Disclaimer: I don't own Law and Order, Jack, Claire, Sarah Brightman, the lyrics to Away From You, Pablo Neruda, or the words to Sonnet XXI, although I did translate it all by my big self. I appreciate the loan, though.

A/N: Now I've decided that Claire runs marathons. Better her than me. I also know very little about the geography of Manhattan, but I'm assuming that Lexington Avenue crosses 76th Street at some point, and that this point is conceivably somewhere near Lennie's apartment.

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away from you, there is no music
there is no sunlight; the world is gray

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"Hello?" I call tentatively. There's no answer. I'm not sure what I'm doing here or when it got so foggy out. "Is anyone there? I think I'm lost."

"You got that right."

I jump, startled by the voice. A man in a trenchcoat is standing next to the nearest lamppost, barely visible through the fog.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, 'You got that right.'" He steps closer to me and I can see that he's grinning. "You're lost, Ms. Kincaid."

"How do you know my name?" I'm suspicious, but then he takes another step and I recognize him. "Lennie?"

"Hey, Claire."

"Lennie, where are we?" I look around, noticing a few familiar storefronts. "Is this 76th Street?"

"A few blocks east of Lex," he agrees. "Do you remember how we got here?"

"I – was I taking you home?"

"Bingo." He raises an eyebrow. "You remember what happened next?"

I do, suddenly, and the memory makes me nauseous.

"It hurt," I gasp, reaching up to touch my forehead. My hand comes away bloody and I recall the sickening crack I heard when my head hit the steering wheel, just before the world went dark. "That car came out of nowhere. I hit my head – God, Lennie, am I dead?"

"No." He hesitates. "Not yet."

"What does that mean?"

"You've been needing a vacation for a while now, Claire. Consider this your next best alternative."

"So I'm not going to die?"

"I don't know. The only two people who know that are you and Him." He points upward, and I follow the gesture with my eyes.

"I'm not sure I believe there's anyone up there, Lennie."

"You better hope He believes in you, Claire, 'cause you might need the help."

"Okay," I say slowly. "What do I have to do to wake up?"

"It's not that easy." He drapes a companionable arm around my shoulders and we walk toward Lexington Avenue. There's a Starbucks on the corner, and he gestures for me to precede him inside. "Let's talk about it over coffee, huh?"

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away from you, the clocks are frozen
and time is a traveler who has lost his way

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"How does this work? And why are you here?" I freeze, my heart jumping into my throat. "You're not dead, are you?

Lennie takes a sip of his coffee before replying. "The real me is just fine," he says finally, "except for a few cuts and bruises and a whole lot of guilt. The dream-me is here because you need someone to explain things to you and your subconscious trusts me."

"You're like a father to me," I admit. He reaches across the table, taking my hand in his.

"You know how I feel about you, kid," he says, his eyes twinkling, and I can't help but smile. "I should tell you what's going on. It's different for everyone, but here's the lowdown. The accident was more than your body could handle. In the real world you're in a coma, and you'll stay that way until your body has adjusted to the shock and had some time to heal."

"How long will that be?"

"Like I said, it's different for everyone."

"I saw an episode of Oprah once," I say, my apprehension audible in my tone, "where a woman woke up from a coma after fifteen years."

"That's the exception, not the rule," he comforts me. "But there's still a very small chance it could take that long. My guess for you is a couple of weeks, though."

"Weeks." I nod, swallowing hard. "Okay. I can handle weeks. What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"That's the hard part," he replies. "All your body has to do is rest and heal. You have a decision to make."

"What decision? Whether or not to wake up? That's not a decision, Lennie. I'm not ready to die. I'm going back."

"You should know what you're going to face," he warns me. "You suffered some damage in that crash. There are consequences for something this major, Claire."

"Like what?"

He squeezes my fingers gently. "If you do decide to go back, you'll never be completely well again. You'll have dizzy spells, probably for the rest of your life. Your balance will be affected. It'll take a while before you'll be able to walk again, and you'll be unsteady on your feet for a long time. You might never run another marathon. Also, you'll get nauseous if your footing shifts without warning, so the subway will be out as a method of transportation from now on." He sighs. "There could be other things, too, but these are the ones that I know you'll have to deal with."

It takes a few moments before I've gotten over the shock and found enough strength to reply.

"I won't be able to walk?"

"For a while," he agrees, his tone sympathetic. "I wish there was something I could do to change things, but this is the hand you got dealt, sweetheart."

"Jack," I gasp, remembering. Jack always calls me sweetheart when we're alone. "What about Jack?"

"What about him?"

My mouth is dry, my hands trembling with sudden fear. "I can't be a burden to him, Lennie. If I'm going to be an invalid…"

Lennie shakes his head, squeezing my hand again.

