A Broken Hallelujah

Part Three

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"Where is she, Jack?"

"My apartment." He tried to wave away the nurse, who fixed Abbie with a professional glare.

"You must leave, Miss," she said. "His heart rate and blood pressure are rising, he needs rest and quiet."

She grabbed her things and then said, "This is wrong, and I hope you'll see that when the shock wears off." She stalked out of ICU, hell-bent on confronting this legend she'd heard about. Once in her car, she picked up her cell phone and punched a number.

"Jamie Ross."

"Jamie, it's Abbie Carmichael. I need to talk to you."

There was a pause, then Jamie cleared her throat. "I know about Claire, Abbie. I'll talk with you, but this is something beyond your ken."

"May I come over?"

"Yes. Katie's with Neil for the night. Are you coming now?"

"If that's OK with you."

"See you soon, then."

Abbie closed the phone and started the car. It took her half an hour to reach Jamie's townhouse, and she had trouble finding a parking spot. Finally finding one a block away, she strode toward Jamie's house, her anger simmering on medium. Jamie answered almost as soon as she rang the bell.

Jamie Ross was still a striking woman, tall and slender, and above all, dignified. She admitted the younger woman, took her coat, and guided her into a tastefully decorated sitting room. Coffee waited. Jamie sat in a wingback chair while Abbie settled on the couch. After pouring, Jamie leaned back and studied Abbie.

"He was never going to be your lover," she began. "Not only because he never got over Claire, but because she taught him to never mess with an assistant again."

"I know that." Abbie struggled not to snap at Jamie. "I'm worried about what she'll do to his head. What can you tell me about her?"

Jamie sipped her coffee, weighing her words. "I didn't know her," she began. "Not personally. I'd seen her, in court, in the hallways with Jack, saw them at intimate dinners on occasion. She was truly beautiful, and he was crazy in love with her. He tried, in his Jack way, to dominate and mold her, and failed. When I came into the office, he resented me, he wanted nothing to do with me. He was not the man I'd heard about, respected, he was broken in spirit and heart. Adam warned me to be gentle with him, which wasn't easy at times. I set him up a couple of times with blind dates, and he'd talk about Claire to them." She shrugged. "He was drunk one night, and I got him home, and I remember he said 'if I could just have five minutes with her.' So I expect he's confused but happy at the same time. I think it's safe to say Jack McCoy would forgive Claire Kincaid anything."

"And what do you think about what she did?"

"I think it was a terrible thing. I don't have anything to say to her, but I don't think I'll have an opportunity, either. She crushed that man, and I resent the hell out of it."

"I'm going to see her. Jack told her to stay in his apartment."

"Do you think that's wise? You can't win, Abbie. Let them work through it, stay out of it. All you'll accomplish is to alienate Jack. There's a lot history between them, and you aren't part of it."

"I can't sit by and do nothing. Someone needs to tell that bitch what she did."

"I suspect she knows. And she's brain damaged to some extent, as I understand it, that's going to make Jack protective. I wouldn't do this, I really wouldn't."

Abbie put her coffee down. "I have to. If nothing else, I have to see this legend in Jack's mind for myself."

"She was, as I understand it, a sweet, vulnerable, and very smart young woman. I don't know what she is now, but she came out of hiding for Jack, and that requires some strength. I'd think long and hard before I did something that can't be taken back."

Abbie nodded. "I appreciate the advice."

"But you're not going to take it."

"Not a chance." She collected her things. "Thank you for the coffee and your time."

Jamie sighed. "I hope you don't regret it."

"I feel like I have to do it." She walked with Jamie to the front door. "I have to see this woman for myself."

"Good luck," Jamie called after her, then muttered, "you're going to need it."

V

Claire wasn't surprised when the pounding on the door started. She got off the couch and looked through the peephole. A tall brunette, fairly attractive, stood there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Claire opened the door. "Yes?"

Abbie pushed into the apartment, she'd been here before. "Claire Kincaid? Abbie Carmichael, Jack's assistant."

Claire closed the door. "How do you do?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" She stripped off her coat and slung it on the chair. "Who the hell are you, lady, and what the hell are you trying to do?"

"I hardly think that's any concern of yours." Claire walked back to the couch and sat, trying to defuse the situation by putting distance and a calm body language between them. Abbie looked around, surprised at the neatness and order Claire brought in such a short time. Then she sat at the other end of the couch.

"Do you think you can just come back, into his life, and then fuck with his head?"

"I don't know what I think," Claire said, sipping her drink, "other than I need to be with him right now. And I'd like to think, on some level, he still needs me."

"He doesn't need you, lady."

Claire's smile touched on taunting. "Why? Because he has you?"

Abbie flushed. "Yes, as a matter of fact."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

The flush deepened, but Abbie held Claire's gaze. "That's none of your business."

"You aren't." Claire sipped again, eyeing her adversary. "You want to, but he won't go there, will he?"

"Because of you?" Abbie sneered. "Don't have such a high opinion of yourself. What do you think your return from the dead is going to do to him? He'd just started rebuilding his life a couple of years ago, and now you want to wreck that?"

