AN: I see this to Jimmy Buffett's "Trip Around the Sun." A little Jack & Claire for the holidays. Please, read and review! Constructive criticism welcome.
You know the deal, I don't own them, and if I did, Claire would not have died. Please don't steal my ideas, not that anyone would want to.
For Regrets I Do Not Know
-Elisabeth Carmichael-
The bright red numbers flashed in synchronization with the bleeping; her slender hand reached out from under her covers, searching, searching for a way to end the noise. Sunlight peeked through the drapes, forcing her to remain awake. She groaned, remembering what day it was: her day of regret. Before, eight years before, she had very rarely regretted anything, but now, now she had come to regret everything about her life.
Propping herself up in bed, she slipped into a trance, reliving all of her major regrets, of which there are many.
I should have never gone to Law School. We can't really change anything, no one can. But more than that, I should have never joined the D.A.'s office. I wanted justice, but all we did was try to win at all costs. And Joel, I should have never. He was a married man. I don't remember why, I don't even really care. I just regret it, and the repercussions. But that wasn't the end. I thought I'd learned something, a valuable lesson, but no, I was fooling myself. I regret Jack. Regret that I met him, loved him, cared about him, sacrificed my morals for him. That's my biggest regret, Jack. Or at least he is the root of it all.
That day, this day, I shouldn't have stayed with Anita so long, I should have stayed longer. I regret not going sooner for him, I suppose that I just needed time to talk with someone, not argue, not be angry with. I regret having those feelings. I regret not taking Lennie to my apartment to sober up; I regret not saying good-bye.
And then it was blackness, from what I am told, two weeks, total blackness, none of my senses, none of my memory worked. I vaguely remember flashing lights and a long horn before all of the blackness, but I'm not sure about the two weeks following. I was still in a coma, they thought I couldn't hear, but after those two weeks, I could hear everything. I regret hearing them; I regret not being able to speak to them.
"Mrs. Gellar, her condition isn't improving," a melancholy-filled voice said with no idea that I could hear everything he said.
"How long does she have?" my mother mournfully asked as she must have been stroking my cheek.
I couldn't feel her doing that, but I could hear it, the knuckles on my cheek bones, on my crackling flesh, across deep cuts, across stitches, across my face, like a little girl. And how her hands fingered the strand of pearls around my neck, yes, I regret hearing that sound.
"It's really hard to tell," he paused, sighed, and, I heard him pat my mother's arm or shoulder, "I'd give her three more weeks; then maybe we'll have a better idea."
"Of what?" tears in her voice.
A long pause, "There is a slight, very slight, chance that she will recover. I'd say, it is nearly impossible right now, in three weeks we'll know better. Aside from that, she can remain in a vegetative state for the rest of her life, on life support, not aware of her surroundings, or she may die naturally of heart or respiratory failure. It's too soon to tell, but don't get your hopes up."
Mac entered the room, my mother must have motioned for him. His footsteps made their way over to where my mother's voice had come from. He must have hugged her, I heard rustling clothes.
"We'll get through this," he said gently.
My mother sobbed, "She's my baby Mac, my baby."
There was a long pause…I drifted off to sleep. I regret sleeping.
A few weeks later, he was in my room, sitting probably, next to me. I sensed his presence before he spoke. It was about five minutes.
"You wanted to quit," a pause, sobs maybe, "I'm sorry Claire. I'm a stupid bastard."
I regret not consoling him. I regret knowing him.
"I just want you to know that I love you," his voice was pained, older, drunken, and unsure.
He must have kissed my lips; I heard a soft smooching sound. I regret not making it last.
The doctor and my mother again, "Mrs. Gellar, we found some unusual results in Claire's labs."
She probably motioned for him to continue during the pause.
"Her body is having trouble using all of the nutrients we are giving her. Due to her condition, we cannot run any tests to rule out any of the possibilities. Now, in three weeks, I'd be prepared to run those tests."
"What is it?"
"Mrs. Gellar, to the best of my knowledge, Claire's body is quitting. I'm terribly sorry, but life-support cannot sustain her if what I believe is occurring actually is occurring," he was having trouble breaking this news to my mother.
I couldn't believe it. I was dieing. I knew I'd be dead soon…like Mickey Scott. I regret watching his execution. I regret knowing that I was going to die.
And so I waited, waited for Jack to say his last good-byes to me. I knew he'd come; he'd spent nearly every day with me. He didn't come. I regret not knowing why he didn't even try.
"Mr. Schiff, I think it would be best for the family if that alcoholic man that comes with you stops visiting Miss Kincaid," a nurse quietly spoke to Adam.
My hearing was getting acutely accurate.
"Jack? He was, he is her boss," Adam said in a very strained and tired voice.
I regret not being able to intervene.
