She'd sat in the back of his lectures for several weeks now, simultaneously hoping that he would and wouldn't notice her. Typically, she would have sat closer, but she had felt overwhelmed by his presence on the first day and sitting back some gave her a fuller, better perspective of her situation. He was awe-inspiring; he was also an ass. His lectures were more akin to sermons: he raised his voice the way a preacher would to God, but with respect to such odious things as capital punishment. Still, despite his volatile attitude, she was drawn to him; so drawn that sitting in the back of the class ached. She longed to sit in the front row, but no one sat there, out of fear for their lives and their eardrums. She would have gladly been front and center, would have vainly prided herself in being his only fan. But she resisted, too perplexed to take action — she didn't understand the nature of this attraction and wished it wasn't there. And yet, as she restrained herself, the unwanted obsession persisted, even blossomed — so fully that, on the day he called her name, searching for her face in the waves of frightened listeners, her heart nearly stopped and her voice came out nearly inaudible as she replied with a meek "yes?"

He asked her to stay after class. From her spot, she nodded quickly and averted her eyes, as well as ignored Margot's taunting whispers and giggles.

From that moment on, class was too short. It had never been too long, truly; his preaching filled the three hour lecture period with ups and downs, laughs and gasps that, although they never made the time fly by, certainly improved what could have been tortuous. But on that day, the time did fly. It brushed past her face, feeling like a wind, left her reeling as the listeners scrambled out of their seats after being dismissed. She stayed in her seat for a second, glancing nervously around the empty lecture hall, and at Dr. McCoy, leaning coyly against his desk at the front, waiting for her patiently with a smirk on his face.

She fumbled for her things, pulling her bag up to her lap and shoving her unopened book inside. Standing quickly, and glancing at him again, still poised, still waiting, she became aware of herself and how stupid she might look. Forcefully, she paced herself, slowly making her way down the stairs, until she stood by the first chair in the first row. She looked up at him, morosely, and his lips widened into an amused smile.

"Claire Kincaid," he said, now grinning.

"Dr. McCoy," she replied blankly.

"Call me Jack," he said nonchalantly, and Claire was completely taken aback, by his casualty, and by the level of discomfort she felt talking to him — by the idea of calling her professor "Jack."

"Jack." She tried the name, tongue feeling heavy, twisting about, tangled in the word. She bit her cheek, not sure what to make of it. It was an odd feeling: uncomfortable, but good. Yes. Good. She decided the feeling was, in the strangest way possible, good.

"I checked with the administration, Claire," he said. He was turned away from her now, rummaging among the piles of paper on his desk. "They said you weren't taken."

"Excuse me?" Claire had no idea what he meant by that. Her discomfort was rapidly growing. Her cheeks were hot and she had no doubt that they had taken on a shade of pink he would notice. His every movement, every word embarrassed her to the core; she found breathing awfully difficult in such proximity to him. She could hardly see through her cloud of anxiety and excitement but she could tell he still wasn't facing her. Perhaps there is some grace left in the world, she thought.

"I talked to Adam Schiff — you know," he continued, totally ignoring her physical presence, only caring that she was still able to hear him. "The department chair of criminal justice — he said you weren't taken."

"I..." She was speechless and confused, "I don't — excuse me?"

This time he turned to her and eyed her sternly, examining her fully in a way that was less than appropriate. He relaxed his gaze. "As an assistant, Ms. Kincaid?"

Ms. Kincaid. He'd called her Claire only moments earlier and now she was Ms. Kincaid. She suspected this would be a trend — and immediately hoped that it wouldn't be.

But what else he had said — assistant? As in teaching assistant? She wanted to scoff, laugh in his face, giggle as she told him that he was capable enough on his own, that he needed no teaching assistant. And it was true. He was a force, an immovable, amazing force, that needed no compass, nor any push in the right direction. And yet he was asking, of all people, her. The girl that sat in the back of his lectures and had never raised her hand to answer a question and had never been called on. She realized too late that she was gaping. She opened her mouth to speak — but he was quicker.

"I requested you," he announced, turning his back on her again. "Immediately, of course. Your reputation precedes you."

