A Broken Hallelujah
Part Six
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Jack took another sip of his drink, put his arm around Claire, and said, calmly, "I'm OK. Trying to have a conversation."
Abbie pulled her hand away from his knee and finally looked at Claire, who maintained a blank expression, though her hand reached up to close with Jack's, dangling over her shoulder. Abbie looked at Jack again. "You may think this is none of my business -"
"I do," he said, sharply, shifting his weight closer to Claire.
"But I have to say this." She rose and perched on the edge of the couch, on Jack's other side, her gaze locked into his. "This woman ruined your life, so you have to ask why she's back, what does she want."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "Which is something I'm trying to discover."
Claire cleared her throat. "I'm not evil incarnate, Ms. Carmichael." She felt stress building and breathed deeply, trying to utilize the exercises she'd been taught to prevent spasms, convoluted words, pain.
"That remains to be seen," Abbie snapped. "I care about you, Jack. You're vulnerable right now. At least move her into a hotel, so you'll have the space to think."
"You are so far out of line," Jack warned.
"I know." Abbie sighed. "But I wouldn't be your friend if I didn't try to protect you, to ask the hard questions."
"I'm more than capable of asking those questions." He squeezed Claire's hand. "And she'll tell me the truth."
"How can you be sure? She's lived a lie for years, it's got to be second nature by now." Abbie closed her eyes, fighting the helplessness that engulfed her. "Just know that I'm a phone call away if you need me, that I care. Please."
"Duly noted." He winced as a pain wracked his chest. Claire released his hand and rested hers lightly over the nearly healed wound, as if taking the pulse of pain. "Go home, Abbie, go to the office, go to hell for all I care." His eyes closed, and Claire struggled up, grabbing her own medicine, which was not bonded to Tylenol like his, and tipped two small tablets into her hand. She put them in Jack's mouth, and he swallowed them with a slug of Diet Coke. She didn't lean against him again, she sat, fighting her own pain, watching Abbie Carmichael with all the intensity of a pit bull. When the jolts of pain subsided, Jack opened his eyes and looked at Abbie. Drawing on all his reserves, he said "I understand that you're concerned, Abbie, and I appreciate it, but it isn't necessary. Claire and I need time to talk. You need to leave."
She stood. "OK. I know you think I shouldn't have come, shouldn't say these things, but consider that I might be right, and that if you need me, I'm here." She looked at Claire, measuring those eyes, which regarded her with wariness. Oh yes, she thought, be afraid of me, Kincaid, I'll fight for this man. "You know how to reach me. I'll see myself out."
They watched her walk out and gently close the door behind her. "Wow," Claire said. "She thinks I'm evil." She wanted to lean against Jack, to ease the pain in her hips and pelvis, but she waited to see what he wanted.
Jack stared at the door, absently turning the drink on his thigh. He knew Abbie's intentions were basically good, but she was not one to back down from a fight. He sighed, then sensed Claire's pain and hesitation. He looked at her, smiled weakly, and slid painfully into the corner of the couch. He reached to pull her into his arms. She stretched out with him, her head on his shoulder, felt his hand run up and down her arm.
"So," he said, moving his left leg so that Claire rested between them, "Let's tackle that eight hundred pound gorilla in the room." He looked down at her, then lightly traced the scar on her forehead. "Why did you come back?"
She put her hand on his waist, positioning herself so as not to cause pain for either of them, and her fingers moved lightly on his abs. "Because I realized I still loved you, that I'd done you a terrible wrong, and that maybe you still needed me."
He kissed the top of her head. "Why did you do it?"
She knew what he meant. She'd told him before, but he was asking for more, to penetrate every defense and rationalization she might have. "Because the Claire you loved was gone."
"Is it really that simple?"
She looked up. "Yes. I don't expect you to forgive me or understand, I don't expect any of this to be easy, and if you want me to leave, I will."
His arm tightened around her. "You know," he said, "if you were hurting as much as I am, and you surely were and more, I can almost understand." He sighed. "God, it's impossible to think when you're in pain, isn't it? Mix in the painkillers, and who could possibly think beyond the next few minutes."
"I know."
His mind was so dulled by the medication that he couldn't feel much of anything. He looked at her, she'd told him she lived on this stuff, she must be used to it but he didn't know if he could ever be. He wanted, needed, clarity. He focused on her brown eyes, on the warmth radiating from them, a warmth that spread to her body encased by his larger one, and it felt good. All the pain and guilt and sorrow faded as if it hadn't happened as all he felt was her body against his. He knew more questions and answers waited, but right now, stoned out of his mind and holding Claire, he pushed them away.
He dozed off, and she watched him a little while before joining him in sleep.
--xx--
The phone woke them. Their heads came up at the same time, both groggy and confused, as the phone on the end table behind Jack rang. She reached over him for the receiver and put it in his hand. "McCoy," he mumbled, wondering what time it was and how long they'd slept.
"Jack, it's Jamie. I'm sorry I woke you."
"That obvious?" he said, shifting and jostling Claire.
"I don't want to intrude, but I was wondering if I could bring dinner over for you and Claire. I won't stay."
