Jack stood at his office window, a glass of scotch in hand, staring blindly down at traffic. His door was locked, the blinds pulled. It had been that way since that terrible night, and his associates gave him the space he required. Only a rookie would ignore those symbolic do not disturb signs.
He rested a hand on the window, pressed his forehead to the glass, as rain fell. It reminded him of an afternoon, very early in their relationship, when he and Claire could not keep their hands off one another. Having finally given in to the lust possessing them for so many months, it only grew worse, this lust, this need for naked flesh on flesh. Jack turned from the window but not the memory, sitting at his desk and refilling his glass. He leaned back and put his feet on his desk, near the picture of Claire he could not bring himself to move.
It was raining that day, too. Business was slow, and it was a Friday afternoon, with nothing calendared for the afternoon. Jack locked the door, yanked the blind strings, and turned to grin at her. "Can't be seen drinking during office hours." He crossed the room to lock Adam's private entrance, then opened his bottom drawer for the bottle of scotch. He glanced at Claire, who was slightly alarmed at the private door's lock, and he grinned again. He wondered how long it would take to get her out of her panties. He poured two short drinks, and brought them to Claire. She took hers, but Jack put his aside and pulled her close. He kissed her, felt her respond, and pulled her tighter into his embrace. He heard her glass hit the floor as her arms went around him. Their tongues played together, and Jack knew she felt his erection. Finally she broke away and looked up at him.
"Adam," she whispered.
Jack tangled his fingers in her hair, smiling. "Adam is in a meeting with the mayor. At City Hall." His mouth covered hers again, his left hand moved to her slender neck, while his right brushed her breast. Her nipples were rock hard. He backed her to the couch, still kissing her, God the woman knew how to kiss. They fell onto the couch, and Jack propped himself on his elbows, looking down at her before nipping her chin, her ear, her neck. Then he skillfully worked her skirt up to her waist, and met the frustration of pantyhose. Ripping them off was not an option. He rose to his knees and pulled them down, then sighed and stood and pulled the hose and her panties off with one swift move. Then he freed his burning erection, his pants dropping to his knees as he eased between her legs.
"I've had such fantasies about this couch," he whispered, joining them with one swift, hard stroke that made her gasp. Her fingernails dug into his neck, and he kissed her again. He thought he could spend hours simply kissing her, and then her walls gripped him and he thought the hell with kissing. He rose up on his arms, watching her, smiling, as he drove them home. Despite Adam's absence, there were no guarantees, but a quickie would do. Claire's legs wrapped around his, her pelvis meeting his thrusts.
"Oh Christ," she moaned, and he felt her walls shift from velvet to a tighter, rougher grip. Knowing how close she was, he drove harder, aware he was seconds from exploding, and then she did, bucking under him, biting her bottom lip to keep from crying out. His release came then, and he collapsed onto her, sweating and breathing hard.
"This should be written into the union contract," he whispered.
"What." She shifted under his weight, and he gently slipped away from her, pulling up his shorts and pants.
"Getting laid on company time." He zipped his pants and buckled his belt, then looked around for something to aid her, settling on the Kleenex box on his desk.
She efficiently took care of herself and made an effort to erase the traces on the couch. Tossing the Kleenex in the trash, she adjusted the waistband of her pantyhose, then the line of her skirt. "Maybe you should mention it at the next bar association function."
He grinned, pleased with himself, with her, with getting away with the forbidden. "I'll do that."
"In the meantime," she said, ever practical, "if we don't open those blinds, I can think of one secretarial pool that's going to go into overdrive spreading the word. Suspected hanky panky, and right in the office." She laughed. God, she had such a merry laugh, like a cheerful gremlin let loose on holiday to pull pranks on the unsuspecting.
Satisfied that they were presentable, they sat at Jack's desk, going over witness statements as far as anyone looking in would think. Jack couldn't remember feeling so happy, and he looked at Claire, adoration written on his face. "You're amazing," he said.
She grinned. "In comparison to whom?"
"Nobody compares with you, trust me."
"And you have a comprehensive list to back that up, no doubt."