"As does yours... Including your relationships with your assistants," she blurted out stupidly. Her mouth rested open in shock at herself for a few seconds before she snapped it shut, looking down, utterly terrified. She was not supposed to know about that, though she did, and she was certainly not supposed to mention it to him. Ever. It was a plea from the administration, always coded brilliantly in a formal letter to the students: Dear students, You may become aware of some past (much emphasis on the past) improper student-teacher conduct here at Columbia Law School. Please, given what you have learned and will continue to learn about morality and ethics, forgive such parties for their indiscretions and please save everyone from certain embarrassment by suspending belief of any rumors that may arise. We also ask that you refrain from mentioning such affairs in classroom settings, with professors or with fellow students. Thank you in advance. Sincerely, Dr. Pataki, President of Columbia Law School. Having broken a promise to the elusive and illustrious Dr. Pataki gave Claire no grief, but Jack's potential reaction stirred an awful sense of dread within her.

Glancing up briefly from the floor, she saw his head shoot up and saw him turn his eyes. She felt them, bearing directly into her soul, as Jack straightened himself up and turned his body completely towards her. His arms hung harmlessly by his sides, but his eyes were searing with contempt and indignation. He stared into her deep golden eyes until they were forced away, glistening with shame and quivering with fear.

"Three," he stated blankly but forcefully, "in the last twenty years at this school, and that includes an ex-wife." He stared at her a moment longer and then broke away, going behind his desk to sit in his chair. Reaching down, he pulled up a stack of papers and dropped them on his desk, looking up at her. "I hope we don't have a problem."

"I..." She struggled for an explanation for her outburst. "I just wanted to make myself clear." Yes. That sounded right. And it was true. She was drawn to Dr. McCoy — Jack — but she didn't want him like that. She was intrigued by his character, thought he would make for a good argument. He seemed exciting, interesting; he embodied the things that were missing from the mundane atmosphere of law school. He was far more interesting than any rule on perpetuities, more resourceful than twenty trips to the library, and certainly more amusing than any instructional seminar on jury selection that she had taken with thirteen boring public attorney interns.

"Got it," he replied, staring down at his pile of papers rather disgustedly. Then, pausing briefly, he glanced up and smile at her, a genuine, honest smile. She felt something inside of her drop and unconsciously smiled back. "Claire?" What a relief. She was Claire again. "Can we get to work?"

"Now?"

He exhaled heavily, looking tempted to roll his eyes. "Tomorrow." He stopped abruptly, rubbing his chin pensively. "What hours work for you, Claire?" It felt as though he was relishing using her name, as if he'd waited through those first few weeks of the seminar to be able to say it. There was something about the way he liked her that made her uneasy, but that thrilled her all the same. Suddenly, she was all Jack saw. It was a daunting feeling, to be alone with him, to be the only thing he seemed to notice, and yet that he constantly ignored. He was caught up in his papers and caught up in her at the same time. She enjoyed it, the alternating attention and dismissal. He paid her just enough mind that she knew she mattered, but not enough to overemphasize her importance and relevance. "Claire?" He also had a habit of unintentionally distracting her from the present, sending her into a frenzy of thoughts and analyses. That was a side effect of him that did not sit well with her.

"Most of my lectures and classes are Tuesday and Thursday," she answered haltingly. "Um, all before your class. Except I have one lecture Wednesday morning, early though, at nine." She took a deep breath. "I can't stay today, I — "

"No, no, not today," he said dismissively, shuffling through his papers. "So, Mondays, Wednesdays afternoons, and Fridays — all work for you?"

"Yes, and — and Tuesdays and Thursdays, after this seminar, I suppose," she conceded. "And weekends." She had no intention of spending the weekends with him. Or maybe she did. She would, if he asked her to. Her unexpected willingness frightened her and she pleaded that her common sense would eventually prevail.

He laughed at that. "Oh, come on, Claire, you've got to have a social life."

"I have to make it through law school too," she suggested meekly. A terrible excuse. They both knew it. Thankfully, he had the decorum not to point it out.

"Claire, you're doing fine," he chided. "That's why I requested you. You're doing well. Extremely well." He was waving her off with his words. He was winning, too. And right. About everything. How annoying, that self-assurance that he exuded. He unconsciously purported that he knew her better than she knew herself and she was growing to trust and believe in that — suddenly, her anxiety started up again and her heart rate increased rapidly. She was already finding their relationship unhealthy even in its most innocent state.

