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Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Highwire - Part 3

"Hello?" said Jack into the receiver when he picked it up after several rings.

"Hi," she sighed into the phone.

"Morning, sleepy."

"You left."

"You were asleep."

"Did you put me in bed?" she asked.

"Mmmhmm," he responded.

"Did we...?" her voice trailed off.

"Claire," he began, in a mock offended tone, "If we had, I would have expected you to remember it."

She laughed heartily, and he smiled into the receiver at the sound. "Just checking," she told him.

"Free for dinner tonight?" he asked.

"Oh, Jack, actually,...I'm not," she said, and he could hear the disappointment in her voice. "I'm supposed to be spending the day with my mother and step-father."

"Well, how about dinner tomorrow, or lunch?"

"Strike two, Counsellor. Tomorrow is my monthly day-with-the-girls. We've been doing it one Sunday each month for years. It's a tradition."

"Well, then, I guess I'll see you Monday," he told her, sounding a tad irritated.

"Jack," she said, "don't be mad. If I had known this was going to happen....us...I mean....I wouldn't have made all these plans."

"Claire, I'm fine with it," he said, "and I'm not angry. I just want to see you. But, I guess I'll have to settle for your voice on the phone... Great voice, by the way. If the DA thing doesn't work out, you could have a brilliant career as a phone-sex operator."

"Oh, jeeze, thanks! Ya think?" she snorted.

"I'm serious!" he told her, but she could tell he was joking.

There was a lull in their conversation, which Jack broke, by asking, "What're you doing right now?"

"Laying in bed," she replied.

"Mmmmmmm," he sighed, "Can I come over?"

She laughed. "Mmm, what for?" she asked, knowing full well what for.

"So I can wax your car, Kincaid," he said facetiously.

"Sounds good. Unfortunately, it's in the shop, remember? I can't pick it up until Monday morning before work."

"Haven't you got anything else that could use a man's attention?"

"I'm sure I can think of a few things," she told him, imitating his tone.



*****

Monday morning was somewhat awkward for the both of them. Coincidentally, they arrived at the same time, and seeing Jack on his motorcycle, Claire pulled into the space next to the one he usually used. He pulled in next to her, removed his helmet, and getting off, began locking up his bike. She walked around her car to him, smiling.

"Morning," he said, standing up straight.

"Hi," she replied. He moved closer to her, and she thought he was about to kiss her. In fact, that's exactly what he was going to do, but, looking around, he noticed that the garage was buzzing with folk arriving to work, and thought better of it.

"C'mon," he said, putting his hand on her back, guiding her toward the elevator. "Let's get to work."

"You don't suppose the jury will come in on Talbert, today, do you?" she queried as they walked to the elevator.

"Probably not. For lack of anything better to do this weekend," he began, winking at her, "I spent a good deal of time thinking about what Adam said, about our asking the jury to create a crime behind the legislature's back. And about the likelihood of the men on the jury having coveted their own female co-workers."

"Like you?" she interrupted mischievously, eyes alight as she tried to stifle a grin.

"Yeah, like me," he laughed. Then, sobering, "I hate to admit it, but Adam is probably right. We both know that the law is to be narrowly construed...and we're asking the jury to expand the larceny by extortion statute greatly. I'm hoping they were too impressed by Sarah Maslin's testimony to notice..."

"I hope, for Sarah's sake, they find him guilty. This trial has put her through a hell of a ringer, and I feel responsible. I am the one who talked her into this. "Claire, it won't be your fault if the jury finds Talbert not guilty. Besides, my threatening to charge her with conspiracy contributed to her decision to go along with this, I'm sure."

The elevator opened, and they got in. It was empty, but for them, and so he reached down and took one of her hands in his, stroking the top of it with the tip of his thumb. They went up one level, and the elevator stopped. She squeezed his hand, and they smiled at each other, letting their hands fall back to their sides as the elevator door opened. The car filled, and Jack and Claire moved to the back. They stood side by side, arms touching, keeping silent for the remainder of the ascent to the 8th floor.

They walked down the hall, toward Jack's office and Claire's cubicle. When they arrived at her cubby, Chet Williams was waiting for her. He'd only been with the DA's office for a little more than half a year, but had proven himself to be excellent at interviewing witnesses, and even better at doing research. He had spent his first two years out of NYU law school clerking for the same Court of Appeals where Claire had clerked prior to joining the ranks of Adam Schiff's ADAs. He had dedication, drive, and ambition, and unlike many of the younger crop of ADAs, Claire got the impression he had decided to make the ADA job his career, as Jack McCoy had done: as Ben Stone had done before his pushing a witness to testify against a Mafia family had led to the woman's death, and his subsequent resignation.

