Jack, Part VII

by Tobias Charity (500 words)

And we're back to Tobias Charity. And she leaves it so well-resolved, too :)

Christ.

"I'll be over as soon as I get off," Ed's voice echoes in my head. I slam a file drawer closed in frustration and rest my forehead against the metal. Get your mind out of the gutter, I tell myself. Never mind that you have absolutely no idea as to what you're going to do once he arrives. What, sit him down in one of those chairs and tell him, "Ed, I'd like to have sex with you."

Oh, yeah. That'd go over beautifully.

I pace across my office, then flop down onto the couch. The leather squeaks and I run my hand over the arm. Hmm...

No. Not with the fantasies right now. I get up and peer out the window into the hallway, toying with the blinds. Open might convey the wrong message. But what kind of message would closed convey?

Disgusted, I shut the blinds and go back to my desk. This is unreal, me behaving like a teenage boy on his first date. Not even first date; just asking for a first date.

There's a knock at the door and I reach it two strides before pulling it open.

God. Try as I might, I can't keep from smiling when I see him. "Ed, thanks for coming," I say, stepping back and waving him in. He's grinning too, like he knows something that no one else does.

For some reason, a tiny little worm of doubt starts to wiggle at the back of my mind. What am I really trying to do here? Get him home with me? Is that the point of this?

I'm flying blind now, and as I search for something to say I unconsciously step towards him. Before I realize it, I'm in his personal space. He tilts his head to one side and smiles that secret smile again. I have to say something, anything, or else I'm liable to-

He kisses me.

Immediately I kiss him back, sliding my arms around his waist and pulling him even closer to me. It's so right, so simple, so easy-

So easy. No, no, it can't be easy, there has to be a snag somewhere- he's not supposed to just walk in and KNOW what's going on -this isn't right-

God, what am I doing? This can't work out- so what if he's kissing me just as enthusiastically as I'm kissing him? Nothing in my life's ever been this simple, it can't be this simple now, not when I've gone through dozens of other relationships that needed work, dammit, no one can read minds and just KNOW.

I can't do this- can't relax, can't just enjoy the feel of his hands sliding down my shoulders to rest on my biceps, can't just enjoy the taut muscle beneath my hands, can't just enjoy the way he takes over the kiss- I can't do this. Every neuron is screaming at me to do something. I pull back and push him away, gasping for air.

"Stop."

Lennie, Part VIII

by Cirocco (500 words)

Decisions, decisions. Right now I can't decide whether I want to take my partner to a bar and order him to spill (his guts, not his drink) or take him into an empty IR and shoot him.

Too bad I can't really do either. But I can dream, can't I?

I don't think we've had a crappier time working together since the first few months after he transferred to the 27. We normally get along pretty good. We can disagree, but he hasn't pissed me off this much since that case in our first year when I threw something at him.

Now, I've been partnered with some of the most hotheaded young punks in the NYPD and I usually just blow off steam with a couple of sarcastic remarks and keep things professional. But with our partnership, it's good not just because of me, it's also because of Ed. Ed's rep for a violent temper- that's only with suspects and other lowlifes. With coworkers, he's a really decent guy. Even that one blow-up we had, way back– that was mostly my fault. I was pissed off at myself, way too sensitive, and Ed just couldn't seem to say or do anything right.

Well, this time it's not me. I'm just fine. It's this... Detective "Racial Sensitivity" who's replaced my laid-back partner. Detective "Efficiency". Detective Impatient Asshole.

Want some examples? OK, here's one: "Ed, you wanna go do the drug dealer thing with this mook? See if we can track down-"

"Why, 'cause a brother's gotta be believable as a drug dealer?"

"Hey, sure, if you think anybody'll buy me dealing crack..." I say, trying to get rid of the offended little glare he's giving me. No chuckle, no smile. Just Ed going off in a resentful huff to do undercover work. Which he normally likes.

Here's another: "Lennie? Didja finish the Flanders report?"

"Nah, just writing up Chernensky-"

"Oh, yeah, cause what's the point of finishing Flanders? Just because the DA's asked for it twice now-" he grabs the papers off my desk and mutters something about Doing it himself, goddammit.

He's been like this fulltime, for two days.

And the way he says 'DA'... really, really bitter. Like he doesn't want to give the DA's office any reason to look cross-eyed at him. Ed doesn't usually give a damn about stuff like that– he's conscientious, but he doesn't sweat the normal tension between us and the lawyers.

Normally. Ever since McCoy called him to his office after hours the other day, he's been moody as hell. He almost jumped when I answered a call from McCoy (who sounded a little off too) and said McCoy's name. Then he got up really fast, mumbling about photocopying something.

I overheard him talking to somebody on his cell today. Sounded like a heavy conversation, but I couldn't tell with who. I hope it was his boyfriend.

Yeah, let this be boyfriend troubles, please. Because otherwise... Ed, you idiot, what have you done?

Ed, Part IX

by Cassatt (500 words)

I think I'm gonna kill Lennie. I swear if he keeps looking at me like I've got some problem, that if I'd only handle everything would be fine.... Like hell it would. Fine? Uh uh. Maybe he had a point, a slight one, that a workout would be prudent. Prudent. Like some bench presses would fix "whatever," he says, is bothering me. Like hell they would.

But I'm here, in the workout room, pumping. Thinking, too, unfortunately. I thought the point of lifting weights was not to think. Ah, fuck.

I never imagined Jack McCoy would be a man to go wishy-washy. Never occurred to me. Wouldn't have occurred to me in, say, a trillion years?

"Stop...."

I take a deep breath and begin another set of reps.

"Stop," he said, pushing me away, panting and wild-eyed.

I was still reeling, I admit it. I'd been thrown by the intensity of the guy's kisses, the charge, the heat. Chemistry? Praise God, Allah, and anyone else you can think of. Stop? I was dumbstruck.

"Ed," he said as I was still trying to focus. Name said nine times. Nine was not going to be a magic number, I realized. "Ed," he repeated, "I don't know...." He petered out. He stared.

What?? He didn't know? What was eluding him? Had he missed the enthusiastic response his mouth, tongue, hands and body had been giving me? Huh? I was trying to think but my own body was still humming.

"Well," I finally said, albeit with a bit of attitude but shit, I'm only human, "when you figure it out, give me a call, Jack." I left. I left before giving him a chance to respond.

Looking back, that probably wasn't my finest hour. Or minute. Whatever. And it's not like I have any choice but to look back on it. The damned thing replays almost continuously.

Of course, he hasn't called. I did, maybe, perhaps, half-expect him to, last night. One day to think should be more than enough for a man as smart as Jack. And yes, dammit, he's still "Jack." After all, once a man's tongue has been halfway down my throat I ain't gonna fall back on formality. Not in my head, at least.

What do I want here? I'm not even sure I know any more. There've been times in my life when I've simply gone with whatever felt good at the moment. Followed the flow, took the opportunities that presented themselves. Without planning. I thought that's what I was doing again. But for that one minute we were kissing, it felt so right, so good, so perfect. So easy. Flowing now means to let it go just as easily. I don't know if I'm willing to do that. I don't know fucking much right now.

I shove the barbell up and let it rest. I can't lift any more. Barry called me today. Hoping I would have called him by now. I think I'll go see him tonight.