A/N

Sorry guys, but there's another racy scene here. Once again, I'll mark it with an asterisk.

Jack walked with a spring in his step towards where he was scheduled to meet Judge Strauss. Today he was going to learn where he was going to do his community service. That thought should've brought him down, but he didn't care. He was just happy that him and Sarah were on speaking terms again. Also, it helped a little that she promised to talk to David. "Aw, wait," Jack thought. "I called him fucking immature last night. Wonder if he heard? Oh, well. I'll just tell him I was drunk and wasn't thinking clearly." Jack slowed down as he approached the courtroom. Just because he was happy today didn't mean that he was happy about serving his sentence. Maybe he could pretend he was going to his community service location. "Yeah, yeah!" He thought. "I could show up to the Judge, he tells me where to go, and then I head in that general direction until I can't se him no more. Then, I hightail it somewhere where I'll be sure he won't go!" He ascended the steps and nearly ran into the Judge.

"Ah, Mr. Kelly. I was just about to send out a search party. I was afraid you decided not to show up." Here, the Judge gave Jack a glare that assured him that that would be a very, very bad idea.

"Me? Play hooky? Never!" Jack channeled all his inner death threats into a charming, convincible smile.

"Don't worry, Mr. Kelly. I assure you, I almost believe you. Take this," Judge Strauss held out a slip of paper. Jack took it from his hand and studied it. On it, was the address of his new job, written with Judge Strauss' cursive writing.

450 East 52nd

"You will be apprenticed to a furniture maker. Good luck." Judge Strauss promptly turned and walked away.

"Sucker," Jack muttered. He was about to turn and book it out of there, when he heard the Judge call out his name. "Yes?" Jack hissed.

"You might get lost. Take this with you." A policeman stepped out from the shadows. The Judge began laughing as he walked back in the courtroom. It took all of Jack's strength not to drag Judge Strauss out by the hair and start beating him. Jack knew fully well that Judge Strauss didn't care if Jack got lost, he just wanted to make sure that Jack didn't "play hooky."

"Get a move on." The policeman shoved Jack from behind.

" I'm going," Jack huffed. He started walking as he looked at the slip of paper again. He had only ever been near 450 East 52nd once before, and that was back three years ago when the Hotel Monét opened. Jack and the policeman walked in silence. They passed Tibby's, they passed the park, they passed City Hall, and so on. In total, it took them ten minutes to reach their destination, almost all the way to the other side of Manhattan. They passed the Hotel Monét, and Jack knew they had arrived. The hotel was a block away from East 52nd.

Jack stopped in front of their destination. It was a quaint little house, cute, but nothing special. It was one of those townhouses, the ones where they are connected side-by-side with other ones. It was made with dark red brick, and had some ivy growing on the walls. There were three stories, and the first one had a hexagonal window on it. The kind where half of the hexagon is sticking outside, and inside there is room for a little seat. Painted in yellow cursive on the window was "Whitfield Cabinet Makers"

"In you go, then." The police officer interrupted Jack's scrutiny of the house. Jack had forgotten he was being followed. Jack climbed the steps and knocked three times. The door was opened by a handsome man, who looked like he was in his mid-thirties, with brown hair and eyes.

"Jack Kelly?" Jack nodded. "Welcome! Judge Strauss said you would be coming today." The man held out his hand, and Jack shook it. Jack noticed that he was well-built. "Come in, it's a bit chilly outside." Jack stepped in the house and turned just in time to see the police officer glaring at him from outside before the man closed the door.

"Sorry, I don't think I introduced myself. Call me Mr. Whitfield. As you can guess, I'm a cabinet maker." Mr. Whitfield gestured around the room. Jack observed the room. Behind the hexagonal window, was an empty space, with a dark green pillow on it. An cozy spot to curl up and read. In front of the window seat was a small round table with the newspaper neatly folded on top. It was surrounded by other chairs, arranged in a circle around the table, no doubt the waiting room. Further back, there was the counter with a shiny black cash register on top. Behind the counter there was a wall painted dark green, like the rest of the room. Half of the wall was covered by a bookshelf that held building supplies, not books. Supplies like glue, hammers, string, and so on. The other half of the wall had a simple white door.

"I see you're looking at my woodshop," Mr. Whitfield noted.

"Yeah. Do you mind if I look inside?" Jack spoke for the first time since he met Mr. Whitfield.

"Of course not! You're gonna be helping me anyways, so why not get familiar with everything?" Mr. Whitfield led Jack behind the counter and through the door. Inside, there was a rectangular table with a chair and some paper on top with schematics and drawings of furniture. The rest of the room was filled with complicated machines Jack had never seen before, along with half-finished projects and discarded pieces of wood. There was one corner of the room which had a finished projects in it. The very back of the room, had a large door on it, presumably for large projects Mr. Whitfield couldn't fit through the regular door.

"Would you like to look upstairs?" Mr. Whitfield suggested.

"Sure." Jack started towards the door, then he heard three sharp knocks on the door.

"Ah. That's probably Mr. Coltwood looking for that broken cupboard door he wanted fixed. Why don't you go on upstairs, Jack, and I'll catch up with you." Mr. Whitfield gestured for Jack to follow him as he exited the woodshop. Outside, Mr. Whitfield pointed Jack to a set of stairs he hadn't noticed before. Jack traipsed up the stairs, amused at the thought of Mr. Whitfield so easily letting a stranger wander around his home unsupervised. Upstairs, Jack found a small kitchen and a rectangular dining table. It reminded him of the David's home, complete with a fire escape and everything. Jack walked over to the window with the fire escape and opened it. The Whitfield house was right in front of the docks. He could see small fishing boats and boys swimming in the Hudson river.