"Mr. McCoy, Ms. Kincaid," acknowledged Chet in greeting.

"'Morning, Chet," said Jack, "Have a nice weekend?"

"Great!" replied Chet enthusiastically, obviously thrilled to be having a quasi-personal exchange with the EADA. "Yours?"

Jack glanced quickly at Claire. "It could have been better," he said amiably.

Claire's cheeks coloured slightly, but Chet was too caught up in the fact that he was conversing with the most powerful person in the DA's office (excepting, of course, Adam) to notice.

To Claire, Jack said, "I'd like to work on Koppel sometime today. Check in with me when you're done with Chet, and we'll figure out when our schedules will permit the meeting."

"Okay," said Claire.

Jack continued down the hall to his own office, and Claire, removing her coat, sat down at her desk.

"What've you got for me?" she asked Chet.

"Well, Ms. Kincaid," he began.

"C'mon, Chet. . .it's Claire, okay?"

"Sure, Ms. . . .Claire."

"That's better," she smiled, "Well?"

"I spoke to Richard Parker this morning. He's anxious about the discovery items, and wants to know when his experts are going to be able to run their own DNA tests on the knife, and blood and semen samples."

"Well, we have a slight problem, there, Chet," she told him. "The blood and semen samples are small, too small, in fact, to support two independent tests. Parker know this. I explained the situation to him after the arraignment. Our forensic experts have offered to conduct a joint test with his team, but that's all we can do, unless he's willing to accept replicated DNA for them to test."

"So what should I tell him?" queried Chet.

"Don't worry about that," she told him, "I'll deal with Parker and the DNA samples...Today I'd like for you to begin interviewing the rape victims. You've gone over the statements they made to the police, haven't you?"

He nodded.

"Good," she said. "There are 15 of them, so the interviewing should take you some time. How's your calendar this week?"

"I've got arraignments until noon tomorrow through Thursday. Can't get out of those," he replied. "And I'm working on cases with several of the senior ADAs, but I don't see why I couldn't get 'em all interviewed by, say, the end of the day Friday. Will that suffice?"

"That'll be fine."

"Claire?" Chet asked, getting up, "Mind if I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"How do you feel about plea-bargaining?"

"That's a difficult question, Chet," she began. "I dislike the idea in theory: I think criminals should serve the max for their crimes. But that would mean that every case would go to trial, which is a logistical impossibility: we have neither the money nor the resources for that, and time is also a factor. Our judges' rosters are already filled to near capacity as it is. In that sense, pleas are a quick, cheap, and antiseptic way of keeping the system going.

"Also, trials are never a guaranteed win, and if our case is weak, then plea-bargaining is an effective method of getting the criminal off the street. A reduced sentence is better than no jail time at all."

"And Gordon?" he asked.

"I refuse to plead Gordon out," she replied emphatically. "Although, if he'd willingly plead guilty to the murder and rape of the dead victim, and serve the max, I might consider dropping the other charges."

Claire's phone rang, and she picked it up, "Kincaid."

"Ms. Kincaid?" asked the voice, "Richard Parker, here."

"Hello, Mr. Parker," she said, winking at Chet, "What can I do for you?"

"My client and I would like to meet with you today, if your schedule permits?"

Claire opened her appointment book, "I'm free at 11 this morning, or at 3 this afternoon. Up to you."

"This morning will be fine."

"Okay, I'll see you then."

"What did he say?" asked Chet.

"We're meeting him and Gordon at Riker's at 11. I assume he wants to talk deal."

"Screw 'em," said Chet.

*****

At 11 am, Claire and Chet were seated at a table in one of the attorney-client meeting room at Riker's Island Correctional Facility. After a few moments, the door opened, and in walked Richard Parker, grinning, followed by a shackled and grey jump-suited Alex Gordon, flanked on either side by an armed guard.

