Disclaimer: NBC and Wolf Films own them.
Ed Green got out of the car in front of the courthouse, his pulse still skittering. He slammed the car door; it felt good to shove it that way, as hard as he could. It wasn't his car, and if the city had to fix it he wouldn't lose any sleep. He ignored the snort of concern coming from Joe's direction, just off the front grille. Ignoring the other man's comments since they had received the call had not been as easy, the running monologue about how Leland Barnes deserved to be gunned down in cold blood by his own son and how his other son was, thank the lord, too pathetic to have had another accomplice so the case could finally be closed may they all rot in hell, and damned tough for McCoy to have faced a discharging weapon for probably the first time in his cushy lawyer's life.... Ed quickly started up the long, wide marble steps toward the scene at the top, his glance landing where it belonged: Jack McCoy was sitting, his elbows on his knees, arms relaxed and hanging, hands clasped, head bowed. His heart took a few extra thuds; his attention stayed focused firmly on him, willing Jack to lift his head. He didn't.
It was when he was within five steps that the other man finally looked up. Even from a distance Ed could see a difference in those deep, dark eyes, and it wasn't a good difference. There was no relief, no closure, no shimmer of peace and tranquility. There was a hollow quality that Ed had never seen before, and it made his blood surge. He nodded at Jack; the other man did not acknowledge the signal, but held the eye lock. Directly in front of him now, Ed finally noticed Borgia sitting nearby. He told her Joe would take her statement; he told Jack he would take his in one minute. Jack blinked.
Ed scanned the crowd around them, eventually finding the two men he had been wanting to punch out for the past ten minutes.
"Hey, Cook, Brantley--" he called out, taking the final steps in long, fast strides. Detectives Brantley and Cook turned around as Ed reached them. "Where were you?! You were supposed to be in front of him, not bringing up the damn rear!"
"Don't give us that crap," Cook said, pointing in Jack's general direction, "McCoy told us you and Fontana had collared the guy, and that he was sittin' in the House--"
"We stayed with 'im, Ed," Brantley interrupted in a smoother tone. "Van Buren hadn't pulled--"
"So where the fuck were you?!" Ed shoved hands on his hips.
Neither man answered for a long moment. Brantley finally said, "Dave here had to take a piss, so while McCoy was in court, he left for the john. I stayed outside the courtroom, but then some guy started asking me directions and when I turned around, I saw McCoy at the top of the stairs, heading for the front door. I called Dave; we followed."
Ed stared daggers at each of them, but couldn't formulate an adequate response. He could see Jack doing exactly what they said, but he would still give a scathing report to Lieu. So much for his efforts to get Jack the best detail the two-seven could provide. He stabbed his finger in their faces, in turn, saying in a low, harsh voice, "He could'a been dead by the time you got out here." He turned on his heels and stalked back to where Jack was sitting. "Asshats," he muttered.
Joe was perched next to Borgia, listening to her description of the shooting. Jack was staring off toward the park across the street, or the bridge beyond, or the sky, or nothing; Ed couldn't tell. When he sank down onto the step next to him, Jack turned his head, and with only two feet between them the void of emotion was even clearer, even harder to look at. Ed's chest ached to see it.
"So," he said, "I need to know what happened, in your own words." He clenched his hands to keep them to himself.
Jack swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice was raspy and quiet. "I was outside when Barnes exited, and I asked him how it felt to have gotten away with what he did. He -- threatened -- my life. Directly. Told me I should have been -- at the top of the list. Said it low, don't know if the reporters heard him."
Ed's gut reacted by plunging to his shoes. "How about anyone else with you, who could have heard it?"
"He got the judge to rule in his favor, just before that. He was gloating. Letting me know I couldn't do anything. Couldn't stop him."
"Jack," Ed said quietly, "who else was near you? Borgia?"
"I tried everything I could think of. Told the judge he was condoning the murder of witnesses. He didn't care. Told me I hadn't given him anything. Nothing. And I had. Gave it all to him. They should have taken Leland Barnes away in cuffs, and instead he walked out of there ROR. Then the shooting started. And...." He stared at Ed for a long beat, then directed his attention to hands still clasped between his legs.
