Title: Simply Incredible and Utterly Horrible (Or-"Damn it all, but TC
sucks at titles and this was the best she could come up with.")
Author: Tobias Charity
Rating: A *very* strong PG-13; SLASH! and language.
Feedback: God, PLEASE! Any and all, even the: "Eww, that's gross, he'd never do that!" kind.
Pairing: Jack/Mike; implied Jack/Ben
Series: Sorta. Kinda. A little bit. *Maybe* related in some insanely vague way to Parting Words.
Summary: "...Because that's when I realized for the first time how simply incredible and yet utterly horrible love could truly be."
Disclaimer: I don't own them! Don't sue! All you'll get is some scribble and slash filled notebooks, plus tapes of your own damn show. Besides, if the owner knew what I was doing to his beloved characters, he'd probably go into cardiac arrest and we'd be L&O-less forever.
Author's Notes: It's all Mary Lou's fault! She made me do it. She planted this little bunny in my head. The stupid thing pushed me to the ground and beat me over the head with a baseball bat until I wrote this. Mary Lou, this is for you. *Sigh* And I'm afraid there's more to come. The damn bunny is gnawing on my arm again. This is entirely un-beta-ed. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. Merry Christmas, or whatever holiday agrees with you.
"How did we get here?/How the hell...?/Pan left/Close on the steeple of the church/How did I get here?/How the hell?!/Christmas!/Christmas Eve, last year/How could a night so frozen be so scalding hot?/How could a morning so mild be so raw?/Why are entire years strewn on the cutting room floor of memory/When single frames of one magic night forever flicker in close up in the three-dee IMAX of my mind?/That's poetic/That's pathetic."--Mark Cohen, "RENT"
XXX
I should call him. It's the day before Christmas. I really should call him.
I haven't spoken to him in about four years. I really should call.
It's easier not to, though.
Damn! I always take the easy way out. I haven't called Ben yet, and he's back in New England by now. I didn't even say goodbye; we haven't spoken since he walked out on me. I should probably call him, too.
It's all Ben's fault I'm even contemplating calling Logan. He'd stated in no uncertain terms that he'd be perfectly happy if he never saw my face again, and here I am, considering inviting him up for Christmas.
But I miss him. Damn it, I miss him!
I'm going to call him.
Where's my secretary? She's got every number in New York in that Rolodex.
I stand up and poke my head out the door. "Linda?"
She looks up from the computer, where she's writing something. Probably an e-mail to her husband, telling him how much she can't wait to get home and screw him tonight.
Whoa. Where'd that come from? Thoughts of Mike are making me more warped than usual. I shake my head and look back up at her. "Have you got Logan's number anywhere?"
"Logan?" She looks back blankly. "Logan who? Logan Carter? That defendant you screamed at yesterday?" She rambles on perkily. "Cause he called, and he said that if you don't let Carmichael be first chair, then he's going to shove a brick up your--"
"Yeah, that's nice, Linda," I interrupt her. "But not him. Mike Logan. You know, the cop who got sent downstate for punching the councilman."
"Oh, *him*..." she says, giving me a dark look. "What do you wanna talk to *him* for?"
"Just get the number," I snap, backing into my office and slamming the door closed.
It opens again almost immediately and she thrusts a slip of paper at me. "Here. Enjoy yourself." The door bangs closed again and I cringe slightly, afraid that the glass will shatter.
Nothing happens, so I pick my way over the piles of paper and perch on the corner of my desk, reaching for my phone.
"Hello?"
My throat suddenly goes dry as that wonderful, rich voice of his flows over the phone, trickling into my ear and wrapping itself around my brain. Oh, god, I don't know if I can do this. "Hi, uh, Mike?" I rasp hoarsely. Oh, yeah Jack, that was real brilliant.
"Who is this?" His voice is sharp, questioning.
"Oh, Mike..." I whisper. It's been so long since I've heard his voice, and now it's just melting me, wiping away every trace of coherent thought. "Mike, it's Jack."
"Jack who?"
Damn you, that hurt. You don't even remember me? "Jack McCoy. From the DA's office."
"Oh. Jack." His voice relaxes slightly, but there's still that wary undercurrent there. "How are you?"