"Claire, he loves you more than anything else in the world. What do you think would be worse for him? You needing his help for a couple of months, or, yes, maybe even years? Or you dying on him? I'll give you one guess." He takes another sip of coffee, raising an eyebrow at me. "I know that you know he loves you, Claire, but I'm not sure you know just how much."

"Lennie," I sigh, and he taps the back of my hand with his fingertips, straightening in his chair.

"I almost forgot. There's something else you should know. While you're here," he gestures expansively toward our surroundings, "you can still hear what's going on in the real world."

"Anywhere?"

"Just what goes on near you," he stipulates. "If someone says something that you could hear if you were awake, you can hear it in here."

"How?"

"Close your eyes and concentrate."

I try it, feeling silly. For a moment nothing happens, and I'm about to tell Lennie that it's not working when I hear a familiar voice.

"Oh, Claire," Jack sighs, sounding weary. For a moment I think I can feel his fingers on mine, and I imagine he must be holding my hand. "Oh, God, sweetheart. Please wake up. You can't die on me now. Come on, Claire."

I open my eyes, shocked. Lennie is watching me expectantly.

"Well?"

"It was Jack," I say, blinking back tears. "He sounds awful, Lennie."

"Of course he does." He rubs my shoulder gently. "He's not sure if you're going to live or die. He's devastated."

I cover my face with my hands, a stray tear slipping down my cheek.

"This isn't fair."

"I know, Claire. I know."

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I'm half alive until the moment
the door swings open and you walk through

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My dream-world looks exactly like Manhattan, but there aren't any people. Besides Lennie and me, the streets are deserted, and the constant noise of the big city is absent. It's eerie. I wish I could conjure up some tourists for ambiance, but if there's a way to do it I haven't figured it out yet. Lennie isn't always around, although he comes if I call him. For the most part I'm alone.

Lennie told me that first day that I should treat this like a vacation. Since I don't have anything better to do, I decide to indulge myself. I wander the streets during the daytimes, window-shopping up and down Madison Avenue. Sometimes I go to Central Park and relax in the bright sunshine, walking down the jogging paths or lying on the soft green grass. I run every day, even if it's just to the end of a city block and back, remembering Lennie's warning that I won't be able to once I've woken up. I'll miss the sport, but I miss Jack more.

At lunchtime, I stop whatever I'm doing and concentrate on the real world. I can always hear Jack then, talking to me about work or his life, or sometimes reminiscing about his favorite memories of the two of us. One afternoon he recounts the first time we ever kissed, and it brings wistful tears to my eyes. We stayed late in the office that night, working on an especially complicated case. We were sitting together on his couch, Jack occupied with the closing statement and me occupied with him, when I finally gave into the urge I'd been fighting since the day I met him and kissed him full on the lips. He was stunned, but only for a moment, and then he returned the kiss with more passion than I'd ever experienced in my whole life. Things moved quickly from there, and that night was also the first time we ever made love. The memory is bittersweet now; I wonder with a heavy heart how long it will be before I'll be able to kiss him like that again.

He doesn't just come at lunch. He's with me in the evenings, too, reading an assortment of the 'classics' that I've always teased him for loving so much. I go back to my dream-apartment every night before he gets off of work so that I can curl up in my bed and listen to his strong, steady voice. Being able to hear him soothes my fears and strengthens my desire to wake up from the coma, and I wish there were some way to let him know that I'm going to return to him.

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now my world starts to glow like a stained-glass window
and what was old and cold is warm and new.
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I hear a faint voice from somewhere above me. Setting down the diamond tennis bracelet I was planning on appropriating from my dream-Tiffany's, I close my eyes and think hard about Jack. It isn't his voice that comes to me through the darkness, though. It's my mother's.

" – don't like it any more than you do, Mac, but I have to accept it! My little girl is dying and there isn't anything I can do about it."

"I know, honey, but are you sure this isn't premature? The doctor said there's a chance she could still wake up."

"And I pray every day that she will," she replies, sounding choked-up. "She's my baby, Mac. But she can't just stay in the hospital forever while we cross our fingers and hope that she'll recover. There are places designed to take care of…of cases like hers."

"It'll be all right," he says, and I can picture him embracing her tightly, holding her as she tries not to cry. She always tries to be so strong. "We'll start looking tomorrow."

"It won't be all right," she says softly, her voice filled with despair. "It'll never be all right."

"Don't give up, Mom," I call to her, my plea unheard, and I'm acutely aware of how alone I am here. "It will be all right. Don't give up on me yet."

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and so you see why I can never be
away from you

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"Claire."

I open my eyes to find Lennie standing above me, raising an eyebrow at my attire. I'll admit that the bikini is a little risqué, but it's appropriate to my current activity.

"Pull up a towel," I offer, gesturing at the patch of grass I'm lying on. "Tan with me."