Three more weeks went by and I still had not died. I surprised myself by not being dead. It's a scary thought. Oddly enough, I don't regret it.
I had heard my mother and Mac talking about my wake and funeral. It would be a closed casket. I must have looked awful for my mother not to find me beautiful. I'm not a religious person by nature, but my mother is. She believes in Jesus; I doubt if I do. There is too much bad in the world. I supposed they'll send in a minister or something to "absolve me of sin." They did. I regret it. Or maybe I just regret my sins. If I ever really did go to confession, I'd have a lot to confess, especially the years up to the accident. My entire life was sins. I'd go to work and torture a man or woman and their family, possibly be instrumental in killing them, and then go home at night with my boss, many years older than me, and I enjoyed it all, most of it all, most of the time. I regret my stupidity.
I don't know why they did it, but they had my wake and my funeral before I died. I regret not being in that casket. Maybe I regret not stopping them. They spoke about it in slow, mourning voices, about the people, the service, the death.
"Jeanine," Mac used her first name, "just remember, all of those people, they believe that she is dead. They believe that she is no longer suffering. You made a good choice."
"I just wish we were no longer left to suffer, wondering how long she'll live, if she'll be a vegetable. I don' want my daughter to suffer," my mother sobbed; it became muffled, probably on Mac's body.
I drifted into sleep, temporarily, because when I awoke, my mother's stifled sobs were coming from the exact same location. This time Mac was talking to her about the people who attended the services. I had hoped that they would mention Jack. They did.
"Remember her boss, McCoy, how he was so drunk every time he'd visit her, and according to Mr. Schiff, at the office too?"
My mother let out a slight "uh-huh."
"Well, he wasn't drunk at the wake or funeral, sad, melancholy, reclusive, but he wasn't drunk. He can finally begin to heal, Jeanine."
Jack had attended my funeral. He had no idea that I was still alive, paralyzed, sightless, useless, but I was alive; I could hear.
The doctor had run some tests on me. He said they would determine my fate. I sensed his presence in the room. It was tense.
"What?" Mac asked; he was probably holding my mother.
"May I please speak to Mrs. Gellar alone?" the doctor asked in a scratchy voice.
I heard Mac leave the room.
"Mrs. Gellar, do you know if your daughter has a boyfriend?"
She probably gave him an odd stare, "I hadn't talked to Claire for a few months before…before this. I wouldn't know. Does she have some type of disease?"
I remember being afraid of what he'd say. I knew I couldn't have a disease; Jack didn't. But none the less, I was afraid.
"No, not a disease, Mrs. Gellar."
"Is she dieing?"
"It depends," he paused, "Mrs. Gellar, Claire is, I wish we could have run the tests sooner, but even then, there are strict confidentiality regulations, and I didn't even consider this a possibility since no boyfriend came and visited her, no husband."
"What?" my mother sounded frightened.
"She's pregnant."
I was stunned. He was lying. There was no way. I regret being pregnant. I regret not feeling it.
My mother gasped, sat down, or fell down, or something, and began to sob. I couldn't understand why she was sobbing. I should have been crying. I regret not comforting her. I regret not crying. It took a few moments, but I understood. She did not know who the father was. She'd raise this child of mine, or lose both of us. I wanted the doctor to say something.
"Right now, it appears as though Claire is not going to recover. Should you terminate the pregnancy, she will remain in a vegetative state. Not terminating it places her at a higher risk for death. It's your choice."
I wished that they wouldn't choose abortion. I wanted a part of me to live on. I wished they'd tell Jack. But how could they know? They couldn't.
A few months went by. Each day, my mother would sit next to me and comment on my stomach. It was getting large. I'd hear her patting it. She'd let out a sob when the child would kick.
"Can you feel that Claire? Your baby is a kicker," she'd say to me.
I regret not being able to feel it.
And then she'd sometimes just sit there talking to me, almost scolding.
"How did you get this way Claire? Why didn't you wait?"
I wish I could have told her about Jack. If she could have seen us, she wouldn't have cared.
"Who is he? You should've married him. Maybe you didn't even date him. And now I'm going to raise your child while you lie here, not able to know the child. If you were married, at least the child would have a father. I'm just too old to raise a baby again."
If only she knew that Jack was only a few years younger than she. I regret him not knowing. I regret her not knowing.
She got out of bed and walked into the bathroom. Her hair was messy. She filled the bath with bubbles…got in. The warmth of the water made her drift back into her regrets.
It was nearing the day that they had all chosen. I heard them talking. It was February of 1997. I had missed the New Year. I regret not watching the ball drop.
"I can't do this Mac," my mother sobbed.
"Jeanine, you'll be okay. Claire needs your support."
"She'll never even know her own child."