Ed glanced down. Jack's hands were quivering. Ed's stomach turned completely over. Enough was enough. Whether or not the decision was born from need and anger and emotions he couldn't afford to be dealing with on the courthouse steps with fifty people surrounding them, he didn't care. He grabbed Jack's biceps, dragging him to his feet, and when he was sure Jack was steady with his support, he demanded the car keys from Joe, telling his partner he was taking McCoy home. Joe tossed over the keys. Jack was saying nothing. After picking up his briefcase, and with a firm grip on his elbow, Ed walked them as quickly as possible down the marble steps, ignoring everyone and everything around them. He put Jack in the front seat, tossed the briefcase in the back, and drove them toward the hotel, applying most of his concentration toward navigation while watching Jack out of the corner of his eye. The man stared straight ahead during the entire drive.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Episode Addition to Criminal Law, Season 16.
Author's Note: Deepest thanks to my betas, jessebee and tiredcat, and to Lynn for her feedback and assistance.
Copyright December 2005, Cassatt
When Ed punched the button for the fourteenth floor, Jack looked at him, one eyebrow barely lifting.
"What?" Ed said. "You think I wouldn't have any idea where you've been staying? I drove us here, or did you miss that?"
Jack returned to his study of the elevator doors.
The car stopped; as they walked out and down the hallway, Ed fished around the inside pocket of Jack's briefcase for the room key card, finding it nestled next to the ring which held keys to two apartments. Next to that was the other ring that Jack was never without, holding keys to one auto, one beloved motorcycle, and a medallion etched with the Chicago skyline, its painted details long worn off. Ed carded the door, pushing it open to the familiar smell of all hotel rooms: vaguely sweet from daily cleaning and whatever they used to industrially wash the sheets. Nothing that a person ever smelled anywhere else. The drapes were closed, leaving the room dark and murky. Ed flipped the light switches next to him, near the door.
He motioned Jack to stay by shoving the briefcase in his arms, pulled out his weapon and checked behind the shower curtain; even if there was absolutely no reason to believe anyone would be waiting, he didn't think twice about the urge to do it. When he walked back toward the entryway, Jack was looking at him with still-blank eyes, but he could see the man's heavy breathing as his tie moved steadily up and down.
"Come on," Ed said, taking his hand and leading him to the wet bar. Jack's fingers were icy, more so than Ed had ever felt them, even on a wintry day after a long walk home from dinner at their favorite restaurant. He grabbed the refrigerator's door, but Jack stopped him.
"Too expensive," Jack said in a deep, gravely voice, the first words he'd spoken since the courthouse.
"Too bad," Ed said harshly, opening the refrigerator and digging through the small bottles, pulling out some J&B, opening it and putting it in Jack's grip. "Drink it." Jack looked at the bottle. "I know, it's cold, and it's not your favorite. Drink it. All of it." Jack took a long sip. Ed led him to the edge of the bed and pushed him to sit. He did, and drank more.
Ed took a deep breath and thought about having a drink himself. His stomach was in knots, but when he tried to relax it, a drift of nausea threatened. He ignored it, but nixed the alcohol. He pulled off his overcoat and tossed it on a nearby chair, went to the closet and found Jack's soft-sided suitcase which he unzipped and put on top of the dresser. Jack had taken off his coat; it was draped on top of Ed's. He was finishing up the scotch. There was color in his cheeks again, and at least he was moving of his own accord, which Ed took as a positive sign. He opened a drawer, looking for things to pack so they could get out of there.
"I can do that," Jack said, suddenly at his side.
"I'll take care of it, you have another drink," Ed said with force.
"That's not necessary--"
"I'll take care of it! You need to just sit--"
"Don't tell me what to do, and especially don't treat me like a child." Jack yanked on his tie to loosen it, and undid the shirt's top button.
Ed turned to him. "Oh, 'cause you're so great at takin' care of yourself!"
"What the hell does that mean?!"
