Disclaimer: Still not mine – darn it.
A/N: This story has been in the works for a long time, and I'd really like to finish it.
This is a sequel to "From There to Here," and is written in the same style – it is a "wrap-around" for "Under the Influence," and contains scenes from quite a few episodes from Season 8.
Prologue
"How often – will it be for always? – How often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say 'I never realized my loss until this moment?' The same leg is cut off time after time. The first plunge of the knife into the flesh is felt again and again."
How much longer?
How much longer would so many nights bring that nightmare of the phone, ringing louder and louder in the darkness, shattering sleep along with everything else.
In this nightmare he cannot answer the insistent jangling of the phone. He can only stare at it, paralyzed, as the sound echoes in his ears, louder and louder. He knows what he will hear when he answers.
How much longer will the simple motions of everyday life bring back crashing reminders of reality? Reminders that are impossible to avoid but only serve as that knife, plunging into the skin again and again.
How much longer will his only solace be that bottle of scotch hidden in the bottom of a desk drawer? It's all he has. His work and that bottle of scotch serve as the best distractions, the best ways to keep his mind occupied through each long day and each interminably quiet night.
Almost a year and a half has gone by, the world has moved on without him. He has tried to camouflage this fact, but there are times when each day is still a struggle. It is possible for life to go on when time has stopped, he has learned. He has learned too many things he never wanted to know in this, the longest year and a half of his life.
Chapter 1
It had been a busy fall. Jamie had to fight the urge to smack someone as yet another case file hit her desk on the morning of October 17th.
Do Jack and I have to try every single A felony in the city of New York? She thought, although she knew that was an exaggeration. The other ADA's in Major Felonies were just as busy, and Jamie's sympathy for the frazzled calendar clerks was enough to cancel out her strong desire to run for the hills.
Before she had a chance to pull the new file out of her mailbox, her phone rang.
"Ross."
"Hey, Jamie. We were wondering when would be a good time to talk to you about the Galvez accident report?"
"Detective Curtis," Jamie replied, "What accident report?"
"You didn't get it? You were supposed to receive it yesterday."
"You should see my desk, Rey," Jamie sighed, frustrated, "Let me look." She reached into her inbox and pulled out the file they'd handed her this morning.
"Here it is," She said, paging through the file and glancing at her appointment book, "This afternoon, 2:00pm, does that work for you and Lennie?"
"Yeah, I think we can squeeze that in," Curtis said, "McCoy's office?"
"Yep. I'll see you then." Jamie hung up the phone and began to read through the accident report. She had barely made it past the first page when another voice interrupted her morning.
"Any word yet from the Christie jury?" Jack was standing over her, carrying a cup of coffee, the scent of outdoors still clinging to his jacket.
Again, Jamie thought to herself, It's okay for you to show up an hour late. If I did that, you'd have my ass.
"No, not yet. You don't say hello in the morning anymore?"
"Hello," Jack said, irritably, "Why doesn't Scarletti hang them already?"
"You want a hung jury?"
"No," Jack reconsidered a moment, "I just want that one off the table."
Jamie could sympathize. The case had been one of their more difficult ones, one of the many that appeared to be taking a toll on Jack. On occasions, like this morning, he would show up late. His mood would swing, too – from reasonably upbeat to angry to downright prickly. And he worked – constantly. Jamie had called the office more than once to find Jack still there at ten or eleven at night.
She was used to this with Jack, though. He had good days and bad days. This already appeared to be shaping up as one of the bad ones.
"We just caught a new case," Jamie handed the report to Jack, "Briscoe and Curtis are coming by this afternoon to discuss it."
"When?" Jack asked, glancing at the file.
"Two."
"All right," Jack said handing the file back to Jamie, "I'll read it later. I'll be in my office if you need me."
The way Jack shut the door behind him indicated to Jamie that needing him would be a bad idea.
Curtis and Briscoe showed up at two, as promised, surprising Jamie, who had absorbed herself in trial paperwork for the Blair case. The judge had recessed court until Monday morning, and she had scheduled a meeting with a newly discovered witness for later that afternoon.
"Hey, counselor," Curtis teased, "Are we interrupting you?"
"Oh, I almost forgot. McCoy's in his office." Jamie stood and headed for Jack's door, "I think he's read the report."
"What do you think?" Briscoe asked her.
"It seems suspicious," Jamie agreed, knocking on the door.
"That's what we thought." Curtis said.
