Title/Author: "Between the Bars: McCoy" by n.s.

Rating: T (minor language, some suggestive scenes)

Summary: A not-canon-but-not-not-canon take on Jack McCoy and Claire Kincaid's relationship through seasons 5-6; in the same universe as "Between the Bars: Logan," so implied Mike Logan/Claire also.

Disclaimer:I don't own any of these characters. This story is brought to you by 20-year-old repeats of Law & Order that happen to coincide with my daughter's nap time.

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She opened the door halfway, and stood between it and the frame. Her hair was mussed, and her cheeks were flushed pink with fresh sleep and a fresh scrub.

"I thought you weren't very good company tonight," she said quietly, looking up at him from under her eyelashes.

"Still not," Jack assured her, resting his hand on the outside frame of the doorway. "But I'm in need of some."

She chewed on the inside of her mouth for a moment before stepping back and opening the door.

"I think I have some scotch."

"Poison of choice by the Bar Association," Jack said a moment later, when she shut the door behind him, "and the Police Union."

She frowned slightly at him, but ignored the remark.

As she poured the drinks in the kitchen, he remained standing, drinking in the new smells of her apartment. It was tidy and warm, uncluttered. He smelled her perfume, which he was already well familiarized with, but also her soap, from the heat of a recent shower that was still receding into the open bathroom.

She handed him the drink, and didn't take her hand away even after his wrapped below it on the glass.

"I'm sorry. It's a shit situation," she said simply, sliding her hand away slowly so her fingers brushed his. He felt the contact jolt all the way to the pit of his stomach.

"It's…life." He offered, as he lowered himself onto the couch.

She sat across from him, curling her legs under her comfortably, as if it wasn't the first time her boss was here, in her apartment, drinking scotch just shy of midnight.

Her toes poked out, a shimmery red color he never imagined would be hiding under her sensible heels.

"I'll drink to that," she said, taking a shallow sip before saying, "but you're not drinking."

"Sorry. Wasn't paying attention."

"Distracted?" She asked, twirling a damp wavy lock just below her chin.

Damn it.

"Completely," he admitted, his hand reaching out as if on its own to touch the same lock of hair. "You're wearing it wavy, more."

"I just thought…to hell with that professor."

"That, I'll drink to."

Instead of sipping his scotch, he kissed her mouth.