Tandem
Chapter 3
4/16/96
Quantico
Detective John Munch had taken a personal day to do this. Nobody in Manhattan, or Baltimore, had any idea what to do. The disappearance had been so complete, so…unexpected.
So, here John Munch was, wearing a Visitor's ID Tag, walking down to the Basement Office, seeking the help of the FBI's most unwanted in the disappearance of EADA Jack McCoy.
Sitting in front of Agent Mulder's desk, feeling like a petitioner, folder of files in his hands, and he had no idea how to begin; except at the beginning.
"He disappeared about three months ago," Munch passed the folder over to Mulder. "Here are the initial reports, written by Claire Kincaid, and Adam Schiff…"
2/11/96
1 Hogan Place
Jack McCoy rubbed his forehead irritably. He could feel the migraine taking shape behind his right eye.
Shit…
Two murders and a kidnapping; he didn't have time for a migraine…
Still rubbing at his right eye, he felt a sense of futility.
In just a few hours, he would be curled up somewhere, whimpering in agony, heaving his guts out. Even the sumatriptan wasn't helping this time.
"Jack," Adam Schiff, standing just inside the door. "Aren't you heading home yet?"
"Not yet…"
At the rate his migraine was progressing, not at all…
He gritted his teeth as a spear of agony blossomed behind his right eye.
"Migraine?" Schiff had known about his migraines since the Seventies.
"Did you take your Sumatriptan?"
"Yeah…" McCoy's shoulders slumped. "It's not working…"
Adam regarded him.
"You're going to spend the night here," not a question.
"Safer than trying to ride a bike with a migraine," McCoy sighed.
Yeah…that would end well…
Schiff nodded.
"I'll be back," he disappeared into his own office.
McCoy rubbed his eyes again, and put the file he had been working on to one side.
Auras were beginning to pulse…
Damn…this is going to be a bad one…
"Lie down on the couch, Jack," Schiff had returned, a pillow and a light blanket in his arms.
"You're kidding," McCoy sat there at his desk. "You're really going to tuck me in for the night?"
"Shut up, Jack, and lie down," Schiff sighed.
Jack McCoy obeyed without argument, and that alone spoke volumes about how bad the migraine was turning out to be…
Schiff sighed again as he slipped the pillow under his friend's head, and draped the blanket over him, as gently as possible.
McCoy curled up on his side, and closed his eyes.
"My thanks, Adam…" he murmured.
Schiff patted his shoulder, looked around, seeking a trash can.
Ah…there…
He brought it over, placed it by McCoy's head, knowing he would need it.
"Try to sleep if you can, Jack."
Schiff turned all the lights in the office off and left, closing the office door quietly behind him.
Then, as he stood in the hall, blindingly brilliant light flared, inside jack McCoy's office, out in the hall too, and the world just came…to…a…halt.
"Adam?"
Schiff felt a hand on his shoulder, Claire Kincaid's voice. She was kneeling in front of him…
Kneeling?
Schiff frowned at that.
I'm on the floor…
He was sort of sitting against a nearby wall. With Claire's help, he hauled himself back up, alarm tingling along his nerves.
That light started in Jack's office…
"Jack…" he knocked lightly on the office door. "You okay in there?"
No response…
Schiff opened the door, looked inside. The couch was empty, pillow and blanket on the floor.
"Jack?"
Jack McCoy was gone, seemingly without a trace.
Schiff felt a chill when he looked at his watch.
Nine minutes…I've lost nine minutes…
4/16/96
Quantico
Fox Mulder finished reading the reports on the…Incident.
"They didn't find anything in EADA McCoy's office?" he asked.
"Nothing," Munch sat forward. "No fingerprints, no genetic material, no…nothing."
The detective sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Nobody knows…anything," he told Mulder. "Personally, I think Jack McCoy may be one of your Serial Multiple Abductees. I researched him, and he has a…history of disappearances at odd intervals, starting in the early Seventies. He looks like a classic victim of multiple abductions."
Mulder nodded at that.
"It's time the FBI got involved in investigating EADA McCoy's disappearance."
Munch felt relief course through his body.
"When do you think you'll arrive?" he asked.
"We should be in Manhattan by tomorrow, late morning or early afternoon," Agent Scully assured him.