I drifted into my own thought. Would they bring her/him to visit me? What would the child think of me, her/his mother, in a coma, all bruised and ugly? Maybe my mother wouldn't tell her/him about me. After all, I was dead to everyone else. She/he would probably wonder about who her/his father was. I regret not telling anyone.
The doctor's had surrounded me. I felt their presence. I was going to be cut open without any anesthesia.
I could hear my mother's sobs, and for the first time, I wanted, really wanted, out. I needed to be out of this coma. I could not live in it. I could not have a child without knowing it. The doctor's prepared to make the incision. I felt the iodine on my skin. I felt it! I regret feeling it. I knew it would be painful. I tried to speak. I couldn't. I needed to. I couldn't. The knife cut into my skin. I couldn't feel it. Being able to feel must have only been temporary.
My mother cried. Mac held her. I could feel again. They were ripping, ripping the child out. I felt the pain. I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab the hand causing me pain and twist it. The feeling lasted. I felt it. I felt it being out. I wanted to reach up and hold the child.
My mother cried louder. The baby screamed. I was glad that it screamed. Screaming is healthy. I regret not being able to comfort it. They began to sew me up. The pain was awful. I wanted to scream. I tried. I tried to scream.
"Claire!" my mother shouted.
I must have screamed.
The doctors stopped sewing me up.
"Can you hear me Claire?"
I screamed. I screamed.
"Can you speak?"
I screamed. The pain still hurt, and then I tried to talk.
"Yes, it hurts."
I wanted to see my child. I tried. I struggled. But I opened my eyes. My mother's eyes were red and soaking. Mac was holding her. A nurse held my baby, wrapped in blankets. I blinked furiously. I wanted to hold my baby.
"Do you know where you are?"
Of course I do. "Yes, I'm in a hospital. I want to hold my baby."
I tried to extend my arms. It worked. The nurse placed the perfect little child into my arms.
"It's a girl."
The nurse said this as if it were just any other delivery. It wasn't. I was so overjoyed. I regretted Jack not being there.
The doctors were stunned. They explained it all to me. I told them that I was able to hear. My mother held me, hugged me, kissed me.
I waited for her to ask me who the father was. It took her long enough.
"Claire, do you know who the father of your daughter is?"
I looked into her eyes. Of course I knew. I wasn't that big of a fool.
"Yes, I do. I didn't know I was pregnant though. But the day of the accident, I was feeling kind of sick."
"Who is it?"
"I don't think you know him," I didn't really want to disappoint her.
"Claire," she said sternly.
"My boss, Jack McCoy, for almost two years."
We decided not to tell him. He thought I was dead. I wanted to start a fresh new life. I didn't want to disappoint my mother anymore. I regret not telling him. I regret my reasons for doing so.
I thought long and hard for a name. I didn't want to think of one. I wanted to hold her. She was perfect. My mother urged me to choose a name. I struggled. The first and middle names were easier, but they were still difficult. Together, my mother and I poured over baby-name books. There were so many pretty names. I wanted it to be slightly out of the ordinary. She was/is a miracle. We debated between Kat, Kadey, Zoë, Brielle, Savannah, and Mary-Audi. Finally, we decided upon Kadey Savannah Brielle. Choosing her last name was much more difficult. My mother and Mac both agreed that her last name should be Kincaid. They said that it would be difficult to explain to Kadey why her father never visited her. I wanted to keep a reminder of him around. They said that Kadey was reminder enough. I regret my decision. Kadey Savannah Brielle Kincaid, we decided that it sounded nice; it had a cadence. I wrote a different name down on the birth certificate, and then I took off my pearl necklace.
The doctors were amazed that I had woken up. I was too. They were amazed at how in control I was of my actions. I was too. But, they said, I would need to undergo rehab to be able to walk again. It killed to know that. I regret not going willingly. Some days I would just lie on my hospital bed holding Kadey, not attempting to stand up.
I wasn't allowed to leave the hospital until I had completed a month's worth of rehab. Somehow I did, and I went home to my mother and Mac's house outside of the city. Kadey and I shared the back three rooms of the large house. I still used a wheelchair to get around sometimes. Otherwise I'd use a walker. With a wheelchair I could hold Kadey too.
My mother fussed over me. She cooked elaborate meals and did all of my cleaning. I felt helpless. I regret that feeling. For six months after coming home, I had no ambitions. I'd spend my days playing with Kadey. My mother told me that I was incredibly moody. I didn't see it, but I regret it. Overtime, I used less and less of that wheelchair. I was even able to walk on my own for short amounts of time. My mother taped it on video recorder. She thought it was funny; both me and Kadey learning to walk at the same time. I regret having to learn to walk.