"I--I'm just fine," I lie, none too convincingly. "And yourself?"
"Fairly good," he admits. "Life's boring, but I really can't complain."
It's all so shallow, so fake, and we both know it. We're dancing around the important issues here, avoiding the trauma we know we caused each other years ago.
"Does it really matter what I said?" I ask suddenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had descended.
There's a startled sound on the other end of the line, and it sounds as if the phone was dropped. After a short minute, though, Mike's voice twines itself around my mind again. "What did you call for, Jack...?" He asks softly. "To torment me? To wave my past in my face and taunt me with it? Is this blackmail, Jack? Huh? Is that what you're after?"
Oh...Damn, do I always come across as a callous bastard?
"Yeah, McCoy, most of the time."
"I just said that out loud, didn't I?"
Hollow laughter from the other end. "Is this how you always act around old boyfriends, or is it just me?"
"It's just--" I cut myself off quickly when the face of Ben Stone suddenly comes to mind. "Mike, come here for Christmas, why don't you?"
"What?"
I snicker quietly to myself. I obviously took him by surprise, and that doesn't happen too often with Mike Logan. "You heard me. Spend Christmas with me. I'm lonely, you're probably lonely, unless another one of your conquests suddenly became serious. Or are you onto New Jersey, now? I've forgotten if you've worked your way through every single woman in New York yet."
"Fuck you, McCoy," Mike growls, and I laugh silently. "You think you can just call me and make it all better? You're going to have to try a whole lot harder than that."
"Look," I say quietly, praying that Linda isn't listening in. "Come here for Christmas. I'm serious. We'll have dinner together. We can talk it out, figure what went wrong."
"What if I'm happy with the way things went?" He asks harshly, and those words are enough to send my mind reeling, to slice a proverbial knife through my already shredded heart.
"Oh, Mike..." I whisper. "Don't tell me you meant that."
"I'll be in your office at six, tomorrow night," he says shortly, and there's a click as the other line goes dead.
I slowly hang up the phone and slump down on my desk. I've always been good at manipulation. That's why I'm a good litigator. But I do it subconsciously, sometimes, to the people I love. Manipulating your loved ones, especially Mike Logan, is never a smart thing. They'll pick up on it and make your life a living hell.
But I miss him. I miss him so goddamned much. That day, when I stood on the pier and watched him leave on the Staten Island ferry...It was as if some cold, cruel fist had taken my heart in hand and squeezed every last ounce of caring life out of it.
I think that's when I really became the cynical hardass I am. Because that's when I realized for the first time how simply incredible and yet utterly horrible love could truly be.
XXX
"Jack..."
I look up sharply from where I'm sitting on the floor in a nest of files, my tie undone and hanging loosely and the cuffs of my shirt unbuttoned and rolled up past my elbows. "Yeah, Abbie?" I call into the other room. "What's going on?"
"There's someone here for you, a Mike something, and he's not on your list for today." Her voice comes closer and she sticks her head in the door, her satiny black hair falling over her shoulders. "Or so Linda claims." She drops her voice down to a whisper. "Frankly, I don't know what you'd want with him, but when you're done, can I have him? He looks fucking delicious." Her eyes dance with a mischievous laughter and I can't help but smile.
"Sorry Abbie, half of New York City has him staked out as her personal property." And mine too, I add silently, but say nothing out loud. "Send him on in."
She makes a face at me but leaves, and then in the next instant Mike Logan is there, Mike Logan who I haven't seen in years, haven't spoken to in years until yesterday, Mike Logan, who I love.
"Mike," I say hoarsely, and scramble to my feet amidst the blizzard of case files.
"Jack," he smiles back, and those eyes, those beautiful, intriguing, amazing hazel eyes that I fell into every night for six months, those eyes fill my line of vision and I lose myself for a moment.
He reaches out and shakes my head, wrapping my fingers in his strong grip. "I've missed you," he says, in a low, dark voice.
"I've missed you too," I manage to whisper back, then sink onto the floor again. If just seeing Mike is enough to make me literally week at the knees, I don't want to know what having him in my apartment is going to do to me.
Mike ambles around the room for a moment, stops at the window, stares out at the sight of dark, silky night falling over the city, then continues his lap of my office until he's in front of me, gazing down amicably at me, a small smile quirking up the corner of his lips.