Jack scratched his head. "I don't even know what time it is." He pushed the receiver away from his mouth and said "Jamie wants to bring dinner."
Claire sat up, pushing her hair away from her face, realizing it was almost dark. "My God, we've slept all day," she said, blinking several times. "Uh, sure, if she wants to, that would be nice."
"Thanks, Jamie, we'd appreciate it."
"You guys have slept all day?" Jamie chuckled.
"Drugs," Jack said, "I'm rethinking my position on legalization." His shoulder ached, and he wiggled into an upright position, rubbing it.
"I'll be there in a couple of hours. Do you want anything special?"
Jack looked at Claire and a fond smile born of memory broke on his face. "Chinese," he said. Claire turned her head and looked at him, then smiled, too. Jack always wanted Chinese after sex. She started laughing, trying to muffle it with her hand.
"Inside joke?" Jamie asked, her voice light and warm.
"Sort of. We'll see you in a couple of hours." He clicked off the phone and twisted to seat it in its stand. "God, I feel like somebody shot me," he said.
Claire slowly stood. "And I feel like I've been run over by a truck." She slowly stretched, but it didn't help, the medicine had worn off and her pain, her constant companion, was present and accounted for. "I need a shower, hot as possible," she said, before reaching for her meds.
Jack got up and gently hugged her. "Well, we did sleep together," he said.
"We did, why break tradition?" The warm Diet Coke she used to wash the pills down was nasty.
Jack looked shy, and Claire cocked her head inquisitively. "I, uh, was wondering if we should shower together, like we used to."
"Oh." She hadn't thought about Jack seeing her scarred body. "I don't look like I used to."
"I don't either."
She nodded. They slowly made their way into the bathroom and Jack reached into the shower stall, turning the water on. Claire felt shy, afraid he'd be repulsed by her scars. He cupped her jaw with his right hand, pushing her long hair over her shoulder with his left. Their eyes met, and trust flowed between them. Claire reached for the hem of her shirt. "Well, we have seen each other naked before," she said, and pulled the shirt over her head. It dangled from her hand as she waited for Jack to inspect her. Then she pulled her jeans down and stepped out of them, holding Jack's hand for balance. And then, standing naked before him, she waited for the repulsion at the jagged scarring from surgical repairs to hips, knees, and the truly ugly one on her chest, where they'd opened her up to restart her heart and repair the damage broken ribs had inflicted on her organs.
Jack merely pulled off his clothes and stood there, the shiny scars from his wounds on display. Then he pulled the shower curtain and Claire stepped in ahead of him. They felt awkward with each other, but Claire assumed that would pass. They gently washed each other, as they'd often done after making love; Jack was particularly gentle as he washed her face with his fingers, touching her with a sense of wonder akin to those early days.
Clean and dry, they walked naked into the bedroom. Jack stopped her and sat on the edge of the bed with her, holding her hand. "I don't know…"
"Shh." She touched his lips with her finger. "If it's right, we'll know it. It's been a long time, there's no need to push anything. And you're in no shape for it anyway." Her smile was sweet. "But it's nice to be naked with you, anyway."
He stroked her wet hair, then kissed her. "I'm glad you understand," he said. Then he got up and opened a drawer. Claire joined him, and as if no time had ever passed, they dressed in the clothes they thought of as nightclothes - sweats and long-sleeved tees. Then Claire combed her wet hair, and then sank on the bed to pull on a pair of socks.
Jack got them fresh Diet Cokes and they sat on the couch. His shoulder hurt terribly, and he took a couple of pills; Claire's medicine had kicked in and she was comfortable. "Can we, should we, try to fix things, Jack?"
He looked at her, remembering the horror all those years ago, horror she'd inflicted by choosing to let him think she was dead. In her face he saw the toll that deception had taken, felt her vulnerability in opening herself to that question, realized he could hurt her deeply if he so chose. Yet there was an innocence in her expression, her eyes, and he knew he could never hurt her. He took her in his arms and kissed her, gently, his tongue tentatively probing hers. Then he held her head under his chin and against his wounded chest.
"I think we should try," he said. "I don't expect it to be easy, but I spent too many nights on this couch, crying and wishing for just one chance to hold you. I have that now, and I'm not willing to piss it away."
"There wasn't anyone after you, Jack," she said, "I just want you to know that."
Jamie knocked then. Jack, more mobile than Claire, got up and let her in. She brought in a couple of brown paper bags, studiously avoiding looking at them with more than pleasant smiles. The awkwardness between them could be cut like a knife, and Jamie wondered if they'd tried to make love and things had gone badly. Then she realized probably not, Jack's wounds were too fresh, and there was too much between them in terms of deception and pain. She put the bags on the kitchen counter and unpacked them, then got plates from the cupboard.
Claire watched her. Jamie was obviously familiar with this apartment, and she wondered what had transpired between them over the years. Then she looked at Jack and realized nothing had happened between them except a rich friendship.
"I wasn't sure what you liked, Claire," Jamie said, "so I guessed. I hope it's OK."
"It'll be fine," she said, slowly, her brain screwing around yet again. "Thank you."