Jack was contemplating using the fire escape to leave when he heard footsteps. He whirled around to see a woman descending yet another flight of steps. Jack unintentionally caught his breath. The woman had fiery red hair that was up in an up do, and navy blue eyes. She looked like she was in her late twenties. Her flawless, creamy white skin seemed to glow with the contrast of her dark olive green dress. Her plump pink lips that previously been in an "O" form at the surprise of seeing Jack quickly formed into a warm smile.

"Hello, Jack. You are Jack, aren't you?" Her navy eyes seemed to peer into his soul as Jack numbly nodded yes. "I'm Mrs. Whitfield." Regaining consciousness, Jack quickly turned on the charm as he stepped towards her.

"The pleasure is all mine." He kissed her smooth pale hand. She withdrew her hand and giggled into it.

"You're quite the charmer, I see." Her laugh was like soft tinkling bells.

"I see you met the missus." Mr. Whitfield ascended the last few steps and stood behind Mrs. Whitfield and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her cheek, and Jack noticed a pink blush forming on the top of her snowy white cheeks and traveling down until it stopped almost at her jaw line. **But Jack's eyes did not stop. They slid down her slender white neck to her rather, ahem, robust form. Jack noticed her dress was rather low-cut. Suddenly, he felt himself "lifting."

"Um, sorry, but you wouldn't happen to have a bathroom here, would you.?" Jack tried to hide his "excitement" with his hands.

"I'm sorry Jack," Mrs. Whitfield began. "We don't have a bathroom here. You're going to have to run down to the Hotel Monét. Just say you're with us and they'll let you use their bathroom." Jack bolted down the stairs and out the door. He noticed that the policeman was gone. He ran a block down to the hotel. He entered and before the manager could kick him out he said "I'm with the Whitfields." and slammed the bathroom door shut. He locked the door so no one could enter when he was there. Quickly, he checked under the stalls to make sure he was completely alone before he took his pants off. Dousing himself with the cold tap water, he thought about how this had never happened to him before, only right when he was about to have sex.**

When he was done, Jack walked back to the Whitfield house praying to God that they hadn't noticed. When he got there, Mr. Whitfield's woodshop door was open and there were strange whirring noises coming from inside. Jack stepped in to find Mr. Whitfield bending over one of those strange machines wearing a weird iron mask over his face.

"Mr. Whitfield!" Jack shouted over the noise. The machine turned off and Mr. Whitfield popped off his mask to look at Jack.

"Hope you don't mind Jack, but I started my new project without you."

"That's okay. Maybe I'll just look and see how you do it before actually helping you and stuff. I've never built anything before."

"Alright. Good idea. You can help me by getting my tools and stuff. Right now I need something called sandpaper. Know what that is?" Jack shook his head no. "It's this small square of rough material that I use on wood to give it a nice smooth feel. It's right outside on my shelf." Jack retrieved the sandpaper and watched as Mr. Whitfield stroked it over a long flat piece of wood. "Know what I'm making Jack?"

"No, Mr. Whitfield."

"I'm making a bookshelf. Just like the one outside. This piece right here is one of the shelves. Want to try?" Mr. Whitfield asked, holding out the sandpaper.

"Ok, but I don't know what to do." Jack tentatively took the sandpaper and sat down next to Mr. Whitfield.

"It's easy," handing the shelf to Jack, Mr. Whitfield explained. "It's all in the wrist. Let your wrist measure how much pressure you're putting into the wood. Now, just slide the paper from down to up on the shelf. Just like I was doing." Mr. Whitfield nodded his approval at Jack as he copied Mr. Whitfield's movements. "Good," Mr. Whitfield encouraged him.

"Mr. Whitfield?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"Why does the Hotel Monét let you use their bathroom if you don't live or work there?"

"Because I struck up a deal with them. In exchange for using their bathroom whenever Mrs. Whitfield and I want, I have to donate one piece of furniture to them monthly. This bookshelf right here is going to them."

"But, how is that fair?" Jack inquired. "It doesn't cost them anything if you use their bathroom, but furniture making is your job! You're wasting your time making this for them so they can have it for free when in fact, you could be selling it."

"Actually Jack, I'd say it is fair. It costs them money to have all the waste from their bathroom cleaned out. And plus, at the end of it, is it really worth the extra bucks to not be able to use the bathroom? Ever?" Mr. Whitfield chuckled.

"But where do you shower?"

"Why, the river!" This time, Jack laughed along with Mr. Whitfield. "Come along, let's finish sanding this shelf. Mrs. Whitfield is making some cookies for us. You like cookies?"

"Yeah, I like cookies," Jack grinned, but he wasn't thinking about the same type of cookies Mr. Whitfield was.

A/N

hey guys! This is a long chapter, I'm making up for not writing it yesterday. It took me three hours to write it, so please be kind and reward my hard work with a review!

Also, I need suggestions for future chapters! I have some ideas in my mind, but i need more! So if you guys have any good ideas, submit it in your reviews!

P.S. special thanks to Clover Racetrack for reviewing, and to answer your question: yes, yes it should be rated "M!"