Ed pointed at him. "Why the fuck did you walk out of the courthouse without your detail?! What were you thinking?!"
Jack mirrored Ed, pointing with his thumb in a tight fist. "You had Harlan in custody! I had no reason to think that he'd be back on the streets--"
"Jack--" Ed heaved a harsh sigh. "--we only just found out that he didn't have any other accomplice when we got the call about the shooting!"
Jack took a step back and opened a different drawer, pulling out underwear and socks and throwing them onto the dresser. There was a high flush in his cheeks; his chest was heaving.
Ed said, picking up a few pairs of socks and dumping them in the bag, "You -- should -- have -- waited--"
"I made the decision--"
"Yeah, well it was a wrong one! We didn't know shit about this guy--"
"No kidding," Jack said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And speaking of which, why didn't you and Fontana know that his brother had a gun, much less that he was so damned close to the edge?!" He grabbed underwear and threw it next to the socks. "Some detectives--"
Ed stabbed his finger at Jack again. "Don't you even go there-- Besides, you were the one who was supposed to stay in police protection until WE said otherwise!"
"Yeah, great protection!" Jack said, glaring. He slammed the drawer shut and opened another one, not meeting Ed's eyes. "They could've cared less about what happened to me! And where the hell were you all this time?! Nowhere around!"
"Lieu and I handpicked 'em! They're good cops and if they'd'a been there they would've taken a bullet for you, and as far as where I was -- aside from working pretty much straight through the past five days, whatever few hours of sleep I was supposed to get were spent in a fuckin' car outside on the street watching the building and your fuckin' window!! Why do you think I knew which fuckin' room you were in?!" Ed spun around and stomped to said windows simply to move, his heart pounding so hard he thought his head might explode. He heard Jack mutter something, but didn't catch it. He stomped back. "And what's your point?! Where the hell was I?! What was I supposed to do?! Be in two places at once?! Why the hell didn't you call me, at least just for a report or somethin'?! I was so sick of Borgia's voice every time my phone rang I was about to toss it out the car window--"
"Ed, how was I supposed to call you when I had cops around me twenty-four seven?!" Jack shoved a fistful of tee shirts into the bag and slammed another drawer shut. "You think I'd just want some report from you?! And phones work two ways--"
"Yeah, that's right! They do! But you refuse to get a damned cell phone--"
"What has that got to do with it?!"
"I coulda called you in court! Told you to make sure you followed procedures since you obviously needed someone to tell you that!"
"That's uncalled for--"
"Is it?!" Ed shoved hands on his hips. "You could've been killed today, damn it!!"
Jack's face lost all color. "Don't you think I know that?!!"
Ed's heart stopped beating for a long, horrific moment, exactly like the moment the call came in, an hour and a half before. Like the moment he saw the hit list, five days before. His throat closed so fast it hurt; he took a step and pulled Jack into a tight, full body clinch, feeling the pounding in the other man's chest that matched his own, strong arms clutching him, soft, familiar hair against the side of his head. Jack started kissing his neck, lips moving swiftly across his cheek until their mouths met and merged, hard, and instantly deep. They were kissing fiercely, as if drowning and needing each other's air to exist. Long sweeps of tongue, clicking of teeth, hot and furious their kisses continued until Ed thought he would collapse to his knees right there on the carpet.
He was still holding Jack so tightly yet it wasn't close enough; he was overcome by a longing so strong, blood dropped from his brain in a rush. Jack had managed to slide one hand under Ed's jacket and was tugging on the back of his shirt, trying to jerk it out of his pants. Ed tore himself away from Jack's searing mouth and pulled off his suit jacket, dropping it while staring into hot, hot eyes. He yanked off his tie, unbuttoning his shirt with fingers that were surprisingly nimble, spurring Jack into action as he rapidly mirrored Ed's every move. Shirts had barely landed by their feet when they grabbed each other again, with more devouring kisses and the almost too intense sensation of skin on skin that Ed hadn't felt for way too many nights.