"Gee, that sort of thing is usually right up my alley," he quips, and I giggle. "But this is serious, Claire."

I sit up, taking his extended hand and rising to my feet. "Is it bad?"

"It's good," he replies. "It's better than good, kid. You're almost ready to wake up."

My breath catches in my throat. "Finally," I sigh, looking around me at the empty park. "Not that I won't miss you, Lennie, but I'm ready to go home."

"Tomorrow morning," he tells me. "Bright and early. Will you be ready then?"

"Definitely," I agree, giving him an excited smile. He tips his imaginary hat in my direction and disappears.

"One more day," I sigh, glancing down at my towel. Shrugging, I flop back down onto it. "Last day of vacation, then. Not much time to perfect this tan."

I smile at my own silliness, closing my eyes and enjoying the feeling of the sun soaking into my skin. I'm not glad for what happened to me, but I've used the time that I've been stuck in my own head wisely. I've taken the vacation I needed so desperately, and I've also thought some things through.

Before the accident I was planning on staying with the DA's office, but now I don't think I can. If I'm going to be confined to a bed for an indeterminate length of time, I can't go to work or to court. I've almost resigned myself to being a burden to Jack while I'm recovering, but I'm not willing to be a burden to Adam or the office. It wouldn't be fair to any of us.

Besides, I'm tired of hiding my affair with Jack. If I don't work for him anymore, we can finally be together the way we should be. I know he feels the same way because he's said it several times over the past few weeks. I'm thinking about taking my cousin Cindy up on one of her constant offers to work freelance on contracts for her accounting firm. Once I'm back on my feet, I'll think about returning to the DA's office, but under another prosecutor. I've thought hard about this and I feel like I'm making the right choice.

Right now, though, I want to enjoy my last day of free time before I have to face the realities of my body's new limitations. The warm summer air in the park makes me drowsy, and I'm almost asleep when I feel a mental tug. I focus on the sensation and Jack's voice comes in through the darkness. I'm prepared to relax and listen to him read to me like usual, but his pleading tone cuts straight into my heart.

"I know I'm not a religious man," he says, his voice so full of pain that I want to cry for him, and I realize he's praying. That only increases my anguish on his behalf. Jack truly isn't a religious man; he split from the church he was raised to once he was old enough to make his own decisions. He avoids talking about his belief system, even with me, and I know that if he's praying for me now he must be at his wit's end.

I listen as he pleads for my life, silent tears slipping down my cheeks. "I'm coming, Jack," I whisper into the darkness, aware that he can't hear me but needing him to know. "Hang on. I'm coming home soon. I'm coming back to you."

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we live, you and I, for a breath of sunlight
so brief an escape from a world of gray

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I walk down 76th Street toward the scene of the accident. Somehow it feels like this is where I should be today, since this is where I was when I first entered the dream-world. I look around in the predawn gloom, wondering one more time why, out of all of the people in Manhattan, this had to happen to me. Lennie said it was just the hand I was dealt. Well, I may not be great at card games, but even I know what you're supposed to do with the hand you're dealt.

"You've got to play it out." I whirl around to find Lennie standing a few feet away, smiling crookedly at me. "It's time, Claire."

"What do I do?"

"That part is simple." He ruffles my hair, a gesture of fatherly affection for a beloved daughter, and I blink back tears. "Just close your eyes and want it."

"Want it?"

"More than anything."

"All right." I take a deep breath, trying to clear my mind. I can't believe it's finally time. "Thanks for the help, Lennie," I sniffle, embarrassed by my overwhelming emotions. "Take care of yourself."

He hugs me tightly, kissing my forehead.

"If all goes well, you'll see me in a little while. The real me."

"Right." I step back, straightening, and he beams proudly at me.

"Remember, all you have to do is want it badly enough."

I smile softly. "I want it more than anything," I say, the honesty in my voice ringing true in the stillness of the early morning.

"Then it's time for you to go home."

Closing my eyes, I think about my life. The good parts and the bad, the fond memories and the family I have waiting for me. And Jack, who is the real reason I want so badly to return. Be it destiny or fate or pure dumb luck, I found my soulmate, and I'm supposed to be with him. I want to be with him. More than anything.

"I'm ready," I call out to whatever higher power might be listening. "I'm ready to go home. Send me back. Please?"

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our moments of warmth have been touch and go,
but tonight we'll touch and stay

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I'm expecting a flash of lightning or a clap of thunder. What I'm not expecting is a sudden searing headache. Unfortunately, that's what I get. I try to reach up and touch my head, to see if it's bleeding, but my arm is trapped by my side.