"Come in," Jack called, and Jamie showed the two detectives into the office.
Jamie immediately noticed the somber tone of Jack's voice. The report she'd received that morning was sitting open on the table in his office, but somehow she got the feeling he'd stopped reading it halfway through. One of the accident photos had been turned face down on top of the other paperwork in the file.
The detectives sat down at the table and began explaining their take on the case. Jack began turning the pages of the report, but Jamie noticed he avoided the photographs.
"We've questioned Susan Young," Lennie told them, "But I don't think she was driving."
"Why not?" Jamie asked.
"Her bruise is on the right side. Puts her in the passenger seat." Rey explained.
"Does she have any connection to the Lavell family?" Jamie asked. Henry Lavell, one of the accident victims, appeared to be the target of the driver – if this turned out to be anything but an accident, that is.
"They never heard of her. By the way, both the Lavell kids are alibied." Lennie added, as if it were an afterthought.
"We checked her LUDs for the past month, nothing that traces to the Lavells." Rey noted.
"So it could be just an accident," Jamie said. The file hadn't convinced her otherwise, and besides, if it were an accident, this case would be off her desk. One less thing to worry about.
Jack looked up from the file and glared at her for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was low.
"Three people run down," He said, "To you that's just an accident?"
Jamie returned his glare with a look of surprise. The tone of his voice was one of cool fury, one she hadn't heard him direct at her before. Something about this case was upsetting him, she realized, making his already bad mood worse.
"Can't we put some paper on Ms. Young and force her to talk?" Lennie asked.
"If we subpoena her to the grand jury, she'll ask for immunity." Jamie answered, glad for an excuse to look at Lennie.
"Until we know how she's involved, I don't want to give it to her." Jack shook his head, eyes fixed on the file in front of him. He looked over at Lennie, "You keep the pressure up, you think she'll come around?"
"We'll lean on her just as hard as you let us." Lennie responded. Jack nodded his agreement, and the two detectives stood up to leave.
"We'll let you know how it goes." Curtis said as Jamie walked them out.
"Yeah, sure." Jamie sat back at her desk and tried to focus on her work, but she found the eerie vibe from the meeting impossible to shake. Something is very wrong here, she thought, this case is bothering me already.
After Jamie and the detectives left, Jack took the accident report and stashed it in his box. He reached into his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch and a glass. It took two shots before the images of the Galvez/Lavell accident began to fade from his mind. And another shot of mouthwash to disguise the scent of scotch on his breath.
It had been a rough night. The Christie case had been bothering him ever since he'd delivered his closing statement the week before, and last night he had given in – again – to the urge to drink until nothing bothered him anymore. The problem with that was, eventually he would wake up sober, and feeling worse than before. Unhappy and hung over – not a great combination.
Before that, Jack thought he'd been doing pretty well recently. Drinking less. He'd been able to focus, which had been on and off. He had even been able to convince himself, at least lately, that the worst might be over, that he was finally out from under the dark cloud which had been following him.
He had stopped attributing this dark cloud to anything like grief. Sure, for the first few weeks after… he had been depressed, drinking more than usual, but that was over. Whatever this lingering melancholy was, it had nothing to do with…
Well, it had nothing to do with her.
After looking at the accident report Jamie had handed him that morning, however, Jack felt as if he'd been hit in the chest. Those accident photos had really done it – his body had responded by breaking out into a cold sweat, accompanied by a sick stomach and shaking hands. And yet he had to look at them. It was part of his job.
Bodies covered in tire marks.
As Jack swished the Listerine around in his mouth, he worked on convincing himself that these photos had only affected him this way because they were grisly, like all murder scene photos. It was the hangover, maybe. There had to be a good reason.
Three people run down, he thought, is not an accident, no matter what Jamie thinks. Someone is going to pay for this one.
Jamie knocked on the door, giving him just enough time to hide the bottle before stuck her head in.
"Jack, Ottenberg just showed up."
"All right, let's talk to him." Jack said, pulling the Blair case files out of the pile on his desk for a quick refresher. Navy Lieutenant Kirsten Blair had killed her ex-lover and was claiming self-defense, and the strength of her image – she was one of the first female fighter pilots – had been a sticking point in the trial. The judge had recessed court until Monday due to a previous commitment, giving Jack and Jamie enough time to get a better look at her Navy record.
Of course, Jack thought, frustrated, if Ruthie Miller hadn't pushed the trial date so far forward while the Navy dragged it's heels, he would have had all these witnesses ahead of time.