Jack was pulling their hips together with slow thrusts, their combined heat and hardness making the friction from the rest of their clothing unbearable. Ed let go and went for Jack's belt and zipper while Jack toed off his shoes, and within a minute had the man stepping free, tugging off socks, finally naked. Ed followed suit, while Jack threw off the hotel's bedspread and covers. He watched Jack's lithe, aroused body move smoothly, quickly, with the grace that had attracted Ed three years before. Ed wanted. Now. But he hesitated, his brain intruding, thinking about shock, and recovery from shock; he stretched out on his side on the cool, white sheets and held out his hand. Jack dove on him, taking Ed's outstretched hand and pushing it into the pillow near Ed's head, Jack's irises now dark with lust, pink skin available everywhere for Ed's free hand to touch, and knead, and caress. Momentarily, there was nothing between them but air, and when Jack sank completely into Ed, there was nothing but beads of sweat, burning hardness, and panting breaths which were swallowed down each other's throat as the deep kisses began again in earnest.
Ed quickly rolled them, writhing with Jack who was immediately all around him; his arms and hands held tight, then stroked long, fierce strokes up and down Ed's back and ass; his legs wrapped around Ed's calves, then thighs, then hips, only to start over again. They were moving with force, erections squeezed between their slick, wet bellies, shooting electricity right through Ed's bloodstream. Right through his heart. Their hips were thrusting with more and more intention, leaving Ed nearly beyond thought about what to do, or how incredible Jack felt under him, or how much he had missed the taste of him, or how much Ed wanted to remind him, remind them, that they were better together than apart, or how much he loved him. The silent scream that had been in his head for days was now a lust filled, incoherent babble.
Jack's mouth was firmly attaching itself to the side of Ed's neck; Ed was about to pull back and roll Jack one more time, to his stomach, when the man suddenly stopped, shaking his head, staring into Ed. He followed Jack's lead, taking his mouth, right there, with his lips, and tongue, the intensity of their kisses and thrusts increasing each time, until Ed knew the spiral of their desire was dragging them up and up and up and there was no way to stop it. They got harder, and harder, and slicker and slicker, hotter and hotter, until the tingle in his balls spread, shooting upward with the final thrusts as he spurt hot streams into the millimeters of air between them, his climax ripping through him, body and soul. His arms gave out just as Jack came with a guttural sound, clutching Ed to him tightly, so tightly, the two of them shaking together with aftershocks, and terror, and love.
When Ed found feeling in his feet and hands again, Jack was rubbing his back and stroking the arm Ed had left draped across Jack's chest. He was pressed up against Jack's left side, almost turned on a hip. His face was tucked against the side of Jack's neck; he took a deep breath to deliberately inhale the man's scent, because it was better on this skin than in the bottle on Ed's bathroom counter. He cupped Jack's face without moving from where he was; he needed to feel him, to run his thumb in and out of the soft grooves that were his to touch. He hit a wet patch. He lifted his head. There were damp lines running from Jack's shut eyes to the pillow. Ed wiped off the furthest one; Jack looked at him.
"You okay?" Ed said, his voice more rumble than light.
"Yeah," Jack said.
"You cried." He slowly wiped off the nearest line.
"I don't cry." Jack closed his eyes again.
Ed didn't mention the times he had seen the man brought to tears: the few movies that seemed to reach deep inside; a heartfelt card from his daughter; or the things Abbie had told him about the time, earlier that year, when Ed was in the hospital. What he himself had seen. Ed kept it to himself, knowing that the deception lessened neither of them, but, when allowed, was one of their strengths. They each knew when to hold their tongue for the other's sake. He kissed Jack on the forehead.
Jack turned slightly to face him. "You were out there, in your car, during the nights?"
Ed sighed. "Yeah. I needed to be here, and I wanted to make sure there was nothing suspicious goin' on. I just -- needed to be here."
"Ed," Jack said, and paused, caressing Ed's chest with the backs of his fingers. "I know you did whatever you could. To protect me. I know that." He cleared his throat; his hand stilled. "I think I needed you to be right here, too. I wanted to see you sitting in that chair, not Detective Brantley."
