If Ben Stone felt odd being back at Hogan Place, he didn't show it. A steady stream of people passed Jack's office, on their way to Ben's – the police detectives and Van Buren, witnesses from the bar where Jack spent the afternoon of Mickey Scott's execution, people Jack could not identify. He tried his best to ignore them, to keep his head down and into the new case he'd caught, knowing Ben would come in around six and brief him on the day's interviews.
It was a ritual already, these briefings. Ben would close the door, Jack would pull out the scotch, and they would speak of what he'd learned, what he planned. And then they would drink to Claire. Jack knew that eventually Ben would probe into his grief, perhaps seeking to share his own. Jamie never joined them, and Jack felt no pressing need to invite her in to this male bonding, though Adam popped in a time or two, perhaps he felt a referee might be needed. Instead he found two men bound by a common purpose, so he left them to it.
At precisely six, Ben stepped into Jack's office. Jack pushed away from his desk and rose, extending his hand. As Ben took it, he said, "Long day, Jack."
Jack sat again and reached for the scotch. He poured, gave Ben a glass, and said "Tell me about it."
Ben sank on the couch, he avoided the chair next to Jack's desk, somehow sensing that was Claire's chair. "I've found six witnesses to put Diana together with John Baumgarten, two of whom were close enough to overhear their conversation. I can prove a conspiracy. I'm convening a grand jury tomorrow. I'll be calling you. Can you handle that? I'll be asking some difficult questions."
"Such as why I left her?"
Ben nodded. "So you want to tell me about that?"
Jack leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Then he opened them and leaned forward, reaching for his glass. "I've asked myself that a thousand times. I was drunk, as Briscoe will confirm." The pain on his face was hard for Ben to see, for he felt his own pain, but he kept a neutral expression on his face, encouraging Jack to talk of that night. "We'd been fighting, it seemed nonstop from the moment Mickey Scott expired. Going into the work the next morning, she told me she wasn't feeling well, I assumed it was morning sickness, amongst other things, so I told her to take the day and got out of the car." He drained his glass. "I was damned good at bailing that day." He refilled his glass and offered the bottle to Ben, who got up for a refill. "I tried calling her all day. Then I ended up in that bar, and I stayed. I paged her, she called back, and she said she'd come pick me up. She took her time about it, and I got pissed, so I left. You know the rest."
"You know I'll have to ask questions about your personal relationship, as well as the one you had with Diana."
Jack nodded. "Tread lightly there, Ben."
"As lightly as possible when it comes to Claire." He glanced at Jack's loosened tie knot and wished he was casual enough to do the same, but something in him resisted such sloppiness, as he viewed it. Perhaps that was what drew Claire to Jack instead of himself, Jack was freer of constraints. "Jack." His awkward tone caught the other man's ear and he focused on Ben. "She loved you. I—" he cut himself off, no need to open his own wounds.
Jack felt Ben's pain. "She did," he said, softly. "She used to tease me that she loved me from the first glimpse of my butt, when she walked in the office. I was bent over, looking for something in that cabinet." He gestured with his glass. His personal jukebox kicked in, "Do You Believe in Magic?" played. God, his psyche could be so vicious.
"She never teased me. I was always so damned serious, and she was so damned young. I was afraid to let my hair down, so to speak. And I'm well aware I lack that quality you have, that sexiness, as women call it." He sighed. "When I heard that you were having an affair, I thought it was McCoy up to his usual sport with assistants, and I was pissed. And then I heard it was really love, but I didn't believe it until the funeral."
"I didn't see you there," Jack said, a note of apology in his voice.
"You didn't see much that day." Ben sipped, glancing around the office, wondering how Jack maintained, returning to this place of so many memories, day after day. "To be truthful, sir, I've never seen such a broken man."
Jack flushed, had anyone else said that the conversation would have ended. "I'm still broken, Ben," he finally said, "and I don't know how to fix things. Adam's warned me, if I don't get my shit together, he's going to can me."
"I felt very much the same after…" he hesitated. "Getting a witness killed through my own arrogance, that does something to one's soul."
"Too much Jesuit education in this room," Jack said, and he refilled their glasses again. Then he sat on the couch with Ben, at the opposite end. "I can take your questions about Claire, Ben, on the stand. Anything to get Diana, get justice for Claire."
Ben looked at him, evaluating the man and his mood. "She talks to you, doesn't she? She doesn't speak to me."
Jack flushed a deep red. "I have memories, Ben, they replay, of course I hear her voice in those."
Ben nodded. "Those, unfortunately, will fade with time. They won't go away completely, but they will fade. I know." Jack heard the bitterness in his voice. "Well. We must concentrate on the grand jury. I'm calling Liz Rodgers first, to establish what happened in that car. Do you want me to ask about the pregnancy? That two people actually died in that car?"