"I thought you'd promised dinner."
"Uh--" Brilliant, Jack. That was real suave. I swallow compulsively and reach upwards. Mike grasps my hand and hauls me to my feet, and I stumble into him. We're pressed against each other, chest to chest, eye to eye, and I can feel his breath, hot against my skin. I almost kiss him right there, kiss him with enough passionate force to leave his lips bruised and swollen.
"We'd better go," I manage to gasp out, and he grins and grabs a stack of the files on the floor, then shoves me out the door.
"See you on the twenty-seventh," I call to Abbie, hurrying after Mike as he strides towards the elevators.
"I thought you wanted me back here by the twenty-sixth."
"Take the day off!"
"Ye-ha!"
I ignore the happy outburst from behind and dash into the elevator just as the doors start to close.
Oh. Shit. We're alone.
I can almost hear Mike laughing. Almost.
I cough, desperate to break the silence. "So. Uh. You still like steak?"
And then I can't say anything, because I'm back up against the wall of the elevator, the railing digging into my back. But I don't notice that, because Mike Logan's lips are on mine, bruising mine with all their pent-up passion and hunger. I moan and prod my tongue against his mobile lips, and that impossibly hot mouth is on mine, kissing me with desire that I'm sure was never there four years ago. I reach up and tangle my fingers in Mike's gloriously thick hair, and his strong hand is grasping the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him, kissing me more forcefully, tongue traversing the cavern of my mouth.
The elevator speaker lets out a ding and we break apart as suddenly as we'd come together, instantly moving to separate corners of the elevator as two other lawyers step on. I carefully finger my lower lip and swear that I can feel it swelling.
The beautiful bastard is laughing over there in his corner, but the fight's not over yet. We've still got to make it through dinner.
And oh, what a dinner it will be.
XXX
Author's Note: Yeah, I know I posted it late. Sorry. But...Augh. I'll have the next part up by New Year's. Maybe it'll be a New Year's story instead.will that appease you, you goddamn plot bunny?!
Feedback makes me a happy Sim, and when TC is a happy Sim, the readers get more readables. Comprendo? Si.
--TC
Author: Tobias Charity
Rating: A *very* strong PG-13; SLASH! and language.
Feedback: God, PLEASE! Any and all, even the: "Eww, that's gross, he'd never do that!" kind.
Pairing: Jack/Mike; implied Jack/Ben
Series: Sorta. Kinda. A little bit. *Maybe* related in some insanely vague way to Parting Words.
Summary: "...Because that's when I realized for the first time how simply incredible and yet utterly horrible love could truly be."
Disclaimer: I don't own them! Don't sue! All you'll get is some scribble and slash filled notebooks, plus tapes of your own damn show. Besides, if the owner knew what I was doing to his beloved characters, he'd probably go into cardiac arrest and we'd be L&O-less forever.
Author's Notes: It's all Mary Lou's fault! She made me do it. She planted this little bunny in my head. The stupid thing pushed me to the ground and beat me over the head with a baseball bat until I wrote this. Mary Lou, this is for you. *Sigh* And I'm afraid there's more to come. The damn bunny is gnawing on my arm again. This is entirely un-beta-ed. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. Merry Christmas, or whatever holiday agrees with you.
"How did we get here?/How the hell...?/Pan left/Close on the steeple of the church/How did I get here?/How the hell?!/Christmas!/Christmas Eve, last year/How could a night so frozen be so scalding hot?/How could a morning so mild be so raw?/Why are entire years strewn on the cutting room floor of memory/When single frames of one magic night forever flicker in close up in the three-dee IMAX of my mind?/That's poetic/That's pathetic."--Mark Cohen, "RENT"
XXX
I should call him. It's the day before Christmas. I really should call him.
I haven't spoken to him in about four years. I really should call.
It's easier not to, though.
Damn! I always take the easy way out. I haven't called Ben yet, and he's back in New England by now. I didn't even say goodbye; we haven't spoken since he walked out on me. I should probably call him, too.
It's all Ben's fault I'm even contemplating calling Logan. He'd stated in no uncertain terms that he'd be perfectly happy if he never saw my face again, and here I am, considering inviting him up for Christmas.