Something in Ed's chest constricted. He breathed deeply, hoping it would loosen. It didn't. "I missed you."
Jack fingered the scar above Ed's left nipple. "Me, too." There was another long pause; Ed was about to fill it when Jack spoke. "I came to the two-seven today; Van Buren called about Harlan. I had the strangest experience while watching you in the IR -- was like we had jumped back a few years and you were the cute guy working with Briscoe and not... Ed. Was only there for a minute. I didn't like it."
"Glad I didn't know you were out there at the time." Ed moved one leg to rest on Jack's.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I would've left Joe sittin' there, pushed you against the wall, kissed the hell out of you for a minute or two, then walked back in and beat the truth out of that asshole." He smiled for effect.
Jack chuckled softly. "Enhance your rep as 'the intense one' at least."
"People are forgetting," he teased gently, "now I'm 'the cool one.'"
"Still the cute one, though."
Ed's stomach relaxed to see a smile lighting up Jack's eyes. He kissed him; Jack responded with a flare of heat, holding the back of Ed's head and pulling them more tightly together. Renewed arousal hit his bloodstream with a jolt. A phone rang from somewhere over the side of the bed. Jack let him go, and he half crawled, half stretched until he reached the pile of clothing, finding his jacket pocket and flipping open the phone.
"Yeah, Green." He returned to Jack's side.
"Hey," Joe said, "where the hell are you?"
Jack had pulled over a box of Kleenex and was wiping up what he could of the mostly-dried mess on their stomachs. "I'm still with McCoy. What's up?"
"What's up? Besides tons of paperwork and the fact that I wanna have a real dinner tonight and maybe put my feet up an' watch a Bulls' game?" Joe made an unintelligible noise.
"Sorry," Ed said, though he honestly wasn't. "But McCoy wanted me to stick around." He met Jack's eyes. "He needed me." Jack leaned up and kissed his shoulder. "I'll be in early tomorrow. Save the reports 'til then."
"What about Van Buren? You want I should give her a message?"
Ed told him what he knew to be true, that his Lieutenant would be cool about him taking the rest of the late afternoon off, and even though his partner didn't know it, she would understand why he was where he was, and forgive him any potential trespass. Joe growled a bit more but finally hung up. Ed tossed the phone on the foot of the bed. He thought they ought to get the clothes off the floor before wrinkles would be impossible to shake out.
"So," Jack said. Ed looked at him. "Let's get out of this damned room. Go out to a nice, expensive dinner. I think we deserve it." His voice had dropped by the end, and his eyebrows had lifted in the center, barely enough to notice if you weren't looking closely. Ed was.
Ed gently cupped his face. "Sounds great," he said slowly, "and you're right, we do."
"Ed-- I was--"
Ed waited, seeing a wisp of fear move across Jack's eyes, and forehead, and mouth. It hit him in the gut; it made his heart pound. He kept a fist from forming by carding fingers through salt and pepper chest hairs.
Jack bit his bottom lip. "I was scared to death."
"So was I, Jack," Ed said without hesitation.
Jack tugged on his arm and Ed went with it, carefully draping himself across Jack, over one leg, his heart swelling as he was held closely, tucking his face back into the crook of Jack's neck. The other man sighed long and quiet, and if this is what it took to make Jack feel safe, and loved, and protected, Ed would not move. He would stay in that room forever if Jack would let him, but for right then: the next five, or ten, or twenty minutes he would be the barrier between his lover and the world, if that was what the man needed. Anything, for as long as necessary. After dinner they would go back to Jack's apartment, and climb under familiar covers, with smooth, comfortable sheets, and the right kind of light, and sleep as closely as they could, and wake up to the routine that was their life together. The silent scream that had filled Ed's head for days was now a soft, profound murmur of gratitude.
End.
Another Author's Note: There are a few minor timeline factoids that were either changed or completely ignored, due to them not entirely making sense in the episode itself. My apologies to the writer(s) working for Mr. Wolf (as if they will ever see this ;-) ).
Return to the index of stories
Feedback? Email me at cassatt2222 -AT- earthlink -DOT- net