"Thank you," she said stupidly. No other words existed within her at that moment. She hated that too, that he made her speechless so effortlessly, that his simple gait, his pure aura, gave her goosebumps and rendered her senseless. Jack raised his eyebrows at her. She hoped that he thought she had a social issue and was unaware of his effect on her. He opened his mouth slightly, almost as if to speak, then nodded slowly and slumped down, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. He flipped the first page of the first paper on his desk and started reading. He looked so different like that, much more approachable. Courage soared through her so violently that her fingertips trembled. "What will I — we — be doing together?"

"The usual," he sighed, looking up and rubbing his face with his hands. "Grading. Planning lectures. Research. "

"Research?"

"Yes, research. For lectures. For articles. Law review submissions and journals." He thought for a moment. "Next semester, I'm teaching a prosecutorial seminar. Preparation for students wanting to go into public law. I heard that you're a clerk with Judge Joel Thayer? Criminal court, I believe?" As he spoke, he pushed himself up out of his chair and wandered, somewhat aimlessly, over to her side.

"Yes, criminal. I was," she replied quickly. "I quit."

"Why?"

"He and I didn't quite have the same opinions," she said calmly, trying desperately not to flinch. It was more than that, much more than that, and something much deeper, much worse than that. But, in the end, it could be described as a sort of conflict of opinions — so that was what she went with.

Jack eyed her carefully, possibly detecting a hint of discomfort in her poise and her voice. However, if he understood her demeanor, he made no comment on it; he pretended instead that nothing that occurred. "Well, regardless of that, I'd like you to take my seminar. I understand you still plan on pursuing criminal law?" She nodded. "I'd like if you continued on as my assistant through that course — it'll be a seminar on proper prosecutorial skills and conduct. You could certainly learn a lot from it. I've thought about doing independent investigations into current cases and presenting prosecutorial angles and their shifts... Of course, I'll need a great deal of help with that."

"Will you have time for that? It seems like a good deal of extensive research."

"I only teach one seminar or lecture a semester, it's hardly a concern."

"Well, it's an interesting course," she quipped, looking away from Jack, still shaking slightly from the mention of her experience in the judge's court. "An interesting approach."

She could sense him grinning beside her. "That's what I'm counting on." He strolled away from her, back to his desk, and plopped down in his chair once more. She turned her head, gazed at him, sorting sloppily through his desk drawers, and tried not to laugh. He was so odd. She could feel herself relaxing with him already; though she was still forced to ride the waves that he controlled with his volatile personality, they were beginning to calm underneath her. The riptide was subsiding, and she was finding the sandbar to stand on. His mood was becoming more intelligible, more unmoving to her. She was certain there would be days she'd be dashed against the sharp rocks of their partnership by his persona, but there would also be times she would float and enjoy the current of his mind. His appeal was growing always and she felt her heart rate speed up again, but for a different reason.

"I have to go," she announced finally, after a good minute of silence. He nodded at her, not looking up, not speaking. Claire adjusted her bag, murmured a quick "goodbye" and started quickly up the lecture hall stairs. When she reached the top, she heard her name called behind her and turned, seeing him sitting there, looking up at her.

"See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," she called back, giving a small wave. He waved back. She ducked out the door into the hallway, then out into the courtyard. Walking slowly to the student parking lot, to her car, she smiled wistfully to herself. The affection that had once been a mere obsession, a vague interest in him, was already something a little bit more, although she still feared a repeat of the past. His or hers, it was irrelevant; in the end, they were essentially the same. It was like Jonathan Edwards' metaphorical string, upon which humans dangled over hell; so were the spiders of her past dangled over her, threatening to be cut by God or by her situation at any moment and released upon her head. And yet, hardly a piece of her could care. Jack was strange, but he liked her; perhaps more than he should have, but something in him was irresistible to her too. She found her fondness for him growing at every moment. He made her uncomfortable and frenzied, yes, but in a way that was exhilarating, not tiring or perturbing. As the cool fall air filled her lungs, Claire realized that her attraction to him was growing exponentially now — much faster than before — but that, by some bizarre circumstance, she wasn't the least bit bothered by that.