He blushed. He didn't know how she did it, but she made him feel guilty about sleeping with other women in the years before they met. He wanted to take her hand, settled for pressing her knee with his, and said, "To quote that great philosopher David Cassidy, I think I love you."
She burst into laughter, dropping all pretence of seriousness. "Do you realize I was in diapers when that song came out?" She tossed her pen at him, he easily caught it with one hand. "I prefer to think in terms of say, Cyndi Lauper." She looked at the couch. "And her lesser known but truthful song, She Bop." At Jack's confused expression, she grinned. "I've had my share of fantasies about that couch, too. I'll play the song for you one day, explain it to you."
"Tonight?"
She nodded, then took her pen and pretended to work while the rain came down on the city and the clock moved toward quitting time.
Jack finished his scotch and sighed, glancing at that very clock. He should take the day off, he would if he didn't want to work on nailing Dressler to the wall by his foreskin. Claire. When, he asked, would it stop hurting? Surely he had to stop missing her so much sometime. It's only been a few months, he reminded himself, of course you see her everywhere, you're surrounded by memories. She Bop. He smiled, remembering hearing the song and Claire's explanation, which quickly led to her bed and a very long night of making love. He could not imagine ever loving another woman that way. Even the thought of some future woman made him feel disloyal, an adulterer denied penance and forgiveness.
He got up to stretch his legs, clear his mind of memories. He opened his office door, and saw Jamie sitting where Claire belonged, the phone against her ear while she scribbled on a legal pad. She would never understand, and he didn't care. She didn't have to understand, she simply had to do what he told her.
Assistants, he thought. Once they'd been sport of a sort, a game, though he had feelings for each of them, respected them as people, but he never loved them. Diana Hawthorne, he thought, and his skin crawled. He'd sworn then she was the last assistant he'd bag, and then what, four years later, Claire walked into his office. He watched Jamie, but heard Claire, trying to establish ground rules for working together. Well, he'd live by those ground rules now, Claire's rules as he termed them. He turned away from watching Jamie, closing the door. He poured another drink, now that Diana had taken up residence in his mind, comparing herself to Claire. Claire had so kicked her ass in court. He glanced at his desk calendar. She'd be getting out soon, did she know Claire was dead? Probably. And probably did a happy dance, her nemesis destroyed.
Screw this, he thought. He swiftly changed from his suit into jeans and a sweater, and cut across the narrow corridor to Adam's office. He stuck his head through the doorway and said "I need the afternoon, Adam." He hoped his words weren't slurred.
Adam nodded. "All right, son. Do what you need to, but be back in the morning, ready to work on the Dressler case."
"You can count on it," he said, and ducked out. He cleared his desk, grabbed his helmet, and walked away. Lately all he'd wanted to do was walk away, from the office, from life, and he knew it had to stop. Adam only had so much patience, and then, if Jack couldn't do his job, much as it would pain Adam, he would replace Jack with someone who could.
As he straddled his motorcycle and turned the key, he realized he missed talking to Claire most of all. Not the sex, incredible as it was, not the stolen free time when they rode his bike to places where no one knew or cared who they were, what they did. Talking to her. She understood him, had the mental agility to keep up with his tangents, the humor to make him laugh until tears threatened. The last couple of weeks of her life they'd talked either of the baby, a happy subject, or the impending execution of Mickey Scott, a wall between them. Still, it was talking, and now he had no one to talk to like that, and never would.
He drove to the cemetery, recklessly, not giving a flying shit. He slowed as he neared her grave. He parked the bike and walked steadily toward the site, still a fresh raw wound in the earth. He sat by the headstone, tailor fashion, resting his elbows on his knees. "You wouldn't believe this new assistant I have," he began.
"I want to see you in my office." Adam held the receiver in his hand, instead of cradling it between ear and shoulder while doing something else as usual. "Now." He hung up, then sighed. He hated the hard stuff, the emotional stuff, when it came to his staff. Jack would be the hardest of all, for he truly understood the man's pain and rudderless existence. However, the DA's office could not function without a pilot with a firm grip on the rudder, and Adam was going to have to come down on him without hurting him more.
