Not likely."  Claire started the car.  "Although, the back seat in this thing is a little small...I can’t see a car seat back there."

"How much could we get for this thing?  On a trade."

"We could keep it.  Have a second car."

Jack shrugged.  "There goes the savings."  He grinned.  "Want to go look now?"

"You DO know, Camaros and  Mustangs do not come in 4 doors."

"Motherhood is not making you fun.  Ok.  So we get some boring old Ford. Or a Buick, God forbid."

Claire shook her head.  "Got your checkbook?"

"Yeah."

"Don’t be depressed.  Someday, when you write your blockbuster mystery, you can get your 65 and a half Mustang.  I‘ll even let you get a Shelby."



Adam Schiff frowned as he saw Jack and Claire drive up in a new car.  He paused, instead of going into Hogan Place.

"What is that?"

Jack made a face.  "Its a Park Avenue.  At least I talked her out of the Caravan."

Adam looked into the drivers door.  "I take it this is Claire’s car."  He looked at her.  "What happened to that little rice burner?"

"Its home."

"I like this.  So Jack gets the Nissan?"

Jack walked around to the drivers door.  "I guess."

Adam shrugged.  "Why did you buy this?"

Claire looked at Jack, and raised her eyebrows.  Jack grinned.

"Because a car seat is too hard to get into the back seat of the Nissan,"  Jack said.  "Its a two door.  And its a small car."

Adam stared at them, not knowing if this was a joke, or if he was imagining something Jack wasn’t hinting at.

"Adam, in a few months, you’ll have to give me some time off."  Claire grinned hugely.  "I think I’m entitled to 6 months leave.  And Jack is thinking of taking a few months off too."

Adam Schiff frowned, then smiled slightly.  "I figured this would happen.  A baby, imagine that.  So, when is the wedding?  And when do I loose my best ADA and her boyfriend? And for how long?"

Jack made a face.  "Thanks a lot.  I guess when Claire takes off, is up to how she feels."

"And a wedding?" Adam asked again.

Claire saw Jack’s mouth tighten.  "We’re still talking about it."

Adam grunted.   " So now its official, you two are living in sin."  He began to walk towards the doors of One Hogan Place.  "I’d prefer it, if you married.  It’d be a good career move, Claire."

Claire frowned,  "Adam, in this day and age-"

"People still want their elected officials to be respectable."

"And I am going to be an elected official?"

"One day, young lady, you’ll have my job.  Jack has a pathological urge to piss off anyone in the city, state, and/or federal government he can, whenever he can, so I am not thinking he’ll ever be considered a candidate for anything.  Take my advice, and talk him into becoming one of those househusbands.  Keep him out of the public eye."

Jack made a face.  "Thanks a lot."

Adam let Jack open the door for him.  "My garden is pretty right now.  My son had his whole wedding there, at the house."

He headed for his office.

Jack smiled.  "Think he wants to spring for a reception too?"

Claire shook her head.  "Don’t start on me again."

They went into the corridor that housed the EADA’s offices.  Jack followed Claire into her small office, barely more than a cubicle with permanent walls.

"Why not?"

"I told you, I’d think about it."

"Yeah...and what’d you decide?"

Claire put her purse in a desk drawer, and sat.  "I think I decided not to decide right now."  

"But-"

Claire looked up at him.  "Don’t you have work to give me?"  She smiled at him.  "Go get me a bagel, will you?"

"You feel ok?"

Claire shot him another look.  "Don’t start on me, Jack."

Jack threw up his arms.  "Ok!  But I want to know."

Claire watched him head for his office.  "Get me a bagel!"  she yelled.

"Yeah, yeah..."

Bea Schiff woke with a start;  the phone was ringing.  She looked at the clock;  4 am.

Years ago, Adam had started sleeping on the side of the bed nearest the phone, to answer late night calls, from a client arrested in the middle of the night, or from his earlier days with the DA’s office, when he was the prosecutor on call, for arraignments of serious felony offenders, or interrogations and legal questions  that could not wait until morning.

She leaned over him, and asked,  "Is it Jack?"

Adam looked over his shoulder.  "The baby’s been born-its a boy!"

Bea moved closer, and made Adam tilt the receiver so she could hear Jack McCoy.  Jack had called, about 2 the previous afternoon, to say that Claire was in labor, and they were at the hospital.

"My God, Adam, he has all this hair-he’s got a real mop on him!"

"How is the baby and Claire?"

"Great.  Claire’s tired...I can’t believe it! All this time...I was about to tell her, the hell with it, make the doctor give you something to speed this up.  The nurses got a good laugh out of that.  But I was so scared-"

"Was everything ok?"