I regained some of my ambitions. I brushed up on the law and did some pro-bono work here and there under a different name, Claire Gellar. I didn't want him to recognize my name anywhere. I regret it. My hair grew long, and my face changed, if he saw me, he would have had to look closely to recognize me. I kept my pearls on a velvet necklace stand, atop my armoire, collecting dust.
I chose to work pro-bono to spend time with Kadey. She was my life. I was there for every major milestone. Her first words were "love mama." I was there to explain to her why all of her friends in preschool had a daddy and she didn't. Her daddy and mommy loved each other very much, but there was an accident and they lost each other. I regret telling her that lie. I regret it. I regret it. She understood. My precious little Kadey took it so gracefully. I love her. I regret lying to her.
When she turned four, she started to change. Her face began to look a little bit more like his, and she had our Irish freckles on her cheeks. She had a thick head of hair, just like him, except hers was a solid dark mahogany color. I bet that's what his looked like when he was younger. I regret not knowing.
When she turned seven on February 14, 2004, we still lived in the back three rooms of my mother and Mac's house. I worked four or five cases a year, and spent most of my time with Kadey. She was/is an excellent second base player.
I threw out that wheelchair, and walker, and two of my canes. I could walk now, most of the time, without any problems. I bought us a motorcycle. She has her own leather jacket. I regret not riding with him.
For a few months I've been thinking about calling him. I wonder how many other assistants he's added to his list of conquests. It doesn't matter how many; I still love him. I regret loving him. I really do. I haven't been able to date anyone. I've tried, but I get this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I need to meet someone. I'm thirty-nine. Kadey asks me why she can't have a little sister or brother like her friends. I wish I could tell her. I regret not being able to make her happy.
The water was getting cold. She pulled the drain plug and dried herself off. Her robe felt warm as she blow dried her long dark hair.
It was seven o'clock already. Claire ran her slender hand over the tattoo just below her waist. It was a two and a half inch red heart with "Jack" written inside of it. She pulled on a scarlet colored cashmere sweater with a simple v-neck and a pair of dark, boot-cut jeans, slid into a pair of comfortable black leather shoes, and brushed out her long, curly, dark hair. From the corner of her eye, Claire saw the now dust-caked strand of pearls sitting on her armoire. They had been so far removed from her life, but yet they had been such a driving force. Instead, she fastened a simple sterling silver chain with a tiny medallion around her neck.
Claire was feeling especially mournful today as she prepared a pot of coffee and eggs for breakfast. The newspaper headlines were all bad, full of war and hatred. It was hard to be an idealist in the world today. She felt lost in regrets. The weather was unusually cold for May 22nd. It was in the low forties and threatened to rain. The weather depressed her.
Kadey walked into the kitchen wearing her pink and blue plaid pajamas. Claire looked up from the paper to see her daughter had tears in her eyes. Kadey walked into Claire's outstretched arms.
"Mommy, what was his name?" Kadey asked through tears.
Claire held her tighter, "Whose?"
"My daddy, what was his name?"
Claire buried her head in Kadey's hair and cried softly, "Jack, Jack."
They cried with each other for a few minutes, neither one of them wanting to let go.
"Do you have a picture mommy?" Kadey asked through stifled sobs.
"No," Claire cried, "I don't. But I do have something."
Claire held Kadey away from her and wiped a tear from her cheek. She lifted her sweater up a bit, exposing the tattoo. Kadey gave her a funny look.
"You love him?"
"I do, very much. John James McCoy, that is your daddy's full name."
"I love him too, right?" Kadey asked innocently.
"Yes, you love him."
Jeanine and Mac entered the kitchen, both aware of what day it was. They each gave Claire and Kadey a hug before returning to their bedroom with coffee mugs.
Claire fed Kadey breakfast and waited for her to get dressed before helping her pack a small backpack with a change of clothes and underwear, her blanket and teddy, and her disc-man. Claire then packed a small bag for herself, grabbed her purse, two water bottles, and a bag of chips. The pearls kept staring at Claire as she packed, but they would stay on their stand. Along with Kadey and the two bags, Claire went out to her motorcycle. She lifted the tarp off of its shiny paint job. Placing the bags down, she and Kadey went back inside where they put on their leather jackets, Claire's was over nine years old, leather gloves, and wool hats. Claire placed the bags in the front of the sidecar where Kadey's feet could not reach yet. She wrapped Kadey in a wool and leather blanket before fastening the specially made seat belt over her lap. Claire secured a helmet on Kadey's head and explained some things to her.
"Kadey, we're going on a little trip to the city, okay?"
She nodded.
"It'll take about two hours," she leaned over and gave Kadey a kiss.
Claire put her helmet on and hopped on the bike. They sped off.
She had only been into the city four times since the accident, on business. After September 11th, she stopped going. It scared her.