When they had shut the door behind them, one of the guards removed the wrist shackles, and Gordon was seated at the table, opposite Claire. He looked at her lasciviously, his face an amalgamation of admiration, superiority, and loathing. She was no stranger to men looking at her with lust in their eyes, and in some cases even welcomed it. But in this instance, when confronted with that look combined with obvious hatred and disgust for her as a representative female, on the face of a vicious brutaliser of women, she could do naught but shudder, and attempt to keep the fear from her eyes.

"My client," began Parker, "asked me to call this meeting in order to inform you that he is willing to plead guilty to assaulting an officer, and resisting arrest. In return, you agree to drop the rape and murder charges without prejudice."

"Is that it?" asked Claire derisively, glaring at Gordon, who shot her look of hatred.

"No," smiled Parker, as if to say 'touché', "You also agree to a reduced sentence."

"You have got to be kidding," snorted Chet derisively, "With the case we have against him?"

"No eye-witnesses to any of the alleged rapes or abductions..."

"We have the Fibers from his gloves found on the neck of the dead woman," countered Chet, "and the voice identifications."

"You have Fibers CONSISTENT with the Fibers of my client's gloves," replied Parker, "And I can easily poke holes in your voice ids."

"We have the DNA," said Claire. "The preliminary tests have already shown your client to be a match."

"Ahhhh, yes," Parker sighed, "The elusive DNA samples. We are still waiting for our portion of the samples taken from the victims."

"As I have explained," began Claire, "The samples are too small to support two separate sets of tests. If we give you even 10% of what we've got, my lab informs me that neither test will be able to draw conclusive results."

"As you know, Ms. Kincaid, my client has the right to examine any and all evidence against him before trial."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Parker," stated Claire, "But the only thing I can offer is a joint test conducted by our individual labs. Or, if you would prefer, I would be perfectly willing to locate and utilise an independent and un-biased forensics facility to conduct the tests for us."

"Why don't you just turn over all of the DNA evidence to my lab and allow my experts to conduct all the tests?" suggested Parker.

"So you can obscure the test results?" asked Chet. "Or so you can have some sort of 'accident' with the samples, so that they will be un-useable? We all know that if the ests prove he's a match, our side will never see those resultsl"

"You're so sure those tests will prove my client's guilt?"

Claire glanced from Gordon to Parker, focusing her intent on the latter

"I have never been so sure of a defendant's guilt," she said, as Gordon's eyes lowered into slits of rage. "He's guilty as sin. You know it, we know it, and your client knows it."

She turned her head once more to Gordon and asked, "Don't you, Mr. Gordon?"

"Fucking cunt!" he seethed, and before anyone could stop him, he had lunged across the table at Claire, his hands stretching toward her throat, overturning his chair in the process.

Claire bolted from her seat, knocking her chair over, as well, and backed quickly toward the wall.

Chaos ensued as Chet, Parker, and the security guards scrambled quickly to Gordon, who was full of the anger of a man who had spent his life victimising women and now perceived that HE was being persecuted by a woman. He possessed a super-human strength, and despite Gordon's ankle shackles, the four large men were hard-put to bring him down.

One of the guards pulled pepper-spray from his belt and sprayed it in Gordon's face, allowing the other three men to finally wrestle him to the ground.

Claire could hear the blood pounding in her ears, and her heart was thumping so fast she was sure it would burst from her chest at any moment. She was breathing heavily, her mind wild with fear. She knew she was never in any real danger, but until this instant she had never had a defendant attempt to harm her in any way. She felt out of control, and that was not a state of mind she enjoyed, except when Jack kissed her.

The guards dragged Gordon, hand-cuffed again, from the room, muttering empty threats towards Claire.

Both Chet and Richard Parker turned their attentions to Claire.

"My God! Ms. Kincaid, I'm sorry! I had no idea my client was so easily provoked!"

"Claire, Jesus, are you okay?" asked Chet, putting his arm around her shoulder for....he didn't know what for....Comfort? Reassurance? Safety? Maybe all three.

"I....I'll be fine," she stated shakily, voice wavering a little as she struggled to regain her so-valued composure.

"You still think your client is innocent, Mr. Parker?" asked Chet spitefully, taking his frustration with Gordon out on his attorney.

Parker turned to business again. "I'll let you know what I decide about the DNA by the end of the day."

He turned and left the room, leaving Claire still trying to calm herself, and Chet attempting anything he could think of to comfort her.

*****

Upon hearing of the events of that morning, Adam made an executive decision and ordered Claire from the building for the rest of the day.

