Something Stupid

by Bleu

who knows she does not own Jack, Claire, or any other Law and Order characters/places, but she enjoys playing with them so she hopes Dick Wolf won't mind!

Part 3- Indecision

"Should I stay or should I go?" the demand from the lead singer of The Clash boomed from the speakers of Claire's radio as she dabbed the top of her big toe with a bit of gold sparkling nail polish.

It was a rote activity that offered a peculiar kind of comfort when she was brooding at a time like this—plus she had a serious love of painting her toe nails. No one in court or at the office ever saw them, or probably even imagined the conservatively dressed, serious ADA would have "sexy siren red" just underneath her sensible shoes, so they became a kind of secret of hers, a joke on the rest of the unknowing world.

"It's always tease, tease, tease…"

As she leaned back and waited for the gold to dry, she remembered the first time Jack had noticed.

It had been the first night they'd been together. They'd been doing the flirting dance at the office—whether she admitted it at the time or not—since about a month after he came, which had graduated to "business" dinners late at night at which they would manage to talk about everything but. And then—inevitable, Jack would say—it had happened.

The "it" itself had been like a dream. Claire was not a virgin, but she acknowledged mentally how she was trembling when he kissed her, and how she had hardly been able to untie his tie. But when she had, and he stood before her with his collar undone, his hair mussed, and his eyes dark, she expected passion almost to the point of fierceness.

But once again, he shocked the hell out of her.

"Relax," he said softly, lightly brushing her hair out of her face. He then cupped it delicately, like it was porcelain, and then ran his hands down her arms so he could take her hands. "Sit down."

Before she realized it, he had led her down a hallway and she was, on the edge of his wide, white bed, with the dusky sun rays already lying across it.

He knelt in front of her, watching her, and then laughed softly.

"Are you laughing at me?" she managed, as he was running his hands up and down her calves.

"Maybe…or maybe I just can't believe I'm touching your legs. I've thought about them quite a bit," he teased, and then eased off one of her shoes as she smiled. At that, he stopped.

"What's the matter?" she asked, sad he had ceased his leg-worship. He had stooped his head, and was examining her toes.

"What color is that?" he had asked, almost like an awestruck child as he ran a finger along her toes.

She craned her neck, noted the shiny, deep purple, and self-consciously, she replied, "Um, I think it's called "plum crazy"."

She raised an eyebrow as he continued staring. "Do you like it?"

After a moment, he nodded and looked up.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat, and shifted. "…incredibly sexy. Not too frilly, but feminine. And tough. Like you."

She smiled—now that she thought about it, much like a girl—and blushed that one of her favorite colors was being so complimented. "Well, thank you."

Since then, "plum crazy" had a special place in her jewelry box, and was only broken out for special occasions.

Wanting to completely immerse herself in ancient history and also knowing the danger, Claire snapped her head up at the ringing of her phone.

"If I go there will be trouble and if I stay it will be double…" pounded from the stereo and nearly drowned out the voice on the other line, which Claire secretly hoped was Jack.

"Hello?" she asked for a second time, fumbling with the radio volume dial.

"Claire? Claire is that you? What the hell is that in the background?" the voice inquired, entirely too female to be Jack and entirely too distinct to belong to anyone except Margot, her best friend.

"Yeah, Margot, it's me. What's up?" she asked, dropping into one of her achy, mismatched kitchen chairs.

"Oh nothing. I'm in dire need of some spring or summer clothes, but lacking the money to acquire said needs. So I'm going to go vintage shopping today—want to come?" She asked over the din of what Claire assumed was traffic. Vintage shopping was a habit acquired by Claire and Margot in college and law school to save money that became more of a nostalgic hobby now that they could afford clothing.

"Margot, its 40 degrees outside today. You won't need those clothes for at least a month!" She didn't know why she brought it up when she knew she'd end up going with Margot.

"Look, Claire, I'm trying to plan for the future—you know that thing I'm so horrible at? So are you going to help me out, or tempt me to slip back into my procrastinating ways so that I don't shop for summer until summer, at which time greedy, opportunistic little merchants will charge me ungodly prices for mediocre, left-over styles that only accent my oddly shaped thighs?"

Because Margot was entirely serious, Claire had to laugh.

"Of course I'll meet you. Where and when?"

"Actually…" a door slammed. "I'm standing in front of your apartment building."

With a chuckle, Claire got up from the chair and stuck her head out of the open window and looked down into the bustling 73rd street. There, with a cellular phone in hand, was Margot's dirty blonde head. She waved.

"And what if I wasn't home or had other plans?" Claire inquired, waving as Margot did and watching as an annoyed biker veered around her.

"I would have waited for hours on your doorstep. Are you coming?"

Twenty minutes later, they were filling tiny, curtained-off cubicles with their first loads of old designer jeans, quirky tee shirts, and just plain odd outfits.

As Claire peeled her tank top over her head to try on a potentially over-the-top shirt, Margot's voice floated up over the thin partition.

"So…what's been bothering you?"