Jack knocked as he opened the private door. His tie knot was undone, collar button open, and the bags under his eyes telegraphed both his lack of sleep and his indulgence in a bottle. Jack closed the door and warily approached. "What," he said, pulling a visitor's chair further away from Adam's desk.
Adam looked at him, his old eyes full of compassion and even love. He'd watched this man grow from rookie prosecutor in the bullpen to the second most powerful attorney in this office. When he was good, he was unbeatable, and witnessing his self-destruction was one of the most painful things Adam endured in this whole painful mess. "Jack, you look like hell."
"Thank you very much, sir."
"Can the sarcasm, son." Adam leaned forward on his desk. "I think you've lost sight of everything that's important. You've launched your own campaign for justice for Claire, and it's not the drunk who killed her."
"But who did kill three people, have you lost sight of that?" Jack crossed his legs and gripped the arms of the chair, as defensive as Adam had ever seen him.
"No, certainly not, but you're very close to crossing a line. You're very close to pulling a Diana Hawthorne, Jack." There, he'd said it, and he waited for the explosion.
Jack looked puzzled. "How?" he asked, and he sounded bewildered. "She was after personal gain. I'm seeking justice for three people."
"Four," Adam corrected, "but by what means? Ask yourself this – would Claire approve of this war you've launched? Of your tactics?" His smile was sad. "I loved her, too, Jack. Not like you did, obviously, but she felt very much like a daughter to me. I hired her, I placed her with Ben Stone, gave her a huge boost over attorneys who'd been with the office longer, because I saw what she could, would, be. The Claire Kincaid I treasure would kick your ass over these maneuvers and you know it, somewhere in that gaping wound we call a heart."
Jack stared at him, then looked away. "I'm doing the right thing, Adam. He ran down three people in the street for the hell of it, including a little boy. You said you agreed with me, that we needed to make an example of this bastard. Are you ordering me to back off?"
Adam shook his head. "Not yet. I still have hope you'll find your way back, but I am watching, son. Grief has its place, but not in the workplace. I understand that you feel like your world has been destroyed, but it hasn't. It's just changed. I gave you a brilliant assistant, maybe you should listen to her. You listened to Claire." He cocked his head. "And I'm not talking about pillow talk. Jamie has years of experience Claire lacked, though I'm the first to admit she was gaining on everyone, even you. I want you to give Jamie Ross a fair chance. Listen to her, stop rejecting what she says out of hand. I'm sorry, Jack, but if you can't find a way to leave your grief and pain at the door and do your job the way you're supposed to, I'll have to replace you."
"You wouldn't." Jack's mouth opened, he closed it with an audible snap.
"Are you leaving me much choice? I walk in this office every morning, and I look at that cubby, still expecting to see Claire at her desk, or in your office. And it hurts, but I have to leave that hurt for later, there's work to be done, and we're entrusted to do that work and do it well."
"Adam, she was having my baby. We were going to get married at some point. I can't just turn that off when I get off the elevator."
Adam rubbed his face, then gently stared at his protégé. "You have to. And you have to stop drinking all day, locked away in your office, leaving major decisions to less experienced attorneys. Again, I remind you of Diana Hawthorne. Your emotional involvement with her led you to less oversight, and look what happened. The city can't afford another Diana Hawthorne, Jack. It can't afford a drunken, grieving boyfriend. I want you to start seeing Olivet, and yes, that is an order."
Jack's lips were pressed together, an expression Adam knew well. "Liz can't do a damn thing for me."
"I think she can, if you'll give her half a chance."
"So you're ordering me into counseling."
He nodded. "I've tried giving you space, I've been tolerant, ignored the drinking, the shouting matches with Miss Ross. See Liz, or take a leave of absence until your head's back where it should be." He picked up a Post-it note. "You have an appointment with Liz in one hour. And while right now it's your case and I won't tell you how to run it, think these things through. Think of Claire, she adored you. And listen to Miss Ross. That's it."
Jack stared at Adam for a moment, then got up. "Very well, Adam, you are my boss. If you want me to undergo counseling with Liz, I will. But right now I am not cutting a deal with a multiple murderer." He stalked out of Adam's office, leaving the door open in his wake.