"I want to be with the man I loved, who, I think, still needs me, as I need him. And that's as much as I'm prepared to say, to you at least."

"You haven't been welcomed with open arms, have you?"

Claire put the can aside, crossed her legs. "I wasn't expecting to be."

And then Abbie felt drained, defeated by Claire's quiet self-assurance. "Was Jack glad to see you? Or just in shock?"

"Both. I know, Ms. Carmichael, that what I did could be considered beyond the bounds of conscience and decency and all those adjectives. My reasons for doing it are between Jack and myself, perhaps a few others."

"Such as Mr. Schiff?"

Claire sighed. "I'll see Adam tomorrow. I can take whatever he needs to say." That calm acceptance - Abbie wondered if it had always been there or was it a by-product of a brain injury? "And I'm sure he needs to say a lot." She met Abbie's gaze, without a shred of defensiveness or self-pity. "Have you said all you need to say?" Her tone was resigned, it was not a challenge.

Abbie had been called brash, bitchy, ballsy, but she felt none of those things at this moment. She felt diminished by this ghost in Jack's head, now corporeal and present in Abbie's life. "Do you truly understand what your 'death' did to him? I mean, are you capable, can your brain process it, of understanding that?"

Claire drew a deep breath and held it for a couple of seconds. Then she exhaled, sipped her drink, and said, softly, "Yes."

"Do you understand why I feel the way I do?" Her gaze turned critical as she inspected Claire's face, neck, shoulders, hands. "I love him, Ms. Kincaid," she said, a snarl underlining the polite 'Ms. Kincaid' and her dark eyes boring into Claire's. "I've watched him get stronger, better, every day. I heard all the stories before I joined his office. I was warned by Mr. Schiff, that he could be unpredictable and angry, told why, told never to mention you." A bitter laugh escaped. "That was impossible, you arose in his conversation every so often. When I made a mistake, he'd say 'Claire always did such and such.' Not Jamie did so and so, but Claire. But that happened less and less. He was mellower, I guess you could say, more understanding and less anxious to grind defendants into the dust. I see Jamie Ross from time to time, and she said it was his way of finally accepting your loss and moving on, that it didn't surprise her, it meant he finally understood that not every crime is a hanging offense. She said it meant the ghost in his head was fading away." She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "And here you are. Some bastard Jack sent to Attica shoots him down in the street like a dog, and who comes out of the mist to stand by his bedside? His fucking ghost. When I think about what that must be doing to his head, lady, I want to slap you naked and hide your clothes."

Claire's smile was dry. "So I should have stayed dead. Lennie told me Jack was dying, and I should have ignored that, ignored my heart, and stayed dead. Giving you the space to stand by his bed, be there for him. Right?"

"Right."

"It wasn't going to happen. You say I don't understand what I did to Jack, but I do, because I know what Lennie's call to me did. Pain I won't begin to describe, and fear. Unbridled fear, regret." Her expression betrayed her struggle with the words, and she massaged her knee, still looking at Abbie. "So I know, OK? You I owe nothing, but for others I am deeply sorry for the choice I made. And I do not expect forgiveness. Jack and I inflicted wounds on each other all the time, and always found our way back together. This is between he and I. It's absolutely none of your business."

"Jack is very much my business."

Claire shrugged. "In the office, sure, OK, fine. But here -" she waved her hand at the room, "here is a private matter." She was so tired, she wanted this woman to leave. She took another deep breath. "You stay out of it."

"And if I don't?"

Claire couldn't miss that challenging note if she was deaf. She straightened her shoulders. "If Jack is still Jack, he'll crush you like a bug if you butt into this very private matter."

Abbie sneered. "So, what, you're going to crawl into bed with him and make it all better? Erase the years of pain and mourning, erase the competition?"

Tired, Claire thought, you're tired, focus on making your thoughts clear and not what you feel. "I'm not competing with anyone. I'm here for Jack, that's all. All you need to know. Now. Please. I need to rest."

Abbie stood, gathered her coat and purse. Why did she feel so incompetent compared to this refurbished woman? Claire was still gorgeous, scars on her forehead aside, but Abbie sensed the lingering damage. She wasn't the woman Jack remembered, so why did she leave Abbie feeling like a gangly, awkward girl? "I care very much about him, Ms. Kincaid, and I will do whatever it takes to keep you from fucking up his head again." She levied a withering stare at her adversary. "You don't compare well with the legend, lady. Not well at all."

Claire let it slide. "No one holds up well against a legend, whatever you mean by legend." She limped to the door, holding it open for Abbie. "If you mean I'm not the person I was five years ago, you're right. Leave it at that, and good night."

Abbie couldn't think of a retort, so she simply walked out of Jack's apartment, reeling with confusion, fear, and even intimidation. This woman was going to do a number on Jack, and Abbie didn't know how to counter it, protect him. She pressed the elevator button. All I can do is try, she thought, be there for him, let him know I care. The elevator doors closed and she stared at the descending digital numbers, feeling the metaphor in her heart - she was descending into hell and there was no way to stop it.

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