Jack's expression was grim. "We both know the State doesn't recognize the fetus as a person."
"But a lot of people do. It's your call, Jack, it was your child."
"What do you think, what would you do if this wasn't so personal?"
"I'd ask. I'd play on the grand jury's feelings."
"And rumor had it you had a conscience." Jack grinned.
"I liked to win as much as you do," Ben replied, a small smile playing with his lips.
"I'll leave it in your hands, I know you'll do the right thing."
Ben nodded. "And I know you'll read the transcripts. I don't want to wound you any further."
"I appreciate your concern. But if you think that fact will help bring an indictment, go for it." His jukebox switched tunes yet again, Sounds of Silence. He wondered how to disconnect the damned thing.
Ben finished his drink and got up. Jack stood and took Ben's empty glass. "Rely on your friends, hard as that may be," he said, "they'll help you get through this. Ms. Ross desperately wants to help."
"I know, but how do I talk to her about Claire? It means telling her how much I resent seeing her in Claire's office, in Claire's chair…"
"You don't think she already knows?"
"I hadn't thought about it, to be truthful."
"Let her help, talk to her. She doesn't have the emotional connection to Claire, and that's what you need now. Someone who doesn't have feelings of their own to consider."
Jack nodded. He walked Ben to the door, and looking across the hall, saw Jamie still at her desk, looking back at him. He took a deep breath. Ben knew what he was talking about, he'd been in the same deep hole of grief and pain, still was to some extent, loving Claire as he had. Jack felt his stomach contract, but he jerked his head, beckoning Jamie. She got up at once.
He closed the door after her. He put away the scotch, then leaned on his desk. "I'd like to talk to you," he said, almost strangling on the words, "but I can't do it here. Would you like to come to my place for awhile?"
Jamie concealed her shock, what had Ben said? "Of course," she said. "Now?"
He nodded.
"Let me clear my desk, five minutes max."
He nodded again. "I'm leaving now, I'll try to restore some order to the place."
"Don't worry about that. I'll be there as quickly as I can."
Jack went to his clothing rack, and Jamie left. He changed into jeans, yanked off his tie, and pulled a sweater over his head. He grabbed his helmet and left, leaving his briefcase. Work would not come home with him tonight.
He managed to clear some of the clutter before she knocked on his door. He let her in, wondering if he was doing the right thing. He poured drinks, leaving the bottle on the coffee table, something Claire always found tacky, but Claire was gone. He put a CD in to short-circuit his internal jukebox, and settled on the couch, God that couch, with Jamie, each taking an end and leaving a wide space between them. She understood.
"I want," he began, choking on his words and swallowing scotch to clear his throat, "to talk about Claire. So you'll understand what's driving me, and to some extent, Ben."
Jamie took a delicate sip. "I'm listening."
Jack smiled. "I know. This is so hard." He sipped as "Norwegian Wood" poured through his speakers. "She was wonderful, but she did have her faults, like all of us. She had a hell of a temper, but it took a lot to trigger it, but boy, when you did, take cover." He grinned, remembering pissing her off, you motherfucking son a bitch she yelled. Lady by day, courtesan by night, the perfect combination, but oh man, make her mad and you'd really hear it. "Like you, she hated the death penalty, we fought like hell over the Sandig case, and then, there was Mickey Scott, as you well know. But mostly, it was so good. I could not believe she'd come into my life, that I'd been given such a gift. I thought it would last forever, that we'd raise our son and grow old at uneven rates." That smile came again, wistful and sad, and it broke Jamie's heart. "No one expects a healthy twenty-nine year old to die. I know, we deal with such things every day, but no one expects it to happen to them. Thinking it was an accident was bad enough, but this…"
"We'll get her, Jack. Ben's been keeping me in the loop, he's asked me to be his second chair, since I didn't know Claire."
"You would have liked her."
"I think I would. Ruthie Miller has told me she had this great raucous laugh, that away from the office, she was loose and fun and laughed a lot, but in court, she was all business, and damned good at it."
"She and Ruthie were friends. Ruthie teased her unmercifully about having a child, and then when Claire told her the unexpected happened, Ruthie became this Jewish mother." Again, that smile, and Jamie wondered what it was costing him to talk of these things. "It's very hard for me to see you where she was, I hope you understand that it's not personal."
"I do. Van Buren said I look a little bit like her, and she thought Adam was out of his mind to hire me."
Jack shook his head. "I don't see it, if that helps." He finished his drink and leaned over for the bottle. "She had this vulnerability, she'd been deeply hurt by her mother, one of those wounds that won't heal, and it ate at her sometimes, especially around holidays. She didn't tell her mother about the baby, which was fine with me."