I wonder if Jack was near the buildings when it happened. He's still alive; I saw his name in the paper a few months ago. I wonder if he's married. Maybe he has rekindled his relationship with his daughter. I wonder if he still drinks scotch. Yeah, he must. I still have the first bottle we shared together; it's in my bag.
They pulled off the road into a tiny gas station where Claire refilled the tank and bought Kadey a candy bar. It was a dingy place with a rancid smell. Quickly they were back on the road.
I regret not taking Kadey into the city until now. Everyone needs to know the city. I once knew that. I regret losing that part of me. I'm so different now.
The New York skyline was coming into view. As they approached, Claire pulled off to the side of a bridge so that Kadey could get a clear view of the city.
"Look sweetie, that's New York City. See all of the buildings?" Claire was crouched down next to Kadey.
"Yes, it's pretty," Kadey nodded as she pointed to the buildings.
"Yeah," Claire saw the spot where the Twin Towers no longer stood, "remember how I told you about something called September 11th?"
"Uh-huh," she was still staring intently at the skyline.
"There used to be two more tall buildings, the tallest, over there," she pointed to where the buildings should have been, "that's what made Grandma cry so much."
Kadey nodded solemnly.
"Okay, it should only be a few more minutes."
They were back on the road.
I'm not sure where to go. Part of me really wants to go back to that bar. It's probably a really bad idea. I can show Kadey where I used to work. She might like that. I'm sure she'll love Central Park. We'll definitely go there. I wonder if the Yankees are playing a game today. No, I think the paper said they are away. But the Mets are in town against Colorado.
She glanced down at her watch, 10:00. It took some skill maneuvering the sidecar on the busy streets of Manhattan.
What's he doing today? It's Saturday, eight years after my accident. He's probably in the office, or at a bar. He wouldn't go back to that bar. I bet he's having his morning bracer at that bar we used to go to after work. Damn, what's it called? Yeah, I still know where it is though.
Claire glanced down at Kadey, who was smiling, and turned the corner onto a one-way street. After a few blocks, Claire slowed the bike down, until it was at a complete stop in front of a bar…their bar…O'Malley's. She recognized the sign; it hadn't changed. There was a sign in the window that read, "Don't drink and drive. You'll end up a murderer." That was new. She didn't see his bike, but there was a BMW with the same plates. Maybe the memory was too much, because it definitely was his bike.
Damn, he's here. I should go in and just see him. No, a bar is no place for Kadey. The men who are here this early are probably really rough and drunk. But I should just see him; see if there are still sparks. No, no, it's a bar. If you want to see him, I'm sure he'll leave here eventually. Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll go and show Kadey where Mommy used to work.
They pulled into the parking garage near 1 Hogan Place. How many times did she remember riding in on the back of Jack's bike after a long night or weekend? It brought back such memories.
"We're here," Claire said, forcing a smile while she really wanted to cry.
"Where?" Kadey asked innocently.
"Um, this is where Mommy worked before you were born and before that accident. It's called the District Attorney's Office. We put the bad guys in jail."
Kadey smiled at this explanation, "You mean like the Power-Rangers?"
"Yeah, except we didn't have super-powers," Claire helped Kadey out of the sidecar.
Holding hands, they walked off towards the elevator. Two leather jackets, two sets of long hair, two pairs of dark jeans, two curious people walking into something uncertain.
Claire looked different enough that the old security guards didn't recognize her. And her signature pearls were dusty, tucked away on her armoire, not around the thin neck that used to don them. She recognized a few faces but not many. Most didn't stay too long working for the D.A.'s Office. They'd go on to private practice after establishing a solid foundation. That's what she was planning to do.
There are even more people than I remember being on a Saturday. I guess you really forget how much work something is. Sure Jack and I would work weekends and burn the midnight oil, but most of the other A.D.A.'s were glad to escape for two days. Maybe it's the new D.A., or maybe society just expects more. They still get a dismal pay check.
I wonder what happened to Casey. I bet she's still here. I can't believe that Adam left. He's a great person. We didn't always agree, and I don't think he always found my idealism charming, but I can't imagine working for another D.A. And they've had two since his departure. I wonder how many assistants Jack has had. I'll guess two. And I'm betting that she's here today.
Claire and Kadey walked hand in hand off of the elevator and onto the tenth floor. She walked the path that she had walked so many times before, holding Jack's hand, or resisting the urge to do so, arguing with an attorney, or chasing Jack with her briefcase and helmet in tow.
How did he deal with it? Wasn't it hard for him to come back here with all of these memories? What about all of the drunks we have to deal with? Did he drown his sorrow in alcohol? I can't imagine him openly crying, but I can see him wanting to. He probably lashed out. Poor Jack, he needed me to be dead. But I regret it.