"Then I'll see you again, soon I hope." And she was gone.
Jack and Claire sat at his small table, and for a moment, it was as if time stood still. It was too comfortable. It wasn't until they cleaned up that the awkwardness hit again. Jack led her to the couch and held her, again, wanting to take her to bed and hold her there, but afraid to. He couldn't tell how she felt, and that was new.
"Jack," she said, softly, pulling on his tee shirt with two fingers, "I know only too well how much you have to process, to forgive if you can."
"Hush," he said. "We've been over this. All I ever wanted was to hold you again, and now I am. Let's leave it at that."
She raised her head. "I think maybe we should get in bed, you're going to conk out soon." She glanced at the medicine bottles. "Unless you think that's inappropriate."
He smiled. "No, not at all." He stood and helped her up. They got in his bed, into what had once been their bed, and he drew her close. "You haven't asked," he said.
"I don't have the right."
He kissed her forehead, inhaling a scent he'd never forgotten. "No one," he said, "though Abbie hasn't been shy about hitting on me."
"Is she going to be a problem?"
"Nothing I can't handle." He kissed her lips, a slow, lingering kiss, then kissed her cheek. "She's a good lawyer, but she's not irreplaceable. You're here, and she has to deal with that."
"So do a lot of people," she said, rolling on her back. "I hurt so many people."
"They'll come around."
"I'm not sure Anita will."
He heard the pain in her voice. "She will, give her time."
"And you?"
He rose up on his good arm and looked at her. "I'm here, aren't I?"
She eased him down, then slid over his chest, carefully, to kiss him. "I missed you so much," she whispered. "There were so many times I wanted to call you, to tell you, but Lennie said you'd gotten on with your life, and I didn't want to mess with that."
He moved her hand lower. "Will you, can you, do you want to be gentle with me?"
In the shadows, he saw the familiar smile he'd missed so much. Her hand slipped into his pants and closed on a very healthy Mr. Winkie. "Can you? Scars and all?"
"Only one way to find out."
She gently pulled his pants off, then moved away to remove her clothes. She was grateful for the darkness, which hid her terrible scars. His hands reached for her breasts, and her breath quickened. God, she'd missed those hands. Her own hand caressed his penis, and then she shifted, very carefully sliding over him. When he was buried within her, she stroked his face, neck, and chest, paying attention to his nipples, then she began to ride him, carefully. It didn't last nearly long enough, but it was enough. When it was over, she fitted herself to him and adjusted the covers, her head on his shoulder. Sleep came easily.
VIII
"Oh Christ!" The infuriated Texas drawl woke them, wrapped in each other and the sheets, naked as newborns.
"What in the hell are you doing here?" Jack asked, lying on his back with his arm around Claire, feeling the pain of his wounds.
"You gave me a key, remember? In case you slept through your alarm and phone calls?" Her sarcasm cut through the room. "Hangovers and all, you wanted me to cover your ass. Well, you've slept through several phone calls. Guess I understand why." She apprised Claire's naked, scarred body with a withering sneer. "Ever hear of plastic surgeons, Magdalene?"
Jack was out of bed faster than anyone would think possible, oblivious of his nudity. He grabbed Abbie by the shoulders and shook her, his face a mask of fury. "Shut the fuck up! Get the fuck out, and do not ever come back. Start looking for a new job, today."
Abbie stared at him, pain and bewilderment on her face. Claire made no effort to cover herself, she'd lost all modesty during her recovery, when strangers handled her body and commented on the terrible wounds. She simply watched Abbie, watched Jack. "Jack, I'm sorry, but Jesus Christ, look at her! And you've gone right back to screwing her, like nothing happened, like she never lied to you…"
Jack's hand pulled back as if he would hit her, then he stopped, dropped his hand, and quietly said "Get out, Abbie. Leave my key. And be gone from my office by the time I return to work next week."
"Tell me you don't mean that," she pleaded.
"I don't? You burst in here and insult this woman, my lover, who has never done a thing to you. Yes, I mean it, Abbie."
Tears flooded her eyes, and she looked at Claire again. "You don't even cover yourself," she mumbled.
Claire was calm. "If I have something you don't, one of us needs to see a doctor. Oh, wait, I do have something you don't, scars. Well, they're part of me and Jack accepts that."
"Get out, Abbie." Jack reached for his sweatpants on the floor and stepped into them. "Out of here and out of the office." He pushed her toward the door.
In the living room, by the door, Abbie hesitated. "For God's sake," she whispered, "I love you. Can you blame me for being a little crazy right now?"
"I can blame you for calling Claire a whore. I don't love you, Abbie, never have and never will. For the last time, get out of here."
Abbie turned and walked out. In the hallway, she sagged against the wall, feeling her love turning to hate, hate for Claire and above all for Jack McCoy. What was it everyone said? Don't get mad, get even. She'd find a way to do that. Drawing on her Texas upbringing, she pulled herself together and walked to the elevator, imagining the two of them making love, and weighing her options for making Jack's life miserable. A tiny smile played on her lips as she stepped into the elevator. She knew exactly what to do to bring Jack and that scarred whore down.
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