Title/Author: "Between the Bars: Logan" by n.s.

Rating: T (minor language, some suggestive scenes)

Summary: A not-canon-but-not-not-canon take on Mike Logan and Claire Kincaid's relationship through seasons 4-6; acknowledgement of Jack McCoy/Claire, also

Disclaimer:I don't own any of these characters. This story is brought to you by 20-year-old repeats of Law & Order that happen to coincide with my daughter's nap time.

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He prepared himself to avoid the conversation as long as possible, but it didn't matter, because she never brought it up. Months marched on and they never talked about where it was going.

Every night, he was sleeping in her bed. If it was really late she was already there, wearing barely anything and warm and soft from sleep, and he would collapse next to her and only fall asleep after her legs slid between his calves and she laid her hand on his heart. If it wasn't, he'd let himself into the apartment with her spare and she would crawl in later, curl against his back with her forehead nestled between his shoulder blades.

His caseload always seemed worse in the winter, as if people didn't have anything better to do in February than whack their friends and family, and the last thing he wanted to do after investigating a guy beating the life out of his 10-month-old was to fall asleep in his cold sheets alone. She, on the other hand, had McCoy keeping her burning the midnight oil almost daily—and when he had a little too much to drink, it took a lot for him not to march into his office and punch that lace-curtain bastard right in the mouth—and the way she held on and barely let go of him until her alarm went off for the gym, he knew they were keeping each other afloat.

One night she called him at 8 and left a message with Gina. When he called her back, she asked him to pick her up for a late dinner while she had a break. As he hung up the phone and went to sign the log book, his shoulders felt momentarily lighter and his step quickened to the car.

But when she opened the car door and smiled at him, because of him, for some reason suddenly he could barely smile back.

"Thanks," she murmured against his unsmiling mouth a moment later, "I needed a break."

"Don't mention it," he replied, "Where to?"

"Not sure, somewhere close. Chinese?"

"Fine," he replied.

As the car glided the next few blocks, each of her comments or questions were answered with grunts, until she sighed and stared out the window, asking, "So, are you going to tell me where the land mine is, or let me find out the hard way?"

"If you want to cross examine someone, I'll drop you back with McCoy," he said tersely, refusing to meet her gaze as he made a right turn.

"I just wanted to talk," she said softly, adding, "I missed you."

The air in the car seemed heavy, suffocating. He pulled to a stop at a light.

"Just a shit mood today. Sorry."

Dinner came quickly, and they didn't linger over drinks or dessert. He pulled up to the courthouse an hour later.

"I'll see you later?" she asked.

"Sure, I'll call you when I leave the precinct."

"Okay."

She kissed him one last time, on the mouth as they had a hundred times, and then turned to leave the car.

He caught her wrist and pulled her back, kissing her again, trapping her against him by holding her wrist against his chest. It erased at least most of the tense evening, and she pulled back with eyes smiling and cheeks pinched pink.

"I'll see you later, Mike."

He left the precinct at 12, and didn't call her. His phone erupted in the silence of his apartment around 1:30, rang four times, and then went to the machine. He listened to it all from the couch and she didn't leave a message.

He slept alone in his apartment for three weeks before he saw her and McCoy eating dinner at Szechuan Dragon. Her hair was in loose waves.

The calls stopped a week later, after one voicemail—

"It's me," a long pause. "I hope you're okay. Call me if you need me."

—and whenever he saw her, he called her "Counselor."