But I miss him. Damn it, I miss him!
I'm going to call him.
Where's my secretary? She's got every number in New York in that Rolodex.
I stand up and poke my head out the door. "Linda?"
She looks up from the computer, where she's writing something. Probably an e-mail to her husband, telling him how much she can't wait to get home and screw him tonight.
Whoa. Where'd that come from? Thoughts of Mike are making me more warped than usual. I shake my head and look back up at her. "Have you got Logan's number anywhere?"
"Logan?" She looks back blankly. "Logan who? Logan Carter? That defendant you screamed at yesterday?" She rambles on perkily. "Cause he called, and he said that if you don't let Carmichael be first chair, then he's going to shove a brick up your--"
"Yeah, that's nice, Linda," I interrupt her. "But not him. Mike Logan. You know, the cop who got sent downstate for punching the councilman."
"Oh, *him*..." she says, giving me a dark look. "What do you wanna talk to *him* for?"
"Just get the number," I snap, backing into my office and slamming the door closed.
It opens again almost immediately and she thrusts a slip of paper at me. "Here. Enjoy yourself." The door bangs closed again and I cringe slightly, afraid that the glass will shatter.
Nothing happens, so I pick my way over the piles of paper and perch on the corner of my desk, reaching for my phone.
"Hello?"
My throat suddenly goes dry as that wonderful, rich voice of his flows over the phone, trickling into my ear and wrapping itself around my brain. Oh, god, I don't know if I can do this. "Hi, uh, Mike?" I rasp hoarsely. Oh, yeah Jack, that was real brilliant.
"Who is this?" His voice is sharp, questioning.
"Oh, Mike..." I whisper. It's been so long since I've heard his voice, and now it's just melting me, wiping away every trace of coherent thought. "Mike, it's Jack."
"Jack who?"
Damn you, that hurt. You don't even remember me? "Jack McCoy. From the DA's office."
"Oh. Jack." His voice relaxes slightly, but there's still that wary undercurrent there. "How are you?"
"I--I'm just fine," I lie, none too convincingly. "And yourself?"
"Fairly good," he admits. "Life's boring, but I really can't complain."
It's all so shallow, so fake, and we both know it. We're dancing around the important issues here, avoiding the trauma we know we caused each other years ago.
"Does it really matter what I said?" I ask suddenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had descended.
There's a startled sound on the other end of the line, and it sounds as if the phone was dropped. After a short minute, though, Mike's voice twines itself around my mind again. "What did you call for, Jack...?" He asks softly. "To torment me? To wave my past in my face and taunt me with it? Is this blackmail, Jack? Huh? Is that what you're after?"
Oh...Damn, do I always come across as a callous bastard?
"Yeah, McCoy, most of the time."
"I just said that out loud, didn't I?"
Hollow laughter from the other end. "Is this how you always act around old boyfriends, or is it just me?"
"It's just--" I cut myself off quickly when the face of Ben Stone suddenly comes to mind. "Mike, come here for Christmas, why don't you?"
"What?"
I snicker quietly to myself. I obviously took him by surprise, and that doesn't happen too often with Mike Logan. "You heard me. Spend Christmas with me. I'm lonely, you're probably lonely, unless another one of your conquests suddenly became serious. Or are you onto New Jersey, now? I've forgotten if you've worked your way through every single woman in New York yet."
"Fuck you, McCoy," Mike growls, and I laugh silently. "You think you can just call me and make it all better? You're going to have to try a whole lot harder than that."
"Look," I say quietly, praying that Linda isn't listening in. "Come here for Christmas. I'm serious. We'll have dinner together. We can talk it out, figure what went wrong."
"What if I'm happy with the way things went?" He asks harshly, and those words are enough to send my mind reeling, to slice a proverbial knife through my already shredded heart.
"Oh, Mike..." I whisper. "Don't tell me you meant that."
"I'll be in your office at six, tomorrow night," he says shortly, and there's a click as the other line goes dead.
I slowly hang up the phone and slump down on my desk. I've always been good at manipulation. That's why I'm a good litigator. But I do it subconsciously, sometimes, to the people I love. Manipulating your loved ones, especially Mike Logan, is never a smart thing. They'll pick up on it and make your life a living hell.