"You think about that baby a lot, don't you?"
He shrugged. "I guess. She was ambivalent at first, then quickly grew to love the idea, and if she was happy, I was happy. Ben wants to bring the pregnancy up in the grand jury, play on their feelings by implying two people died that night."
"Are you OK with that?"
He nodded. "I trust Ben's instincts. And right now he's circling for the kill, Diana has no idea what she's up against. I have a feeling he's going to make me look like a piker in comparison." He cleared his throat. "That jury needs to know Claire, understand what was taken from this world, and hold Diana accountable. We can't retry Baumgarten on her death, but we can on a conspiracy charge. And Ben will get it, he's running on anger and pain, but much better at controlling it than I am."
"Do you talk to him?"
He looked at her, weighing the meaning behind the question. "Sometimes," he said. "We both loved her, I won her, that's kind of awkward, but it's that love that sharpens the two of us when it comes to this. Diana's not going to know what hit her when Ben's done with her, and all I can feel is gratitude."
"You know you'll have to testify."
He nodded. "I can do it. I'll just have to believe she's with me, holding me up."
"You talk to her a lot?"
He cocked his head, then remembered what she said about talking to her father. "I do. All the time."
"Does it help?"
He shrugged. "You know the answer to that as well as I do."
"Don't you think she'd tell you to move on?"
He nodded, surprised that remark didn't anger him. "It's going to take time. A few months ago, she was sitting on this couch, laughing at some silly thing we'd heard that day." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he focused on Jamie. "You're going to have to be patient with me, Jamie. I have to find my way through a world without Claire."
"I know. I don't think drinking is the answer, though."
"Something has to numb the pain."
"But does it?"
"Sometimes." He remembered a conversation with Claire, when she implied he drank too much sometimes. It could have turned into an argument, but instead it became a ticklefest, then love. On that couch. He got up, moving away from Jamie and the memories of Claire beneath him on that damned couch. He walked to his desk, to a picture of Claire hanging on the wall. He turned from it, forcing himself to focus on his guest, he didn't want to break down in front of her.
"Jack."
Her soft voice brought him back, he sat down and looked at her.
"It's OK. Even strong men cry."
That did it. Memories of Claire flooded his mind, twisted his heart, and he did cry, gentle tears rolling down his cheeks. Jamie didn't move, she sensed touching him right now was the wrong thing to do. When he seemed dry, he rubbed his face and reached for his glass. "I'm lost," he said.
"I know. But you will find your way, I promise, and I'll help if you'll let me. I'll be in the grand jury room, I'll keep you informed, and I know Ben will."
"Has Ben cried in front of you?"
She smiled. "Once. I think a memory storm hit him, too, but like you, he feels strong men don't cry, especially in front of women. I doubt any man will cry over me," she said, a quiet compliment to the woman who once sat on this couch and made this alpha male happy. She looked at her watch. "I need to get home to Katie, but I want you to know I'm here for you, you can call at any hour. We'll get her, Jack."
A thought hit him then. "How can you be second chair if you're going to be a witness to the things Diana said to you?"
"Ben and I talked about that. He thinks he has enough on tape that her spontaneous remarks to me are unnecessary. If, after the grand jury, he thinks he'll need me, he'll replace me." She got up. "And the grand jury opens tomorrow, I better get rolling. Will you be OK?"
He stood. "Yeah. Thanks."
"Anytime. And I mean that. Meaningless and repetitive as it sounds, it will get better, it takes time, that's all. Pour all your pain and grief into getting Diana, not to mention the cases we've caught. I hear Adam's given you a rookie to try out as second chair."
He nodded. "Yeah, some brass-balled dude named Cutter. We'll see how that works out."
"I'm still right across the hall," she said.
"Thanks." He walked her to the door, and when she was gone, he locked himself in. He changed the CD, turned on a lamp, and refilled his glass. He paced, he knew this restlessness well. "Will she help me find my way back?" he asked.
Silence. He shrugged, sat on the couch. "Rest well, my love, I wish I could."
That merry laugh rang in his ears. You were born a restless spirit, Jack. Let Ben do his thing, and you concentrate on moving forward, on letting go. You have a great assistant, in time she'll help you see past the past. Get some sleep, Jesuit boy, you aren't alone, even if you feel that way.
He missed that voice, that body, that soul that meshed with his, and he thought again about joining her. Yes, the Jesuits taught that suicide was a mortal sin, but being run over by a bus in New York City hardly qualified as suicide, he thought, as Summer in the City came pouring out of his speakers. He finished his drink and then went into his bedroom, undressing, and crawled into bed, hugging the pillow that had been hers, and once again passed out, the music in the living room still playing.