Pre-ep for Aftershock


Jack knew Claire come over to the couch, even though he couldn't hear her bare feet on the carpet. Her perfume, he realized, drifting to him on the air disturbed by her movement.

"It's nearly time," she said.

"I know."

"It's a long drive."

He put down his paper and tipped his head back to look up at her. "You don't need to come, you know."

"Yes, I do. As much as you do."

"I'm going because I'm going to enjoy it, Claire, you're going to punish yourself."

"Enjoy it." She turned away. "I know you don't mean that, Jack, I know you don't. I wish you wouldn't say it."

"Mickey Scott raped and killed —"

"I know what he did, Jack, this is about what we do!"

"Tell me when you're ready to go," he said, and looked back at his papers.

"Jack," Claire said. He had always loved the way she said his name, the way her drawl added an extra vowel, lingered over it like a lover's hand. Not tonight. She sat down at the other end of the couch, feet together, arms folded, folded in on herself. "Jack."

"What?"

"I can't."

"Can't face the execution? Then don't."

"I can't do this anymore."

He capped his pen carefully, and looked at her. He knew what she needed from him. Needed him to comfort, to cajole, to support. To tell her how much he needed her.

"So stop," he said flatly.

I'll be damned if I'll beg her to stay.

I'll be damned.