But I miss him. I miss him so goddamned much. That day, when I stood on the pier and watched him leave on the Staten Island ferry...It was as if some cold, cruel fist had taken my heart in hand and squeezed every last ounce of caring life out of it.
I think that's when I really became the cynical hardass I am. Because that's when I realized for the first time how simply incredible and yet utterly horrible love could truly be.
XXX
"Jack..."
I look up sharply from where I'm sitting on the floor in a nest of files, my tie undone and hanging loosely and the cuffs of my shirt unbuttoned and rolled up past my elbows. "Yeah, Abbie?" I call into the other room. "What's going on?"
"There's someone here for you, a Mike something, and he's not on your list for today." Her voice comes closer and she sticks her head in the door, her satiny black hair falling over her shoulders. "Or so Linda claims." She drops her voice down to a whisper. "Frankly, I don't know what you'd want with him, but when you're done, can I have him? He looks fucking delicious." Her eyes dance with a mischievous laughter and I can't help but smile.
"Sorry Abbie, half of New York City has him staked out as her personal property." And mine too, I add silently, but say nothing out loud. "Send him on in."
She makes a face at me but leaves, and then in the next instant Mike Logan is there, Mike Logan who I haven't seen in years, haven't spoken to in years until yesterday, Mike Logan, who I love.
"Mike," I say hoarsely, and scramble to my feet amidst the blizzard of case files.
"Jack," he smiles back, and those eyes, those beautiful, intriguing, amazing hazel eyes that I fell into every night for six months, those eyes fill my line of vision and I lose myself for a moment.
He reaches out and shakes my head, wrapping my fingers in his strong grip. "I've missed you," he says, in a low, dark voice.
"I've missed you too," I manage to whisper back, then sink onto the floor again. If just seeing Mike is enough to make me literally week at the knees, I don't want to know what having him in my apartment is going to do to me.
Mike ambles around the room for a moment, stops at the window, stares out at the sight of dark, silky night falling over the city, then continues his lap of my office until he's in front of me, gazing down amicably at me, a small smile quirking up the corner of his lips.
"I thought you'd promised dinner."
"Uh--" Brilliant, Jack. That was real suave. I swallow compulsively and reach upwards. Mike grasps my hand and hauls me to my feet, and I stumble into him. We're pressed against each other, chest to chest, eye to eye, and I can feel his breath, hot against my skin. I almost kiss him right there, kiss him with enough passionate force to leave his lips bruised and swollen.
"We'd better go," I manage to gasp out, and he grins and grabs a stack of the files on the floor, then shoves me out the door.
"See you on the twenty-seventh," I call to Abbie, hurrying after Mike as he strides towards the elevators.
"I thought you wanted me back here by the twenty-sixth."
"Take the day off!"
"Ye-ha!"
I ignore the happy outburst from behind and dash into the elevator just as the doors start to close.
Oh. Shit. We're alone.
I can almost hear Mike laughing. Almost.
I cough, desperate to break the silence. "So. Uh. You still like steak?"
And then I can't say anything, because I'm back up against the wall of the elevator, the railing digging into my back. But I don't notice that, because Mike Logan's lips are on mine, bruising mine with all their pent-up passion and hunger. I moan and prod my tongue against his mobile lips, and that impossibly hot mouth is on mine, kissing me with desire that I'm sure was never there four years ago. I reach up and tangle my fingers in Mike's gloriously thick hair, and his strong hand is grasping the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him, kissing me more forcefully, tongue traversing the cavern of my mouth.
The elevator speaker lets out a ding and we break apart as suddenly as we'd come together, instantly moving to separate corners of the elevator as two other lawyers step on. I carefully finger my lower lip and swear that I can feel it swelling.
The beautiful bastard is laughing over there in his corner, but the fight's not over yet. We've still got to make it through dinner.
And oh, what a dinner it will be.
XXX
Author's Note: Yeah, I know I posted it late. Sorry. But...Augh. I'll have the next part up by New Year's. Maybe it'll be a New Year's story instead.will that appease you, you goddamn plot bunny?!
Feedback makes me a happy Sim, and when TC is a happy Sim, the readers get more readables. Comprendo? Si.
--TC