Claire Kincaid was beginning to get a little pissed off…
Ever since Jack McCoy had come back, he had been doing his very best his best to avoid her.
He's got a lot of issues to deal with, Dr. Emil Skoda had said when she asked him about it.
Well…
Yes...
She had known that. She had been there with Jack when he'd had his breakdown.
She had watched, helpless, as the man she loved fell apart, losing pieces of himself along the way.
Then… It happened, the attack at George Atkinson's residence. Atkinson was killed, and everyone thought Jack McCoy had been killed along with him.
And a part of Claire Kincaid had died too…
…..
1997
Claire Kincaid, on her first day as Acting Executive Assistant DA…
She's as nervous as hell, and trying to consider who should be her Second Chair.
Right now, Jamie Ross seems the best choice. She, and Ross, are in the EADA's office right now, and Kincaid is almost tongue-tied.
"Hopefully, this will only be temporary," she stammers as she offers Ross a coffee. "Mr. McCoy has been…ill."
"I've heard…" Ross spoke sincerely. "I can start any time you wish."
"Yes…please do…"
Adam Schiff had already given Ross his seal of approval.
I like her, Miss Kincaid. You'll like her too…
Claire did like her. But…this was all wrong.
This is Jack's office. Not mine.
Her office phone rang, and she picked it up.
"Claire…" her boss, Adam Schiff. His voice sounded hoarse…all atremble…
"Adam..?"
"There's been a…emergency, Claire."
"Jack…" terror jolted down her spine.
"We're at the Morgue…"
"The…Morgue..?" Kincaid looked up, saw Jamie Ross still there, waiting patiently.
Claire Kincaid's world had just been destroyed, and she didn't know what to say next.
"I'll be there…" she spoke over the phone, and hung up. She stood, and Ross stood with her, apparently realizing the interview was over.
"Thank you, Miss Ross," Kincaid's voice sounded distant to her ears. "You can start tomorrow."
Then, she was out of the office, running for the elevator…
The ride to the Morgue, the first taxi she found, only took a few minutes.
It seemed to take hours.
Please, she prayed. Not Jack…Not him…
She found Adam Schiff standing over a sheet-draped form, Dr. Elizabeth Rodgers standing by his side.
"Jack?" Kincaid asked.
Schiff, utterly ravaged by grief, didn't answer.
"Yes," it was Rodgers who spoke.
"How?"
"Claire…" Rodgers sighed. "You don't want to know. Trust me on this…"
Fury whipped through Kincaid.
"How…did…he…die?"
Again, Rodgers sighed.
"Home invasion…" she finally said. "Burned to death…"
"Burned…"
The horror of such a death…
Kincaid just couldn't comprehend it…
The…victim's right hand was just visible under the sheet, a glint of gold catching Kincaid's eye.
Jack McCoy's signet ring, half-melted, the hand charred right down to the bone.
She couldn't bring herself to lift the sheet, to look at the face...
…..
2002
Today, Claire Kincaid had taken a personal day. Jack McCoy had been released from Bellevue Psych a couple of days ago, was back at the Halfway House.
Kincaid had offered to take Jack out to lunch, and he had accepted reluctantly.
It was a small bistro, with delicious hot sandwiches, and the best coffee…
More importantly, it had a small nook with one table for two in an out-of-the-way corner.
She knew what Jack was trying to do by avoiding her, and she wasn't going to let that go unchallenged.
"Jack…" speaking over Dessert and coffee. "I know what you're doing."
"Doing?" McCoy's dark eyes widened. But Kincaid was familiar with that innocent look, had seen him employ that look on hapless defendants, and their attorneys-not to mention a few Judges too-in years past.
"Stop avoiding me, Jack," she sighed.
Now McCoy sighed too, as he put his napkin to one side.
"I'm not the man you signed up for," he tapped the side of his head in a universal gesture. "You know…"
"So because you have a mental illness, I'm not allowed to love you? And you're not allowed to be loved? That's ridiculous!"
McCoy's shoulders moved, a hesitant shrug.
"You're still young, Claire. It wouldn't be fair to you."
"Fair?" she stared at McCoy over her raspberry tart. "Jack…I'm an intelligent woman, educated, and well over twenty-one. I'm fully capable of deciding, on my own, what is fair for me and what is not."
"But-"
"No, Jack!" she laid a hand on his. "I know you have mental illness, and it's going to be tough. I know there might be things you can't give. I know all of that; and you know what? I don't care. I'll take you as you are, in any way I can. No matter what, I want you in my life."
She patted his hand.
"Just let me be a part of your life, Jack," she pleaded. "That's all I'm asking."
McCoy bowed his head, his hand turning over, fingers curling around her hand.
"I love you too…" he finally said. "I just don't know if it will work…"
"Just be yourself…" Claire smiled.
"You mean, just be the infuriating asshole?"
"Yes!"
Claire laughed out loud, was rewarded by one of McCoy's rare smiles.
"Like I said, Jack," she looked McCoy right in the eye. "I'll take you any way I can."