My next attempt at movement, this time to open my eyes, is also a dismal failure. The bright light of the room only increases the throbbing in my head. I groan, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the light, and finally manage to squint without feeling like a team of construction workers are jack-hammering the inside of my skull. The headache fades slowly, and it takes another few minutes before I feel like anything resembling myself.

"Wow," I murmur, trying to cope with the sudden change from my dream-world to here. I move my legs slowly, feeling the light weight of sheets tucked over them, and decide I must be lying in a bed. I assume it's a hospital bed, a guess that's reinforced by the thin, flimsy texture of the sheets. My sheets at home are flannel, and Jack's are 400-count Egyptian cotton.

Thinking about Jack jump-starts my brain. I remember that I was going to check my forehead and look down to see why I can't move my arm. It's being held in a familiar grasp, and I turn my head to find Jack fast asleep next to me.

"Oh, Jack," I say softly, noticing how worn down he looks, even in his sleep. He's snuggled against me, holding my body close to his as he sleeps. I roll over to face him and manage to free my right hand from under his forearm. When I reach up to touch my head I can feel that the cut on my forehead is bandaged, the gauze smooth under my questing fingertips. This must be a hospital, then, and I must be receiving the best care they can provide. Otherwise Jack would be outside haranguing the staff instead of in here sleeping with me.

I move my hand from my forehead to his, stroking his furrowed brow. I can't resist the urge to run my fingers through his hair, smiling as some of the tension eases out of his expression. It's like petting a cat; he loves it so much when I stroke his hair that I'm always amazed he doesn't purr. Jack's not the purring type, come to think of it, although I have made him growl more than once.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," I murmur, leaning up to kiss the strong line of his jaw. He moans in his sleep and I smile, laying a soft kiss on his cheek. "C'mon, Jack, you big lazy lug."

"Claire," he sighs in his sleep, his hand sliding down my back to rest on the curve of my rear. I can't help but grin; even in his sleep, Jack is an unrepentant lecher. "Mmm, sweetheart."

"Mmm, Jack," I mimic with a laugh, pressing kisses to both of his closed eyelids. "Time to wake up."

"I'm up," he mutters, his hand moving up to caress the small of my back. "I'm up, Claire…Claire?"

His eyes snap open, his whole body tensing, and I let my hand fall to his shoulder as he realizes where we are.

"Hey, Jack."

"Oh, God, Claire," he whispers, reaching up to touch my face. "Is it really you?"

"Last time I checked," I reply cheekily, and a brilliant smile transforms his tired expression.

"I knew you'd wake up," he breathes, the pure relief in his voice almost too much to bear. "I knew it. Oh, sweetheart." He pulls me tight against him, my head resting comfortably against his chest, and I can hear the faint lub-dub of his heart under my ear. It's the most reassuring sound I've ever heard.

"I love you, Claire," he whispers, his deep voice sending a delicious shiver down my spine. "There's so much I have to tell you."

"I heard you before," I reply. "Talking to me."

"You heard that?"

I tilt my head back to look at him and he gazes into my eyes, awe and love shining in his expression.

"Yeah," I affirm. "You were here every day. Thank you for that, Jack. It wasn't as lonely when you were with me."

"I thought maybe you could hear me," he says softly, stroking my cheek with his thumb. "I liked to imagine that you knew I was here with you."

I smile widely, recalling something that I wanted to ask him about.

"I thought you didn't like Pablo Neruda."

His eyes glint with the devilish humor he's so famous for.

"I'm full of surprises, Claire."

"I know." I take his hand in mine, intertwining our fingers and reveling in how right it feels. "I heard you praying for me."

He's silent for a moment. "There are no atheists in foxholes," he says finally. "And I think I've spent too much time in foxholes lately to continue on as an atheist."

"We can find a church together," I tell him. "If you'd seen what I saw, you'd be a true believer too."

"Amen," he murmurs, and leans in to kiss me. His lips brush mine, as tentative as he's ever been with me, and I smile.

"C'mon, Jack," I rib him gently. "Kiss me like you've missed me."

He grins at me and then I forget how to breathe as his mouth captures mine in a burning, passionate kiss. This is the kind of kiss we shared that first night at the office and then later on at my apartment, and the memory surfaces again in my mind, this time fond instead of bittersweet. I'm not dead. I got to come back, and I'm going to make sure I don't waste another moment of our time together.

"Jack," I whisper, once we've broken apart for air, and he gazes down at me.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I love you." I hesitate, smiling softly as I squeeze his hand. "I came back for you, Jack. I just wanted you to know."

He leans in to kiss my forehead, tears gathering in his eyes. He doesn't say a word. I don't blame him; the moment is too profound. We don't need words, anyway. I know, in that deep part of my soul where it's possible to really and truly know, that as long as we're together, everything will be all right.

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oh, my dearest, and nothing more than shadow there

where you walk with me through your dream

and you tell me when the light returns

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