Verdict


"In the matter of the People versus Elvira Montoya, on the first count of the indictment, murder in the first degree, how do you find?"

"We find the defendant guilty," the jury foreman said.

Beside him, Jack heard Claire's breath hiss out in well-concealed exhilaration. She turned to him, eyes glowing, and he summoned up a smile. He knew he should feel the same sense of victory that lit Claire's face but instead he was weighed down with a pervasive melancholy.

Risks end badly. He'd learnt that three times already. Still, he was willing to take a chance. But it isn't just up to me, is it?

Jack knew it could be. He wasn't blind to Claire's response to him. He heard her breath hitch when he touched her hand, saw her cheeks colour when he brushed against her in a crowded elevator, saw her eyes darken when he leaned close to whisper instructions in the courtroom. He knew – from experience – how little it would take, how easy it would be. First, ask her to help him with his tie before court. Then, reach for a blue back at the same time she did, making sure his fingers lingered on hers a little too long. Put his hand on her back to usher her through the courthouse doors, stand a little too close to her in the elevator, hold her gaze a little too long with his patented, tried-and-true charming smile …

Next, suggest dinner after a case, a restaurant rather than a diner, somewhere with a wine list.

He did none of those things.

"You're turning into that guy, Jack," Adam Schiff said sourly. " Sally should have taught you something. If this business with Diana doesn't, I don't know what will."

"I don't know what you mean," Jack said.

"Don't give me that," Adam said. "You know exactly what I mean. You should know better. Keep your pants zipped in the office from now on."

"What two consenting adults do or don't do is hardly your business – "

"Spare me," Adam snapped. "I was never blessed with charm, so I can't say I understand your situation. But just because you can get any woman you want into bed with you doesn't mean you should. Especially if they're young women who work for you. Don't turn into that guy, Jack. Or so help me, I don't care what your conviction rate is, I'll fire you in a heartbeat."

So Jack did not stand too close to Claire in the elevator, did not reach across the desk at the right time to let his fingers collide with hers, did not ask her to help him with his tie. He wanted to – god, how he wanted to - but he was determined not to be 'that guy'. If Claire was willing - willing enough to make the first move –

God, he prayed daily that she'd make that move. And every day she danced around it, danced around him, danced around the possibility of them. And every day he watched her, waiting, wanting, heroically refraining from trying to influence – be honest, Jack, from trying to seduceher.

As the judge excused the jury and set a date for sentencing, Jack packed up his papers mechanically. No more. There was only so much a man could stand. And if he was not going to turn into 'that guy' and start running through the Jack-McCoy-workplace-affair-playbook, then he was going to have to walk away.

Because god, but Claire Kincaid was irresistible. She was beautiful, even in a city of beautiful women. She was smart, in an office of smart lawyers. She was passionate, in a profession filled with passionate advocate.

And when she looked at him and smiled he had to physically restrain himself from taking her in his arms and running his fingers through her smooth, silky hair and bending to taste her soft lips … Jack was spending as much time carrying his jacket or his briefcase or his files held oh-so-casually in front of his groin as he had as a horny teenager.

Distance. Distance is the only cure.

"So, Jack," Claire said, startling him. "What's the DA Office approved method of celebrating a thumping great victory?"

He turned to her, made himself smile, when what he really wanted to do was lean forward and slide one hand around the back of her neck and pull her forward – "Chinese food," he said, aware that his voice was too hoarse to be conversational, "Too much Chinese food and too much alcohol."

"That sounds much like the approved way of getting over a loss," Claire said lightly.

"Traditionally, when you win the alcohol is champagne," Jack said, trying to match her tone.

"Sounds excellent. You're buying."

"I'll have to give you a rain check," Jack said. "I have the prep for Yassa to get through."

He wondered if he was imagining a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. Perhaps. But what if he said, Sure, let's go down to the Happy Dragon, what then? They'd spend the night eating and drinking and talking and looking at each other eating and drinking and talking and he'd want the whole time to drag her down on the floor right there in the restaurant – and then at the end of the night she'd step back just at the moment when he might kiss her goodnight and they'd go their separate ways.

Distance. Distance is the only cure.

"Rain check," Claire said. "Okay. You want some help with the prep?"

"No, I got it," Jack said, standing up, turning away. Even with his back turned he was intensely aware of exactly where she was, less than an arm's length away, close enough for him to smell her perfume.

"Okay," Claire said softly.

Jack walked away from her, up the aisle. He thought he heard her say his name again as he reached the door. He didn't look back.

Because if he didn't want to be 'that guy', then distance was the only cure.