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Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Highwire - Part 9

The rest of that week passed without incident. Amazingly, news of Claire's attack never made it around the office. People were, of course perplexed by the officers following her around, but Chet had managed to quell further speculation by telling a few of the more gossip-mongering ADAs and clerks that they were key witnesses for an important case McCoy and Kincaid were working on.

Several cases were transferred to Jack and Claire around mid-week, because they were cases that were heading into trial in the 2 weeks immediately following Christmas, a time when many of the seasoned prosecutors took family vacations. Claire preferred to use her vacation time during the summer months: she hated the city in the summer. And Jack never took vacations. Of course, both Jack and Claire loved the extra work, and not merely because they were multi-task oriented people: Claire because it gave her less time to think about Gordon, Jack because he loved the pressure.

All around the office, people were bustling maniacally, trying to prepare for the upcoming holidays, and for the increased case load that generally came with them. It is a sad fact of human nature that holidays tend to bring out the worst in many people, as if the spirit of cheer that surrounds them reminds them of just how awful their lives really are. Not that the truly discontented and maladjusted generally need much excuse. But each year, without fail, the influx of cases shot dramatically up as the holidays drew nearer.

The week flew by, as Jack and Claire adjusted themselves to the dual nature of their developing partnership. As the week wore on, they became less physically distracted by one another, and found it easier to concentrate on the task at hand.

On Friday afternoon, Jack and Claire, along with her police escort, returned from a long day in court to find Briscoe and Logan waiting in the hallway just outside Jack's office, talking with Chet Williams. Claire's step faltered a fraction of a second when she saw the two of them as she and Jack came out of the elevator.

"Detectives," said Jack, opening his door and motioning all inside, "Go on in."

Jack waited for everyone to file in before shutting the door behind him and crossing to his desk. "Please, sit down," he said, as he himself sat down in his chair. Claire stood behind and to the left of him, as she often did while meeting with defense attorneys and their clients.

"What's up guys?" asked Claire.

"Gordon's in custody," announced Mike, not beating about the bush.

"What? Here? When?" as Claire, a barrage of questions at the ready.

"No, he was picked up in Philadelphia last night," Mike replied.

"How? I mean...what happened? Did he rape someone else?"

"He tried," said Lennie, "but he picked the wrong girl this time: a self-defense instructor on her way home from class. She beat the hell out of him when he tried to attack her. A couple of pedestrians saw the scuffle from up the street and called 911 from the nearest payphone. When they booked him, they discovered the APB and arrest warrant out on him, and gave us a call. As soon as we're done here, Mike and I are going to meet the Philly detectives in Trenton, NJ, and they're gonna sign him over to us so he can be brought back to face the charges against him."

"Claire, isn't this great?!?!" Chet beamed.

Claire nodded, stunned, happy, and a little confused by the range of thoughts running through her head. She was thrilled, of course, that Gordon was off the street, and no longer a menace to women. Her need for vengeance, which was a need that shocked her, was satisfied by the thought that this time the case against Gordon would be so strong that no judge in his or her right mind, not even the unpredictable Lisa Pongracic, would be able to dismiss the charges against him. In one short week, Gordon had added assault, grand theft auto, robbery, rape, and attempted murder to his list of offences, not to mention the attempted robbery, assault and kidnapping of the Philadelphia woman. They had an eyewitness, and plenty of hard, direct evidence. In short, Gordon would be going away for a very long time.

The source of Claire's confusion was actually quite simple, and it had to do with Jack, and their current living arrangement. With Gordon in custody, there was no reason for Claire to continue residing at Jack's place. Indeed, to have done so would have raised suspicion, something that as of yet, neither of them wanted to deal with. On the one hand, she was glad to be going home: it meant that her life would be getting back to normal. As comfortable as Jack had made her feel for the duration of her stay --and he had made her very comfortable indeed-- she enjoyed the independence that living alone afforded her, and she wasn't ready to give that up just yet. She had only been living alone for a little over a year. Her grandmother had died shortly after Claire had been assigned to Ben Stone. The fact that her grandmother had left Claire her condo enabled Claire to move out of the tiny two-bedroom apartment she had shared with a law school classmate since moving to New York after graduation. On the other hand, Claire had grown accustomed to Jack being constantly available to her. For the past week, they had spent the better part of each day, and every night, together. It was almost as though everyone else existed only peripherally. Other people mattered, of course, but their main human focus, other than themselves, had become each other.

"We should get going, Len," said Mike.

"Detective?"

"Yeah?" Mike asked Tom Michelson, who had addressed him.

"Would you mind if my partner and I tagged along?"

Mike was about to say he would mind, when Lennie answered, "Sure, why not? A little back-up never hurt."

"Well, c'mon then," said Mike impatiently.

