Jack, Part X
by Tobias Charity (500 words)
Here's Tobias Charity picking up Jack (but not the way Jack picks up Ed).
Right now, there are a hundred thousand reasons I could give you for why I'm sitting on my couch, staring at my phone, and mentally willing it to ring.
Every single one of those reasons would be utter bullshit.
Honestly? I have no idea why I'm doing this. He told me to call him, not vice versa. Ed's a proud man, just as I am--that's one of the non-bullshit reasons I'm sitting here. Pride cuts into things, makes life difficult. If I didn't have pride, I'd probably be dialing his number right now. My pride's important to me--my reputation, my job--they're all built from my pride. I'm too proud to take simple deals; that's why I have a high conviction rate. I'm too proud to let a witness fall apart on the stand. I'm too proud to have an inept lawyer work with me. I'm too proud to ask the man I--well, let's just leave it at the man I kissed--I'm too proud to ask him for a second chance.
And really, there's no reason I should get a second chance. I've gone through my excuses for backing away and shot them all down. Too young? Nah. Too cop? Definitely not. Too male? Hasn't stopped me before. Too black? That couldn't possibly matter to me.
The one question I continue to find standing in my way is this: "What do I want?"
I'm not the type to have a one-night stand with a colleague. Rather, I'm no longer the type to do something like that. I tell myself I'll do what he wants, but what if he's looking for a relationship? For commitment? Almost worse--what if what he's looking for is only a one-night stand? Maybe I want something more than that.
Jesus Christ, all I did was kiss the guy-I didn't ask for all this emotional baggage to go along with it.
You know what? Fuck pride. I'm going to call him, and yes, I'm going to ask for a second chance. If I don't deserve it? Fine. He can tell me so, I'll hang up the phone, and we'll continue our professional relationship like this never happened.
I glance at the numbers scribbled on the back of his card, then quickly dial his apartment.
"Hey, this is Ed. I'm out right now, so leave a message."
I let out an exasperated sigh and wait for the tone. "Ed, this is Jack. I'm--I'm really sorry." There goes a good two-thirds of any pride I had. "I'd like a second chance. I'm--god, I'm sorry." And that's the last third. "Give me a call back; I really want to try and work this out. It--it means kind of a lot." Apparently I'm now in the negative-pride zone. "G'bye." I hit the power button on my phone and dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, relishing the pain and the ache.
God, what have I gone and gotten myself into?
Ed, Part XI
by Cassatt (500 words)
How can the blinking light on one answering machine be so omnipresent? Good word, huh? Means being present everywhere. I had a beer in the kitchen and saw it. Took a leak and saw it. Now, I'm sitting on the bed and the damned thing is shining here, too. I guess it won't stop until I play the message. Here I sit.
It's late, and it was almost later. I mean, Barry was doing a pretty good job of convincing me to stay the night. But one thing I'm not, at least I hope I'm not, is a heel. I've been called lots of things, but never a heel. All the while Barry was doing his damndest to get me into bed, one sensation kept interfering. One memory. The blood-deep rush of desire I'd felt in Jack's office. A rush which was just plain different than the rush on Barry's couch. At one time, I thought I loved Barry. I still think I do. Life can suck, can't it? I should know -- it sure as hell can.
I return to the living room and, once more, stand in front of my answering machine. Don't know why I'm so hesitant. I know it's Jack. I just do. Here I thought I was into risk-taking behaviors. That's what my friends tell me. What I think of myself. There's only one risk blinking at me. Jack saying, "Sorry, no hard feelings, hope we can continue working together, blah, blah." Why does that feel so fucking huge?
I almost go for another beer, no matter how late it is, or how early I have to get up. Instead, I hit the button, quickly. My heart is pounding. This is ridiculous. I listen. My heart pounds harder; I listen again. Almost the same things that Barry said in his message. But these words don't make my head ache -- these words nearly make me pick up the phone. At eleven o'clock at night. I wonder if he's still awake, if he's been waiting for me to return the call, if he's given up.
Jack McCoy give up? I can't see it. But do I want to wait until tomorrow, when he might make the assumption that I didn't spend the night in my own bed? Or that I had to think about what he's offered? Which would be worse? Should I care?
I listen a third time. He's nervous, I can hear it. I reach for my cell. His number is there, for work emergencies. I try not to think anymore, just hit "send" and wait. It rings three times.
"Hello," he answers, his voice deep, maybe with sleep. I can't tell.
"Hey, Jack, it's Ed." My brain flails momentarily. "I just got your message." Good, Ed.
Silence. "So is my apology accepted?"
"Yes, of course," I answer with haste.
"Good."
I can hear the smile. I smile, too.
He continues, "How about dinner tomorrow night?"
"How about lunch?"
He laughs. I do, too. Good, Ed.
Jack, Part XII
by Tobias Charity (500 words)
This trial is never going to end. I'm supposed to meet Ed for lunch in half an hour and we still have four more witnesses to get through before we can think about a recess.
Though maybe...
I stand up. "Your Honor? May we request a short recess?"
Mandez blinks. "Whatever for, counselor?"
"Lunch?" I offer weakly. Mandez shakes his head and my stomach plummets.
"No can do, McCoy; this trial's behind schedule already."
"Great," I mumble, then say, "Then may we have ten minutes to reorganize this afternoon's appointments?"
Mandez raises an eyebrow. "What are you, McCoy, a whole law firm rolled into one person? Secretary, assistant, and lawyer?"
I keep my mouth shut. Mandez sighs. "Fine. You have five minutes."
"If I'm not back, cover for me," I say to Serena, before striding out into the hallway and heading for the payphones. I pull the phone off the hook and dial the precinct.
"Green's phone," Briscoe says, and my stomach takes another dive to the floor.
"Lennie? It's McCoy. I need to talk to E--Detective Green."
"He's not here."
Shit! He's probably already left for the restaurant, and now I'll have to leave him hanging because some incompetent attorney doesn't know how to trim a witness list. That'll sit well with him, I'm sure. "Wonderful," I mumble. "Can you do me a favor?"
"What?"
"Call his cell phone and tell him I won't be able to make it. The Lascalli case is running behind and Mandez won't let us out for lunch, and I've got a voir dire afterwards."
"Want his cell number?"
"Sure." Lennie rattles it off. "Thanks, Detective." I hang up without waiting for a reply and glance at my watch--two minutes left. I dial.
"Green."
"Ed! Oh, thank God."
"Jack?" He sounds concerned. "Is everything okay?"
"Not quite. The Lascalli case is running over because the defense is pulling the bore-the-jury-to-death trick and they're using four witnesses instead of one. I thought the judge would throw out the other three but he hasn't. So..."
"You won't be able to make it today," he says heavily, a statement. "I get it, McCoy."
"You do?" What was there to get? I couldn't show for lunch; it wasn't as if..."Ed, no, c'mon. I really do want have lunch with you, it's just--"
Ed sighs. "Look, let's give this one more try. I like you. A lot. I'd like to trust you, but I'm also sick of being yanked around on an emotional chain. One more chance, McCoy."
"Dinner?"
"At the Highwayman, on 8th."
"I know it. Thanks for being--"
"Can it, McCoy," he says. "See you at seven." There's a click and a buzz and I hang up my phone.
One more chance. I don't deserve it--I don't deserve him. But if I'm lucky enough to get it, I'll take it.
God --ten minutes over time! I head back to the courtroom, fighting to keep my grin from showing on the outside.