Her mind raced, her palms were wet, her forehead shimmered with drops of sweat, and she could feel her heart beating faster. They turned a familiar corner, walked into the common area outside of the D.A.'s office, Jack's, the other E.A.D.A.'s, all of their assistants'. Claire glanced at her old cubicle; it now appeared to be a secretary's desk. The weekend secretary sat in a cubicle opposite her old one, furiously typing on a computer. Jack's office was still intact. His blinds were open, and across the hall was a smaller office that Claire assumed to be his assistant's. A blonde was hunched over a stack of papers, fiddling with a pen in her mouth. She looked gorgeous.
Damn, she's beautiful. I bet he enjoys having a blonde for an assistant. She looks so naïve; I probably looked that way too. Kadey thinks that he still loves me. What if he doesn't? What if he loves her? But I love him, truly love him.
The weekend secretary looked impatiently at Claire and Kadey who was a few steps away from Claire, staring at a bug.
"Can I help you?"
"Um, sorry," Claire snapped back into reality, "do you know if Mr. McCoy will be in today?" Claire said it quietly, not wanting Kadey to hear her.
"His assistant should know. I think he'll be in by noon, but let me check with her. Do you have an appointment?"
"No, I'm," Claire was unsure of what to say she was. She wasn't his girlfriend, or assistant, or even a friend really. She was dead. "I have some information for him; my name is, uh, Claire Ki…, Claire Gellar."
The secretary scanned Claire skeptically before pressing the page button, "Ms. Southerlyn, will your boss be in today?"
Claire saw the blonde reach for her phone, "He said he'd be in at noon."
"Thank you," the secretary replied.
The blonde walked out of her office, curious as to who was there. After exchanging a few words with Claire, she led her into Jack's office to wait. Serena asked if she could entertain Kadey for a while, and Claire decided it would be alright. Kadey would be bored waiting in the office, and Ms. Southerlyn was responsible and kind. She offered to take Kadey to a nearby park to play and see the magician. Serena and Kadey walked off together.
I hope I won't regret letting Kadey go with Ms. Southerlyn. She seems nice, and Jack trusts her. Besides, I don't really want Kadey here when Jack comes. It might be a bit of a shock.
Claire got up and walked around the office that was so familiar to her. She sauntered over to Jack's leather couch. Ah, the memories it held. The ledge behind his desk had hardly changed at all. There was still the same sailboat model, photos, and trinkets. His diplomas still hung on the wall. She looked closely at the double picture frame. It looked different than it had. It was. On one side was a picture of his daughter from his failed marriage, on the other side, the changed side, there was a picture of Claire. She smiled before walking back to the chair Serena had placed her in.
At ten before twelve, Jack walked up to the weekend secretary's desk, dressed in a pair of jeans and a casual shirt. His leather overcoat hung limply over his shoulder, beaten up leather briefcase in the other hand. The secretary handed him some messages on a sheet of paper and motioned that there was someone there to see him. He casually glanced over at his office and sighed; he did not really want to deal with any strangers at the moment and was equally upset to find that Serena had taken a break.
He opened his office door slowly, sighing, and walked in. He didn't even acknowledge the presence of another person in the room until after organizing his personal effects.
"Afternoon," he grunted.
His voice sounds different, higher.
"The secretary didn't tell me much about why you're here Ms. Gellar," he still hadn't looked at her.
Claire knew her voice would give it away. She was hesitant.
"Jack," she started in a foreign voice, "I'm feeling better now."
He recognized something in her voice, and what she said; he was seeing bits and pieces of Claire everywhere today. He looked up, disappointed that he didn't see Claire Kincaid sitting there.
"Excuse me?" he said gruntingly.
"You said to take the day off, but I took a lot more than a day. I'm feeling better now."
He looked up. It was her. She looked different, but it was her.
"Claire!" he cried, "Claire!"
He rushed towards her and brushed back hair away from her face.
"You're wearing the jacket," he commented, trying to force back tears.
"Jack, Jack," she said as tears streamed down her face.
"No, you're dead. You died almost eight years ago. I went to your funeral. Damn-it McCoy, you're getting delusional."
"Jack, I'm not dead. It was a closed casket. I wasn't in it. My mother and Mac wanted to put everyone else out of misery in making them think that I died. I was still in a coma, but I came out of it eight and a half months after the accident. I'm not dead. I've just been gone a long time."
He hugged her, held her head to his chest and cried. She cried. He had always hoped that somehow she was still alive, not that he believed she could be, but… Minutes passed with them hugging, crying, staring at each other, but not speaking a word. Silence was beautiful. But Jack had a nagging question.
"Claire Gellar," he emphasized the last name, "how's it so? When did it happen?"
"Never, Gellar is Mac's last name, you know that. I just, I just," she started to tear again, regretting her reasons, "I just changed it so that you wouldn't know that I was still alive, Jack."