Claire walked over to the two men who had, until just then, been her bodyguards, and offered her hand to each one in turn, thanking them profusely for their excellent service. Jack, too, came over to shake the officers' hands and express his gratitude.

When the four policemen had departed, Chet turned to Claire and Jack, saying, "Thank God we get another shot at this bastard. So...what next?"

"He'll have to be arraigned first thing Monday morning on all the new charges," said Claire.

"Do you want to take the arraignment, Claire, or shall I?" asked Chet.

"He hasn't said anything, but I seriously doubt Adam is going to let me stay on this case after all that's happened."

"That's ridiculous Claire. This is your case, it always has been. You know it better than anyone else."

"I'm too close to it now, Chet. Gordon made it personal, and I don't think I can be objective anymore. If Adam doesn't remove me from the case, I'm going to remove myself." She knew with a certainty that she had lost her edge where Gordon was concerned. She was afraid of him now, and knew she could not effectively prosecute a defendant whom she feared. She'd lost her nerve, and knew that trying to cross examine Gordon would be a joke. How could she do it when every moment she expected him to jump the railing of the witness box and lunge at her as he had done in the conference room at Rikers Island?

"I'll handle the case from here on in," said Jack, sensing some of what was running through Claire's mind. "You can stay on as my second chair if you like, Chet, unless you feel up to being the second chair, Claire?"

"I'm off the case completely, Jack."

"Fine. Chet, why don't you go and put a call into Gordon's attorney, and let him know that his client is in custody and will be arriving at Central Booking sometime this evening."

Chet left to do Jack's bidding, and Jack and Claire turned to each other, both a jumble of mixed emotions.

"So..." said Jack.

"So..." replied Claire.

"Looks like your life is going to be getting back to normal," he stated, after a moment or two of silence. It was maybe the fourth or fifth time in his entire life that Jack could think of nothing appropriate to say.

"Yes, it does look that way, doesn't it?"

They were silent again for a time, and finally Jack asked, "Do you have any more work to do today?"

"I've always got more work I can do Jack," she replied.

"Fair enough," he said, attempting a smile, "Do you have anything that can't wait until next week?"

"No. It'll keep."

"Fine. Let's pack it in."


*****

The ride to Jack's apartment that evening was a silent, uneasy one. Neither of them had actually mentioned the fact that Claire's stay at Jack's place was now officially over. In the elevator on the way up to Jack's floor, they said nothing, just stood, not touching and not looking at each other, at the back of the elevator.

They had both realised her stay would only be temporary, but they had slid so easily into a blissful domesticity, that they had pushed that fact to the back of their minds. Now that their wonderful week together was at an end, both were at a loss for words.

Jack opened the door to his apartment, and Claire entered, setting her attaché case on the floor, and laying her coat over the back of a chair. Jack did the same, then continued on down the hall, and entered his bathroom. Claire plopped down on the couch, releasing a large whoosh of air as she did so. They hadn't said a word to each other since leaving the office.

Jack took a deep breath before opening the bathroom door and returning to the living room. He stood in the entry way of the living room until Claire looked over at him. Their expressions mirrored each other. In the end, it was Claire who went to him. She stood and crossed to where he stood leaning against the doorjamb, stopping just in front of him. They were standing very close, hearts heavy.

"Claire...I..." he began, but she raised her finger to his lips to prevent his speech. He took hold of her wrist and kissed her fingertips lightly, then enveloped her in a great bear hug, and she clung to him just as tightly. Jack wondered what it was about Claire that constantly made him feel the need to protect her, wondered too, what power it was she held over him that she could, as no other woman ever had, bring him very easily to the verge of tears.

Claire, too, fought back the sadness welling inside her.

"Why do I feel like you're leaving me?" he asked into her hair.

There was something so tenuous and childlike in his voice, that Claire nearly lost the control she was struggling to maintain. Taking his face in her hands, she drew his head away from her, and looked into his shiny, dark eyes. A few locks of his hair had fallen, wayward, over his forehead, and she reached up to smooth them back. "I'm not leaving you, Jack," she told him. "I'm just going home. It's not the same thing."

He leaned forward as if he might kiss her, and Claire closed her eyes, waiting for the feel of his lips against hers. When it didn't come, she reached up to lightly stroke the back of his neck. Pressing him forward with her fingertips, it was she who initiated the kiss. Several heartbeats passed, and though he wanted to, desperately, Jack didn't respond to the kiss. He felt vulnerable, exposed. He had always known, from the moment she set foot in his apartment last Friday, that she must go home. He hadn't realised how much it would hurt to let her. It was in that moment that he realised he needed her, and he had always thought he would never 'need' anybody. He had been drinking less since their relationship had begun, and that was a good thing, because all too often he had one too many.