There was a saying that a best friend can see you walk in with a smile and know something is wrong. At that moment, Claire cursed it.

"Noth…well, nothing critical." She lied as she snapped the pearl snaps on the shirt shut. Yes, over-the-top was only scratching the surface.

"Oh, please, Claire! You barely spared two pairs of ass-hugging jeans an appreciative glance, even though together they would have cost you fifteen dollars!" out of disbelief, Margot thrust the curtain open and revealed herself in a form-fitting school-bus-yellow dress.

As Claire forced her head through a Queen concert tee shirt, she giggled.

"I'm sorry, but if we're going to have a heart-to-heart you're going to have to take that off." Margot looked down, pulled at the fabric a bit, and nodded.

"You're right. Big Bird had more class than this." She pulled the curtain closed, but continued talking.

"But seriously Claire—something is darkening your nicely shaped brow. What is it?"

With a sigh at her own childishness about to be made vocal, Claire sat back in the rickety chair.

"I'm in love with Jack." Margot was one of the few—hell, the only person that Claire actually told about Jack. Everyone else just assumed correctly.

"Well, I could have told you that."

"That's not it though." She sighed, and ran her hands through her hair. "I've known for a while, too. And I've been planning—well not planning…or maybe it was planning? No, I don't think so. I'm not into melodrama. I guess I've just been thinking about how I would tell him for a few weeks." She pushed air out in a contemptible sigh. "And last night, the worst possible time, during a fight no less…I did."

The curtain opened, but with less fervor, and revealed Margot in transition of changing, with her cotton camisole just as obvious as her curious sympathy.

"And?"

Claire snorted ruefully. "And what. Nothing. He just left. He was in the doorway leaving when I said it, and I know he heard me, but he just kept walking, and shut the door behind him…" With that, a tear dove from her eye, missing her face and landing on the lap of her jeans. "God, I'm such an idiot."

"No!" Margot said forcefully. "You're not an idiot Claire. I'll tell you who is. Jack McCoy. To have you loving him and just blow it off? What an asshole." She was fuming now, her color flushed in defense of her friend.

"No, no, Margot, this is me. I'm sure it is. After all, what did I expect? He has more affairs than there are cases on the Manhattan dockets. Why did I think I'd be any different?" she demanded, angrier with herself.

"Because you are, Claire."

"But am I? Am I really? I told myself I was, but we were only working together two months before I just fell into bed with him. Maybe I'm not as strong as I thought. Maybe I'm just another notch…"

"Okay, stop!" Margot demanded, their conversation becoming peek-worthy as other shoppers walked a little slower and listened a little harder when they walked by. "I won't have you here, blaming yourself. You're an adult woman. He's a charming, handsome adult man, with whom you happen to be engaged in a two-year, active sexual relationship. These feelings are natural—in fact, some people are thrilled when they realize it. He's the one acting like a child, here, not you."

Claire let this sink in. "You know, maybe you're right. But that doesn't solve my problem. Should I bring it up? Should I pretend it never happened? God, how can I just move past this?"

A heavily tattooed and pierced teen walked by, and nearly tripped from all her rubber-necking. Margot snapped the curtain shut and sat next to Claire.

"I think that's up to you. If you don't, then it will be easy for him and things will probably stay status quo. If you do, then he will either say it back, or break your heart. It's about what you're willing to risk."

Claire leaned her head against the wall.

On one hand, she had Jack as he was and had been for the past two years, status quo. At work, a gifted lawyer and intelligent man. At play, a fun friend and wonderful lover. All this had made the last two years the fullest of her adult life.

And on the other hand, she had the unknown. If he said he loved her, and things went farther with Jack, where exactly would they go? Would they get married? Did she want to be married right now? A lot of questions and not so many answers.

And sticking in the back of her mind, giving her stomach a hot, sick feeling, was the outcome of him not reciprocating her love. Even if they maintained their relationship, it would eventually become unbearably heavy because of her acknowledged feelings. And if they didn't…she couldn't imagine.

"My God," she said audibly. "I can't…imagine my life without him. It was never, ever like this before. I'm considering swallowing my own feelings because I'm so afraid to lose him. Margot what have I become?"

Margot just shook her head and put up her hands.

"Sweetheart, it's love. That is, after all, the only thing that would render someone like you helpless. But don't look at it as swallowing your feelings. Just…putting them on hold."

Claire sighed once again. "I guess it's best—for now."

Margot patted Claire's knee. "And if eventually he doesn't come around, we'll just wait until he's asleep and…" at the look on Claire's face, Margot smiled wickedly. "Am I being vengeful and exacting again?"

"Just a little."

Author's Note: I started this story almost two years ago, and as you can see, I have deplorable work ethic. I would just like to apologize sincerely to those who think I abandoned them consciously—I didn't! And also, there is more to come, hopefully sooner than a year from now. In fact, I'm dedicating myself to it. Anyway, if you feel the need to criticize or praise or just chat about anything, do so via reviews or emails. I love it all. Thanks! Bleu