"Yeah, but its a scary thing, labor...And she wouldn’t have anything for the pain.  She said it wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be, but it looked pretty painful to me!"

Adam chuckled.  "Have to tell you some of my stories sometime.  How much does he weigh?"

"He’s a whopper-8 pounds, 9 ounces.  And 21 inches long...He’s just the prettiest thing...I mean, as pretty as Liz was."

Bea took the phone.  "Jack, are you staying at the hospital?  Does Claire need anything?  And when can we come see the baby?  Have you decided on a name yet?"

"Yes, no, and visiting hours start  at 11 am."  Jack laughed.  "Expect to hear an argument.  Claire wants to name him Adam John.  I want the Adam part...for you, Adam, but the John part I can live without."

Bea laughed.  "That’s a wonderful name."

"I’m flattered,"  Adam said.  "But Jack...Jews don’t name  children after someone that’s living."   

"Adam, Catholics do it all the time.  And Claire doesn’t really have a religion...so don’t waste your breath.  Claire wants Adam in there somewhere too.  I’m thinking, Adam Stephen...Claire had an uncle named Stephen, who died last year."

"Stick with John."

"Not if I get my way."

"You never get your way, where Claire is concerned.  You’re henpecked, my boy."

"Takes one to know one, Adam.  And we both love it.  Anyway, I did get her to marry me."

"Just in time, it seems."

"This is going to be the best Christmas ever, Adam.  Hell, its going to be the best Hanukah, and the best Ramadan, and anything else anyone celebrates this time of year!"  

Adam chuckled.  "Go find a chair, to curl up in.  Get some sleep."

"Yeah...I have to call Lizzie."

Bea grabbed the phone again.  "You give Claire a big kiss for us!"

After Adam hung up the phone, they lay together, smiling.

"I remember Jack with Lizzie.  He’ll spoil this one rotten too,"  Adam said.

Bea smiled.  "Yes, he will,"  she answered, softly.  "Nine months ago I was really worried about them.  I think everything worked out fine."  She hugged his arm, and got up.  "And it will continue to."

"Where are you going?"

"I’m going to make Jack some things he can heat up at home.  And for when Claire comes home from the hospital."  Bea found her robe, and her slippers.  

"For God’s sake-Now?!"

"You going to help me?"

Adam sighed, and got out of bed.  "I suppose so.  Why you have it in your head that men are always on the verge of starvation..."

Bea laughed, as they went downstairs to the kitchen.

At the hospital, Jack McCoy went by the nursery, where his son laid in a Plexiglas sided cot.

He was labeled, "Baby McCoy" and was asleep.  He had a blue blanket, a tiny gown with little blue dots on it.  His skin was mottled pink and white.  Jack still couldn't get over all that dark hair.

Jack smiled.  He hadn’t cared, if the baby was a boy or girl, and he and Claire had chosen not to find out beforehand.  All they had wanted to know, from the ultrasounds, was if the baby was healthy.  That was all that had mattered.

He wondered if it mattered now, that the baby was a boy.  Truth be told, he rather thought he had wanted a girl...but now that the baby was here, at last...it didn’t matter.

The baby had  fingernails, and toenails.  With little half moons in each one.
He had fine eyelashes, and whispery eyebrows.  He’d been so mad, screaming so hard and loud, that his whole body had been shaking.  And he’d quieted, as soon as Jack had laid him at Claire’s breast, and he had heard her heartbeat once more.

Their son was healthy, and he’d grow up to be happy.  That was what mattered.

Jack McCoy pressed his hand against the glass, then went to the room where his wife slept.

A cot had been set up, next to the bed.  He laid down, and reached out to touch Claire’s fingers.

Her eyes opened, and she smiled.  "He’s beautiful, isn’t he."

"He is.  I think he looks like you."  Jack smiled at her.  "How do you feel?"

Claire closed her eyes for a moment.  "Happy.  Very happy.   And very in love with my husband and my son.  And sore."  She smiled.  "I think I used a few muscles I didn't know I had."

"I’ll get the doctor-"

Claire laughed softly.  "I just gave birth...I’ve never done it before, Jack.  Imagine running for the first time.  Something is going to ache...but it feels wonderful."  She gripped his fingers.  "And I want to do it again, as soon as we can."

Jack groaned.  "Maybe you do, but I can’t go through another day like this, for at least another 20 years."  He grinned at Claire.  "Ok.  Ask me about it, in a few years.  Maybe I’ll have changed my mind."  He leaned over, and kissed her gently.   "I love you."

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