Jack stood to greet William Ottenberg as Jamie showed him into the office.
"Thanks for coming in," He said, shaking Ottenberg's hand, "Have a seat."
"Well, I'm glad to help," He sat. Jamie perched on the edge of Jack's desk, "I hadn't even heard about the trial until you called me."
"We appreciate anything you have to tell us." Jamie said, but Jack could already sense she was hoping to uncover holes in his story. Jamie admired Blair, and was less suspicious of her motives than Jack, which had already caused several arguments while they worked on the case.
"What, exactly, was your capacity when you were in the Navy?" Jack asked.
"I was landing signal officer on the Minnesota. I was there when Blair trained for night landings. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have qualified her."
"Why not?" Jack asked.
"She had five downs."
"Downs?"
"Major mistakes. Everybody else, it's two downs, you're out."
"Two?" Jack asked, "They don't give you much leeway, do they?"
"No, sir," Ottenberg replied, revealing his military past in his choice of words, "You don't want a pilot that can't land the damn plane."
"Why'd they make an exception for Blair?"
Ottenberg hesitated a moment to meet Jamie's critical eye. He looked away before he spoke again. "They were under orders to qualify some female pilots ASAP. This stuff burns me up."
"What," Jamie spoke up, "Qualifying female pilots?"
"No, Ma'am," Ottenberg replied defensively, "Qualifying bad pilots."
"She's that bad?" Jamie asked, somewhat sarcastically.
"She got better." Ottenberg stood, "She's never going to be an F-14 pilot. You think I'm wrong?" He held up a tape, "Listen to this. I kept it to cover my ass. And I'm glad I did."
Jack took the tape from him and looked over at Jamie.
"Do we have a tape player anywhere?"
The tape – which contained a recording of Lieutenant Blair cursing out her trainer and failing to make the required training landing – was extremely incriminating, considering the statements Blair had made in court about her controlled reaction to danger. After Ottenberg left, Jack placed the tape in an evidence envelope and handed it to Jamie.
"Get the clerk to make a copy for Ruthie, we'll send it over to her tomorrow."
Jamie nodded, taking the envelope, "Ruthie Miller's going to have a heart attack."
"I'll break it to her gently," Jack replied, "I'm meeting her for dinner in an hour."
Jamie raised her eyebrows.
"Really? Professional or otherwise?" She smiled.
"We've known each other for years," Jack rolled his eyes, "It's strictly friendship."
"Ah." Jamie nodded, smiling, "Do you think you might be interested in anything else?"
"With Ruthie?" Jack shook his head. He wondered, exactly, where this conversation was going.
"With anyone."
"Jamie, if this is a proposition…" Jack began, his eyes twinkling. Jamie smiled back, happy to see his sense of humor back.
"Not for me. I have a friend from my old firm, I think she'd be perfect for you. You think you're up for it?"
No, Jack thought, but then he reconsidered. The new evidence in the Blair case had improved his mood, and a date might not be a bad idea, after all. Something else to do with an evening other than work until midnight or sit at home and drink himself to sleep.
"Why not," Jack said out loud, "Give me her number, I'll give her a call."
Jamie smiled, partly with relief. She had been waiting for a good moment to suggest this to Jack, and the moment hadn't come until now. Even so, Jack's reactions were so erratic – she was thankful he hadn't bitten her head off.
"I'll get this to the clerk, and then I'm going home," Jamie waved the envelope, "Katie and I are going to watch The Lion King again tonight."
Jack nodded and began to put his coat on, "I'm already running late - Ruthie's going to be on her third martini by the time I get there."
She was only on her second, and not the least bit bothered by the fact that Jack was a few minutes late.
"No, it's fine. You're never on time anyway, I was expecting time for another drink."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Jack said as he removed his jacket and sat down across from Ruthie.
"Nah. So. Monday, are you ready for me to win yet another case against you?"
"If you remember, you won the last one only because I helped you."
"Ah, yeah, excuses, excuses." Ruthie smiled, "I'm glad you agreed to meet me, Jack."
"It's not often I have time for dinner with a friend," Jack agreed, "I could use a break. So could you – you'll be busy tomorrow. Some new discovery is on it's way over."
"Oh, I don't want to talk about work," Ruthie moaned, "Enough already."
"All right," Jack agreed, "No more work for the rest of the evening."
"Thank you," Ruthie said, with an exaggerated sigh, "Now. What have you been up to lately?"