Claire Kincaid tossed her apartment keys onto her kitchen table, and looked at her watch.
11:45 PM
The irony of Jack McCoy's absence on this date-5/16/96-wasn't lost on her.
The execution had been today, early in the morning.
If Jack had been here, he would have gone, to bear witness to Justice being enacted; and…being…Jack…he probably would have pressured Claire to go too.
She sighed.
Jack McCoy hadn't been there to go to the execution. And, Claire hadn't gone either. Instead, she had spent the day with Anita Van Buren, the Lieutenant's good, solid common sense attitude to the vicissitudes of life a profound blessing for Claire Kincaid.
She couldn't seem to find any kind of peace in Jack McCoy's office. With him not there, the place felt…empty.
They were pressing Adam Schiff to appoint a new EADA, and Claire knew she was probably the best candidate right now. But Adam was resisting, and Claire understood why.
Choosing a new EADA would mean having to accept that Jack McCoy is dead…
She couldn't bring herself to do that, and neither could Adam.
She flopped onto her sofa, tears blurring her vision.
Where are you, Jack? Are you still alive?
Three whole months…
Lennie Briscoe, a veteran cop, had tried to be as tactful as he could.
"A guy goes missing the way the Counselor did, goes missing for three months, there's generally only one way that ends."
"Don't say that!" Claire had actually yelled at him. "Until we find a body, a real, tangible body, he's alive. Got it, Detective Briscoe? Alive!"
Her phone rang, and she picked it up.
Might be news about Jack…
"Hello?"
"Miss Kincaid?" she didn't know the voice; couldn't even tell if it was male or female…
"Who is it?" Claire demanded.
"A friend," the voice said. "A present has been left for you on the Courthouse steps. You may want to go and pick it up."
The caller hung up, and Claire sat there, fear crawling up her spine. Shaking, she dialed a number.
"27th Precinct."
It was late, but maybe he was still in.
"Is Lennie Briscoe there? It's Claire Kincaid."
"Counselor?" Two minutes later, Lennie Briscoe's voice came over the line.
"I need your help, Lennie," Claire sighed.
Ten minutes later, Claire Kincaid was sharing a car with Detectives Briscoe and Logan, driving down to the Courthouse. Lennie parked the car. Claire got out.
"Careful, Counselor," Briscoe warned. "This doesn't exactly whiff as kosher…"
"What, exactly, are we looking for?" Logan grumbled.
Claire ignored him, glaring at the Courthouse, her breath misting in the chill air. It was very dark now, the streetlights not doing much to illuminate the area.
Then, she saw it.
It looked like a bundle of rags lying on the courthouse steps.
"Counselor!" she ignored Briscoe's warning, ran up to the bundle of rags. It was about the size of a man…
Shaped like a man too, clad in thin tee and trousers, curled up on its side, dark hair shaggy, with three months growth of beard.
Jack McCoy…
Claire knelt by him, laid her head to his chest.
"Mike!" she heard Lennie. "Call for a bus!"
Jack was scarcely breathing. Claire shrugged out of her heavy overcoat, wrapped McCoy up in it, and held him tightly. He lay limp in her arms, body a dead weight.
4/17/96
4 AM
Adam Schiff jerked awake to the sound of a ringing phone. He had been sleeping on his late wife's side of the bed, his way of dealing with her passing…
Irritated, he picked up the phone.
"Who the hell is calling at this time of the night?" he growled.
Claire Kincaid, voice broken, babbling, and the only thing Schiff understood was that Jack McCoy had been found.
Jack McCoy…
Found…
"I'm coming…"
Adam Schiff trudged wearily into Bellevue, gave his name to the Receptionist. She guided him to the ICU.
He wasn't prepared for the sight…
Jack McCoy, lying there, utterly still, hawk features hidden by tubes and tape…
There was the sighing sound of a mechanical ventilator, and the beeping of a heart monitor, and it was his wife all over again…
Schiff felt a chair being placed behind him, collapsed onto it.
Oh…Jack…
They had even taped McCoy's eyes closed…
He laid trembling fingers on Jack McCoy's forehead, the sound of the ventilator dominating everything.
Please…
Don't do this to me again…