"Adam, please," she pleaded, "I have so much to do today. I'll be fine. I'm supposed to meet with Jack later about the Koppel case."

"Jack can do without you for the day, Claire." Adam told her. "And I don't want to argue about it anymore. You're taking the rest of the day off."

"But Adam..."

"Do you want me to have you forcibly removed from the building, young lady? Or will you go of your own accord? "

"I'll go."

"Good," he nodded. "I'll see you in the morning."


*****

Claire returned to her office, to gather her things for her forced absence. She was angry with Adam for doing this to her at time when she had several high-profile cases pending: the Gordon case was still under investigation, the Koppel case just about to go to trial, and the jury was still out on the Maslin/Talbert case.

Jack was not in his office, and she considered leaving him a note, or a voice-mail, but decided against both. She would call him when she got home.

She literally ran into him at the elevator: he was coming out, she going in. He grabbed her and pulled her into the elevator, which was empty. He took her face in his hands, and began to look her over, a worried expression on his face.

"Jesus Claire, are you alright?" he asked, a hint of panic in his voice. "I ran into Chet downstairs in the lobby; he told me what happened. You're not hurt are you?"

"No! Jack, I'm fine," she said, her voice terse (she was still irked at Adam). "I've been banished from the building for the rest of the day. Helluva way to start the week, eh?"

She knew Jack would understand her feelings of anger at having been sent home when they were so busy, and looked to him for reassurance.

It didn't come.

"Adam's right," he declared, and she glared at him, feeling a little betrayed that he, of all people, had not understood her anger, and hurt that he was not on her side.

"You don't need to be here now," he continued. "You need some time to deal with what happened to you today. You've never been in a situation like that before, and it's unsettling.

She turned away from him, facing the door of the elevator, silent.

By this time, the elevator had reached the parking garage. They got out, and headed to her car. When they reached it, Jack turned to her and said, "Look, Claire, go home. Pour yourself a glass of scotch, take a long hot bath, and just relax. The office is not going to fall apart without you for an afternoon."

She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"I'll come by later to check on you, okay?" he asked, a little hopefully.

"Yeah, okay....sure." she replied.

*****

Claire didn't go straight home. She drove around for a while, her anger receding. It was replaced by the memory of the sense of fear she had felt as she watched Gordon lunge across the table at her, hands stretched toward her throat, a look of pure, unadulterated hatred in his eyes. She suddenly felt chilled, and began to shake slightly.

It was 4:00 in the afternoon when she finally made it home. She walked in her door, placed her attaché case on the floor, hung up her coat, and kicked off her shoes.

She walked to a little table containing several bottles of liquor that sat by her fireplace, and did as Jack suggested: she poured herself a nice, stiff glass of scotch, which she uncustomarily drained in one long gulp. She closed her eyes as the warm liquid burned a path to her stomach, then poured herself another, and walked to her bedroom, into the bathroom, and drew herself a bubble bath.

She undressed and put on her robe, finishing off her second glass of scotch before the bath was finished running. She looked at her hands, and the were still shaking a little. She walked back to the living room, and poured her third glass of scotch.

Returning to the bathroom, she shut off the water, and shrugged out of her robe, stepping out of the satin puddle it had made at her feet, and into the tub. She sank slowly into the warm, fragrant, soothing water with a sigh.

Claire soaked until her skin pruned, and the water grew lukewarm. She got out, towelled herself dry, and slipped back into her robe. The scotch and warm bath had taken their effect on her: her body felt extremely relaxed, and a slight fog had descended over the morning's memory.

She walked into the living room, encountering Lucy, her orange and white tabby cat, in the hallway. She scooped her up, and Lucy let out a funky meow: the cat equivalent of a human "ooof", and tred lightly to the couch. Claire sat down, cuddling Lucy in her lap. She slumped over the side of her sofa, and continued her long, languid stroking of Lucy's fur. It wasn't very long before she fell into a deep, and thankfully, dreamless, sleep.

*****

Claire was startled into consciousness by the loud knocking on her door. Lucy had long since vacated the sofa, for parts unknown. Claire sat up, looking at the clock on the mantle: it was just a little pass 7:00.

She padded barefoot to the door, and peered through the peep-hole.

Jack.

She undid the chain and dead-bolt, and opened the door, standing aside so that Jack might enter. He walked in, threw his coat over the back of an easy-chair, placed his brief-case and helmet next to it, and turned to her.