"Work." Jack replied, smiling. Ruthie rolled her eyes.
"So Andrew tells me, 'No, Mom, I sent Goldie down the water slide, like at the park!' He thought that flushing his goldfish down the toilet was the same as, you know, sending him down the water slide at the water park. That's the last time I take him anywhere, I'm telling you."
Jack laughed, more at Ruthie's way of telling a story than at the story itself, "So was he devastated?"
"Eh. I didn't actually tell him that he killed the fish, I just told him he had sent him off to swim in the ocean."
Jack laughed again, and Ruthie shook her head.
"I just wonder where kids get these crazy ideas. Certainly not from sensible, responsible parents like us."
Jack's laugh was a snort, "Oh, sure. My daughter once decided to bring her hamster along on one of her weekend visits. But she decided to stick the hamster in the bottom of her overnight bag."
"And?"
"The damn thing suffocated, of course!"
Ruthie's laugh was loud enough that other people in the restaurant glanced over their shoulders at her.
"And?"
"I took the same way out that you did – told her the hamster died of natural causes. I had to give it a full funeral in the park. She made me buy flowers."
Ruthie laughed again, and this time even the waiter gave her a stern look.
"Whoops, I think I better tone it down a bit," She said, "I've definitely had a bit too much to drink when stories about dead pets make me laugh that hard."
Jack smiled and took another sip of his own drink.
"Why don't we get together more often?" Ruthie asked, "How long has it been since we've seen each other before this?"
Jack thought for a moment, then remembered the last time he'd seen Ruthie.
"It's been about a year and a half," he said quietly, and he could see by the look in her eyes that Ruthie had remembered, and that she regretted bringing it up.
"Jack," She said, "I'm sorry. I have a big mouth."
"No," Jack shook his head, "It's fine."
The last time he had seen Ruthie before the Blair case landed on his desk was at Claire's funeral. The pain he'd felt in his chest that afternoon – while looking at the accident photos – threatened to return.
"How's your new assistant working out? She's smart, Jack." Ruthie spoke again, attempting to change the subject.
"Jamie? She's great," Jack nodded, sipping his drink again, "Used to be a defense attorney, actually."
"Ah, I knew there was something I liked about her," Ruthie teased, "But tell me, Jack, have you been living up to your reputation with this one, too?"
Jack only stared at her a moment, and Ruthie flinched.
"Ah, I'm sorry," She said, coming as close to blushing as she ever would, "There goes my big mouth again."
"It's all right," Jack repeated, "I think my days as the office Don Juan are over."
"What am I hearing?" Ruthie asked, feigning a look of shock, "There must be a cog shifting in the universe somewhere. Jack McCoy, becoming a settled old bachelor?"
"Ruthie, you're exaggerating," Jack gave her a weary look, and Ruthie laughed – more quietly this time.
"Maybe so. I don't know about you, Jack, but I feel old, hearing you say that."
Jack nodded. Ruthie looked at her watch.
"My babysitter is about to go into double overtime," She sighed, "And you tell me I have a long day tomorrow."
"So do I," Jack finished the last of his drink in one swig and stood up, "I have to catch a flight tomorrow, to interview a witness up at Attica."
"Ugh." Ruthie groaned, "I hate that place." She stood, and Jack leaned over so she could pretend to plant a kiss on his cheek, "See you Monday – prepare to have your butt kicked."
Jack replied, smiling, "Always a pleasure, Ruthie."
"Likewise, Jack. Don't be a stranger."
She made her way – somewhat unsteadily – into a cab, and Jack made his own way back to his apartment. He was too tired to reflect on the dark emptiness of his home by the time he got there – too exhausted to even check the blinking light on his answering machine. It could all wait until tomorrow morning.
He stripped off his clothes and took a shower, then crawled into bed, almost asleep before his head hit the pillow.
The phone was ringing.
Louder and louder. The sound was echoing off the walls – did phones usually ring like that?
The sound was unbearable, yet he could not answer. He was paralyzed, staring at the phone, which by now ringing so loudly it was threatening to fall off the nightstand.
He knows what he will hear when he answers.
If he doesn't pick up the phone, no matter how loudly it rings, he will never hear that news. Everything will stay the same.
And yet the phone keeps ringing.
Jack woke with a start, breathing hard. He glanced at the clock next to his bed. 5:26AM.
At least this time the nightmare had waited until close to morning to startle him out of a sound sleep.