He studied her face, "Why? I've been living with this horrible thing hanging over my head for so long. It makes living a chore."
"I'm so sorry. I am so sorry. I tried, really hard, to get on with my life. My mother and Mac both agreed that I needed to start over. I tried. I'm still living outside of the city, with them, working four or five cases a year, pro bono. For a few years I just stayed at home. I couldn't move forward knowing that a part of me would always be missing. I tried so hard. I tried dating, but I couldn't commit to a second date, couldn't kiss them, couldn't even hold hands. I felt so guilty for not coming forward and telling you that I was alive. I felt as though I was betraying you by even considering dating," she paused, "But, I don't expect you to have not dated on account of me. You thought I was dead. I knew you were alive."
"Claire, I didn't need closure. I would have waited nine months for you to get out of a coma, nine years; I would have waited until I died for you. I wish you could have seen me, after the accident. I have so many regrets about those last few weeks. All of the fighting, yelling, bitterness, I regret it all. And I regret not telling you how special you are."
"I've missed you," she cried into Jack's chest, "and I'm so sorry. Can we do it, pick up where we left off?"
Jack's eyes looked slightly mournful, "No, we aren't those same people. But Claire, we can pick up the pieces and work them out, the new and the old, and try this again. We've been given a second chance," he stroked her head.
"I need to know how many came after me," she stared intently into his weary eyes.
"Claire," she had touched upon a sensitive topic, "I was too depressed and drunk and grief-stricken to make any moves on the assistant who came after you. I fought getting a new assistant for four months before Adam forced one down my throat. In all, there have been three assistants since you, but none of them have been my assistant. And there were the women that Jamie, my first assistant, tried to set me up with, and Nora's friends, and friends of friends, but nothing was ever more than a person to be lonely with at business affairs. That is, with the exception of one assistant," he paused, not really wanting to tell Claire about this, but knowing that he had to, "Abbie, she wanted nothing to do with an affair. We didn't have an affair. But we did date for the better part of a year after she left the D.A.'s office. I broke it off before we became intimately involved, for you, and for her. Neither of us could advance. It wasn't that kind of love, just friends trying to make it more than… but I just couldn't commit. I assumed that I'd die alone."
"Neither one of us could move on," Claire observed wearily, "maybe…I hope there is still a chance for us."
"I do too," Jack stared into her deep brown eyes.
He remembered the pearls that she used to wear to work everyday. They had taken leave from her neck. It had been painful for him when Serena wore her pearls into the office everyday. Jack frowned slightly.
"You still drink, don't you?"
"Yeah, sometimes more than others."
"I need some scotch. If you have the glasses, I have the bottle," she pulled out the first bottle they had shared together from her purse.
"Claire, you still, how do you, this is the same bottle, isn't it?" he touched the label.
"It's sat on my dresser for years," she recalled how it was shoved on top of her armoire, a desperate attempt to be hidden, collecting dust, but emitting memories.
They shared a glass in silence, each absorbed in the memories it brought back. He drank his much slower than usual, dazed, not exactly happy, but not sad either. It wasn't contentment; it was subtle; it was life.
Kadey, he needs to know about Kadey. I have to tell him before he gets in too far. But I just want to taste those lips again. It's been so long since I've kissed him, so long.
"Where did we leave off?" Jack asked her, trying to bring back reality.
"Fighting, about the death penalty, about life, about love, about everything," she sighed, not wanting to get into a debate with him.
"Those are your last memories? I'm sorry Claire. I remember leaving off with a kiss, while you were in that coma. And if you wouldn't mind…" he trailed off; they both set aside their scotch glasses.
Claire reminisced, "It was such a petty kiss, more like the wish for a kiss rather than an actual kiss. It takes two people to really, truly kiss."
He wrapped his arms around her, blissfully free in her presence. She closed her deep brown eyes and gracefully brushed against his lips. The familiar taste, feeling, emotion, it all sent her into a state of pure ecstasy. The kiss deepened as Jack pulled Claire in tighter and she ran her hands through his thick hair. Nothing had ever happened; nothing had ever changed.
I can't believe I'm doing this, kissing my boss. Damn-it Claire, you promised that after Joel, but Jack is different. He is so cute and such a good kisser. Amazing, I can't believe we've waited this long. I'm not sure what this feeling is, but I like it, a lot. His kisses are like magic, wonderful candy, so experienced…
I tried to not do this. But here I am, where I've been three times before, romancing an assistant. This one is special. Okay, so I've thought that about all of them, but truly, I feel something, or maybe it's just the amazing way she kisses me. Younger women are so full of life and energy…
And yet everything had changed. They were different people than the ones they were eight years ago. He had aged much more quickly from grief; the impact of her death weighed greatly on his facial features. His face read like an ancient map, wonderful and beautiful, but full of tragedy and a sad story. Living without Claire had caused a hole in his heart and his life that deepened with each passing year.