"How're you holding up?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she snapped irritably, still upset that he had sided with Adam when she had so much work that needed to be done. She had a headache from the scotch, which wasn't helping her disposition any.

Jack hardly noticed. He was distracted by the long line of her neck as it rose from under the robe, which was open enough to show the hollow between her breasts. The bottom of the robe was much shorter than the skirts she wore to work, and she was revealing a fair portion of thigh. "Gorgeous legs," he thought to himself.

"Do you want a drink?" she asked, remembering her manners. At least she could be courteous, even if she were angry.

"Of course."

"Scotch?"

"Sure."

She poured him the drink as he sat on the sofa. She walked over to him, handed him the drink, sat at the opposite end of the couch, and tucked her feet beneath her.

"You're not having one?" he questioned.

"I've already had three," she told him.

He raised his eyebrows and chuckled quietly as he tipped the glass to his lips.

"I'm not drunk," she said, a little defensively. "That was over two hours ago, and after my bath, I fell asleep."

When she was done speaking, he asked, "Have you eaten?"

"Not since breakfast."

"Hungry?"

"Starved, actually."

"Well then," he said a little mischievously, glancing down at her chest, "Why don't you go put something decent on, and I'll buy you dinner."

Claire's mood lightened slightly at the invitation.

"Well," she began, "Since you've twisted my arm..."

"Great."

"Okay, I'll be right back," she told him.

"I'll be waiting right here."

It took Claire ten minutes to get ready. She returned to the living room wearing a pair of black jeans, a fitted lavender cardigan, and a pair of black leather, heeled boots. Her hair was down and slightly tousled.

"So, where are we going to eat?" she queried.

"That depends," said Jack. "What do you feel like? Chinese? Italian? Seafood? Steak? Whatever you want."

"Actually, I could really go for a nice, greasy pizza right about now."

"Pizza, eh?" he smiled. "Okay, I know a great little place on Bleeker St. in the west village. It's small, but their pizza is delicious."

"Sounds great," she told him, "Let's go."

"My bike, or your car?" asked Jack.

"Let's take my car," replied Claire. "I'm so weak with hunger right now, I doubt my ability to hang on the motorcycle."

Jack chuckled. "Fine. I'll tell you what... I'll even drive. That is," he winked at her, "if you trust me."

She walked to the table in the hallway, picked up her keys, and tossed them to Jack, who caught them easily, grinning.

*****


They got to the restaurant and ordered a pizza with double pepperoni (she said she wanted it greasy) and mushrooms, along with a couple of beers. Claire wasn't very good company: only speaking to him when he asked her a direct question, not laughing at any of the jokes he was telling her to try to loosen her up a bit. Jack was becoming frustrated, but didn't know what to do about it. He figured she must still be upset about the events of that morning. He wanted to discuss it with her, but feared broaching the subject: he didn't want to upset her further. He decided he would hold off, and let her come to him when she was ready.

Most of the meal passed in silence. When they had finished the pizza, Jack paid their bill, and they got up to leave. Once they were in the car, and heading back towards Claire's east village apartment, Jack thought he would try one more time to coax her out of the shell she had seemingly retreated into.

"Man, Kincaid," he said, glancing sideways at her, deliberately try to egg her on, "You're a pretty cheap date."

She didn't respond, only continued looking out the passenger window, as she had been doing since they got in the car.

Jack couldn't take anymore of this. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, and cut the engine, turning in the seat, so that he was facing Claire.

She was looking at him, a mixture of anger and confusion on her face.

"Claire," Jack began, "What's the matter?"

She just shook her head, as if to say "nothing".

"No, you're angry with me for some reason, and I want to know why," he stated firmly.

"It's nothing Jack," she said, "I'll get over it."

"If it's nothing, then what is there to 'get over'?"

Claire looked down. "Jack, I...." she leveled her gaze at him once again, "Look, let's not discuss this right now, okay?"

"No," he replied, "No, it's not okay, Claire. This isn't going to work if we're already keeping things from one another. If something is wrong, I want to know about it. I don't like playing games, not in my personal life: I play them all day at work. So instead of waiting for me to figure out what the hell the problem is on my own, why not save us both some time and just tell me? It makes things so much easier."

She stared at him for a moment, before saying simply, "I don't like being sent home, Jack. Like a child who doesn't know what's good for her."

