Jack's to the point where he can think of Claire without physically hurting.
Claire was - something all her own. A beauty, with a softness he found himself attracted to. Gentleness, along with that prosecutorial clarity. They fit together, his keen edge, her smile.
This is different. Abbie is different.
His first impression of her - well, it was something. When he'd heard about the nonsense she was doing, arresting some child, he'd been so annoyed, he was ready to tear her a new one. And then he'd walked into her office and discovered a supermodel in a suit.
(Oh, come on, seriously?)
After that first case together, in which he had to constantly remind himself to step back and not wring her neck, she slapped his hand instead of shaking it. In the interest of world peace. He couldn't help but chuckle at that. At least she had a sense of humor.
She got a lot of looks she didn't notice. Jack noticed. Defense attorneys wearing Italian suits and Rolexes watched her with interest, and got shot down with a single sarcastic sentence. Cops openly watched her from the moment she walked into the precinct till the moment she left; she rarely had to refill her own coffee.
More disconcerting were the defendants. Jack had learned to gauge them. They ran a gamut. Most of their looks were harmless enough. It didn't hurt, having a beautiful woman to distract them.
The rapists, though. The rapists sometimes made him nervous. They had a look. A predatory look. To them, Abbie wasn't just a piece of ass. She was a target. Jack knew perfectly well that she was putting herself in danger, every time she said the people request remand. It only took one acquittal, or even one perpetrator with a connection, one person following her home.
Jack was a prosaic man, but he did once dream that particular nightmare. He woke up at three, sweating, and couldn't get back to sleep. And he couldn't concentrate until she poked her head into his office to say good morning.
He'd told himself he wasn't going to get involved with another assistant. He knew better. It never ended well. It wasn't worth it, and he simply wasn't going to do it again.
To be fair, he hadn't met Abbie Carmichael yet.
Not that it mattered. She was out of his league. Too young, too attractive. There was a sense of security in knowing he didn't have a chance.
Of course, he'd thought that when he met Claire, too.
It was a night like any other; they went out for drinks at the end of the case. Lennie had water, Jack kept himself under control, and three different guys tried to buy Abbie drinks.
But Green left early. Then Lennie stepped out to take a phone call. And then there were two.
Abby was relaxed, smiling, rolling her eyes at whatever lame story he was telling, and he was almost completely disconnected from whatever stupid words he was saying because he could smell her perfume.
Lennie came back and Jack tried to stop smelling the mixture of cinnamon and sandalwood and her.
It was raining when they finally ducked outside, about an hour later than they should have stayed. Abbie was headed west, the other two headed east, so Lennie volunteered to find her a cab before he and Jack shared one the other direction.
Abbie was laughing at him for forgetting to bring an umbrella.
He didn't mean to stand so close. Abbie was still laughing, just loose enough not to care that her hair was dripping, tendrils plastered to her neck. Her eyes were sparkling, her face flushed. Gorgeous.
And then suddenly there was no distance between them and he was kissing her.
He wasn't even sure why it happened.
It - was -
"Uh, guys? Found a cab."
They broke apart in shock to find Lennie watching them, his face unreadable.
Abbie recovered first; at least, she mumbled something like thanks and disappeared into the cab without a backward glance.
By the time Lennie got another cab and slid into the backseat beside him, Jack was just on the edge of clear-headed enough to know there was a problem.
Sure enough, Briscoe cleared his throat. "You and I need to have a talk, McCoy?"
"Nothing happened, Lennie."
The detective chuffed. "Right. And that's how you tell me goodnight, too."
"It wasn't - it was nothing."
After a long moment of silence, the cab slowed, pulling up to Briscoe's building. The detective sighed, shaking his head, one hand on the door. "Look. It's none of my business. But I hope you know what you're doing. Even if it is 'nothing.'"
Lennie left, the car pulled back into traffic, and Jack didn't know what to do.