Claire, she had awoken from a coma after eight and a half months, knowing that everyone she had ever known thought her dead, being urged to make a new life, and being faced with the daunting task of raising a daughter as a single parent. All her years of searching for someone to love had taken their toll as she realized that the only person she had ever and could ever truly love had attended her funeral eight years ago. Her idealism had faded to a small flickering flame, teetering on the edge of existence, waiting for something or someone to come and blow it out completely, waiting until her pearls were so caked in dust that they no longer resembled naivety and elegance.
Both were the same, both were different. They knew it, but they also knew that they could cure the other.
"Why'd you decide to tell me?" Jack asked as they finally sat down next to each other on his couch, her head on his chest.
"Years of seeing this," she exposed her tattoo, "and years of regretting not telling you."
He chuckled and ran his fingers over her tattoo, "I look at mine everyday. Jamie said I was just drawing out the pain, but it connects me to you. I don't know how people can say that they get over death. I never did."
"Jack, I love you," Claire confessed as she looked into his eyes.
They lit up, twinkled, relieved to hear those words, and he replied, "I love you too…I love you too."
He kissed her softly on the cheek and wiped away a stray tear.
"Can I see it?" Claire asked of his tattoo.
Jack rolled up his sleeve, "I'm glad we did this."
Claire ran her fingers over his bicep where the tattoo was. It was identical to hers in every way except that the name in his read Claire.
Serena and Kadey walked down the hall with balloons and their faces painted, giggling.
"I like you Serena," Kadey smiled.
"I like you too. Do you think your mommy will like our face paintings?"
"Yes, they are like tattoos. Mommy has a heart tattoo like the one on my forehead. But only hers has a name in it," Kadey whispered this to Serena like it were something extremely secret and in that sense incredibly funny.
"Oh, then I think she'll like yours," Serena whispered back to Kadey.
Serena noticed that Jack was back and was in with Ms. Gellar. Unsure if they should be disturbed, she went over to the weekend secretary to ask. Kadey's feet dangled from the wooden chair as she waited for her mom.
Claire noticed the balloons and assumed that meant Kadey was back from the park. Not wanting Jack to find out about her yet, she decided to end things rather hastily.
"Jack," she traced her finger around the heart, "I was wondering if you want to go to the Mets game today?"
"Claire, you're not a Mets fan."
"The Yankees aren't in town, and it's been so long since I've seen a baseball game. I miss it. The game's at 3:05. So, do you want to go?"
He looked mischievously at her, "Of course, do you want to take my bike? I bet you've missed riding."
"Actually," she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "I was thinking about meeting you there. I have something I've got to do."
"Are you sure? Alright, let's meet across from Tony's at 2:30."
"Can I assume we'll follow tradition?" she asked in regards to their usual ten minute make-out sessions outside of Tony's where they'd often catch a cheap ballgame.
"Of course."
They shared one more kiss before she insisted upon leaving.
"I love you Jack."
"I love too. See you at Tony's."
Claire walked out of his office, smiling.
"Mommy," Kadey jumped up, "look at my tattoo!"
"It's great," she chuckled.
They walked back to the garage after Claire thanked Serena and asked her not to discuss who she had been with, with Jack.
It was five minutes to 2:30 and Claire was just locking up her bike. Right next to the parking lot was a concessions trailer selling hats, tee-shirts, and other novelties. Across the street was an old fashioned bar and grill type place called Tony's. Kadey hopped excitedly out of the sidecar. She had never been to a real baseball game before.
"Mommy, look! They're selling hats! Can I get one?"
Claire looked over at the concessions trailer. It was within her vision and the crowd appeared harmless.
"What team is your favorite?" Claire challenged.
"Well, Grandpa Mac likes the Red Sox, and Nana J likes the Mets. What do you think I should get?" Kadey looked innocently at Claire.
"My favorite team is the Yankees, but I'd get the Mets hat because that's whose stadium we're at."
"Okay!" Kadey perkily said.
Claire handed her a twenty and a ten, "Be careful and I want all the change back."
Kadey walked off to the long line of fans, Claire keeping an eye on her while putting on some bright scarlet lipstick and jet black mascara.
That line will take her ten minutes to buy one hat!
Jack walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her thin hips.
Turning around in surprise, Claire squealed, "Jack, you're early!"
He silenced her with a deep and passionate kiss, and once Claire wiggled out of it, he said, "Well so are you! I just couldn't stand another minute without you."
She laughed. She felt the same way.
Jack looked at the helmet in her hand, "You have a bike?"
"Riding, it's always reminded me of you," she gave him a crooked smile.
"There's a sidecar," he observed, "You know you can't go as fast with a sidecar."
To be continued... Please read and review!