Jack flashed her a wounded-puppy look.

"Claire?" he was shocked. "I'm not the one who sent you home."

"You didn't have to agree with him, Jack"

"Christ, Claire, I wasn't even in the room when Adam banished you for the day."

"I know Jack. I just thought you'd understand that going home to ponder what had happened wasn't going to help me, not when I have so much work to do. I thought maybe you'd offer to go to Adam and convince him that the best thing for me would be to keep working, as if nothing unusual had happened. I've got 6 big cases on my roster, not to mention my first major case as lead counsel, and the other 30 or so cases I'm working on at any given time. Did you really think that sitting at home stewing was going to make me feel any better?"

Jack looked down at his hands for a moment, piecing together his reply in his mind before responding: it was not unlike the way he felt while arguing before a really stern judge.

"Claire, I wasn't thinking like your boss or co-worker when I saw you in that elevator," he admitted. "When Chet told me what had happened, I was frantic. I knew in my head that you were okay. You're tough and you're driven, but when I heard you'd been in danger, I went out of my mind. I wanted you home because you'd be safe there, until I could get off work and protect you myself. Call it cave-man logic if you will, but I don't want anything bad to happen to you, and when I heard how close you'd been to harm... I... I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you, Claire. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let my personal feelings effect my actions in the office in that way, but I couldn't help myself."

Jack's voice had begun to shake a little as he got further into this speech, and Claire felt like a hand was squeezing her heart. She realised how ridiculous she'd been acting: like the child she said she wasn't. Jack (and Adam, for that matter) had acted out of concern for her, and in return, she had acted sullen and given them both attitude.

"God, Jack, I'm the one who's sorry," she said, not able to look him in the eye. "I've been acting like a spoiled brat. Any normal person would be thrilled to be given extra time off. And any normal person would have realised you and Adam were doing what you thought was in my best interest, because you care about me."

"I do care about you Claire," he told her. "A lot more than I thought I did," he thought to himself.

She smiled. "I know, Jack."

He started the car. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?

She shook her head.

They continued the rest of the way to Claire's apartment in silence, but this time it was a comfortable silence.

Jack held Claire's hand all the way up to her floor, not letting it go until they were once again inside her apartment. Once inside, they removed their coats, and Claire moved in front of Jack, facing him, in her foyer. He was smiling languidly at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and sparkling.

She stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, "I'm sorry I behaved so badly," she told him.

He could feel her warm breath on his face as she spoke, and he pulled her closer to him, smiling, "YOU? Behave badly? Never!"

They both laughed lightly for a few moments, then stopped abruptly. Jack looked at Claire quizzically for a moment, and then felt one of her hands slide up his neck and entwine itself in the hair on the back of his head. She pressed lightly, leaning forward, and brought her lips to his.

The kiss was soft and tentative at first, lips fluttering against each other. He squeezed her tighter, their mouths widened a bit, and he felt her tongue running along his lips. The kiss deepened further and a soft groan of pleasure escaped from Jack's throat. Her hands were running up and down his back, and his had slid down, so that he was alternately stroking and squeezing her behind.

They were pressed as close together as they could be, and the kiss continued to increase in ardour, as if they were sucking their life's breath from each other's lips and tongue. Jack brought his hands around her front, and ran them up along her sides, cupping a breast in each hand. This time the groan that escaped was Claire's, and she tore her lips away from Jack's. He began to shower her face and neck with light, feathery kisses as his hands continued to massage her breasts. Her hands were rubbing his shoulders.

Loathe as she was to have his lips leave the crook of her neck, she took his head in her hands, and brought it to hers for another deep kiss, tongues entwining.

They continued in this fashion for several long moments, content to just kiss and caress each other. Finally, Jack broke the embrace, pulling away from Claire slightly, but they were still able to keep their arms around each other.

"I'd better go now," he told her, "Or I'm not going to be able to."

She nodded, smiling. "Okay."

They looked at each other for a moment, and resumed kissing, quickly returning to the fevered pitch they had so recently reached.

They pulled apart, reluctantly, after a few moments, and Jack picked up his coat. helmet, and breifcase.

"Goodnight, Claire," he said, leaning over and kissing her again.

"G'night, Jack," she replied. "Thanks for dinner."

They kissed again.

"See you in the morning," he stated.

"Yes."

They kissed again, briefly, and Jack headed out the door. 

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