His instinct was to push her away, as he had managed to push away everyone in his life who got too close. He didn't like to 'need', because to 'need' was to open oneself up to the possibility of rejection. It was his fear of eventually being rejected that made him push people away in the past. Claire pressed harder, demanding a response, which, finally, she received. He pushed his fears down, and his lips fluttered to life against hers, softly at first. The confidence with which he usually approached their physical intimacy was not there, and Claire sensed it.

Taking him by the hand, she led him down the hall into his bedroom. At the foot of his bed, she kicked off her shoes. He did the same, but did not move forward. She wrapped her arms around his neck and they kissed, a series of light, slightly open-mouthed kisses that lacked the fervour with which they generally devoured each other. The passion was there, as was the desire, but it was shadowed by the fact that the week they had spent together was now at an end.

Somehow, without him having to voice it, Claire knew how insecure Jack was feeling about the status of their relationship, and so she decided to show him that though it may be altering slightly, it would in no way be less than it had been before Gordon had been apprehended. She went to work on his clothing, removing his tie first, and then his suit coat. When she was half done with the buttons of his shirt, he began to tentatively remove her clothes, pausing as each garment fell to the floor, half expecting her to vanish from his arms. When at last they were naked, Jack stood quietly, allowing Claire to touch and caress him, listening to the soft words of reassurance she whispered to him. She told him how wonderful he made her feel, how special, how safe. She told him, too, that she had never felt for any man what she was feeling for him, and that nothing, not even the fact that she was returning to her own apartment, could change that.

At long last, her actions, coupled with her words, permeated Jack's brain. She hadn't directly said it, but he knew she needed him, even as he needed her. He came to life then, and Claire felt that whatever shroud had been hanging between them was lifted. When he wrapped his arms around her, and they fell, kissing, to the bed, she knew, as did he, that whatever demons either of them had, together, they could vanquish them.

After, they lay entwined, silent. Claire was on her back, though slightly turned to the right. Jack lay with one arm draped across her, his cheek flat against her chest, just above her right breast. One of her hands stroked his side just beneath the arm, while the other played with his hair.

"Still feel like I'm walking out on you?" she asked.

"No," he said after a minute. "God you must think I'm a fool." He rolled away from her, and slinging his legs over the side of the bed, sat up and rubbed his face with his hands.

"Of course I don't," she said, crawling up behind him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Why would I?"

"Because I'm a silly old man who's grown so accustomed to you in the space of a week that I can't bear the thought of you not being near. Because you going home still feels like a desertion even though I knew it had to happen eventually."

"Jack, I don't know what else to do or say to reassure you. Despite everything that has happened, this has been one of the most incredible weeks of my life. And that's all because of you, and what's happening between us. I'm not about to give that up, so don't you dare go thinking I'm letting you off the hook so easy. You're stuck with me."

"Ahhhhh," he said. His heart had lightened with each of her words. "A fate worse than death."

She slapped him lightly in the center of the chest, laughing, glad he seemed to have lost some of his hurt intensity. He laughed along with her, mood rising further at the sound of her musical laugh.

"I could always go home in the morning," she offered, lightly tracing his ear with her fingertip.

He shook his head. "It'll only be harder tomorrow."

He felt her nod of assent against his shoulder. "C'mon, get dressed," she said, "I'll buy dinner on the way back to my place. What do you want?"

"Anything but Chinese or pizza."


*****

"So," said Jack when they were finished eating --they had stopped for stuffed pitas and Baklava at a Greek place on the way back to Claire's-- "When are you planning on calling your mother and step-father to let them know that their beloved daughter is no longer in danger because her attacker is now, or will be shortly, safely ensconced in one of our secured correctional facilities? And furthermore, just what kind of pet owner are you? You've been home for 45 minutes and you haven't even mentioned Lucy."

"Ack! You're right! I'll go get Lucy and then come back and call mom and Mac."

"No," said Jack. "Stay and make your phone call. I'll go get your cat from Mrs. Harrington. And she's less likely to waylay me forever than she would likely do to you."

Jack stood and exited the kitchen, Claire close behind him. "Actually, Jack, I'll be lucky if I see you again tonight. Mrs. Harrington likes men very much. I sent my last boyfriend over to borrow a couple of eggs one time. He came back and hour and a half later. Without the eggs. And you are infinitely more interesting than my last boyfriend."

"Am I?" he asked, pulling her close. "You say your 'last boyfriend'. Would that make me your 'current boyfriend'?"

"Well," she teased, "Aren't you?"

"You tell me," he said, surprising her with a reckless kiss that made Claire's mind race and heart pound.

They eased out of the kiss, and Claire stared up at Jack, her fingertips gently massaging the nape of his neck.

"Well?" he asked expectantly.

"Hmmm?" she replied.

"There's a question pending."

"What? OH! Yes. Yes you are. As long as you don't mind being called a 'boy'."

He kissed her again. "I've been called worse," he told her. "And I really don't care what you call me, 'boyfriend', 'lover', 'significant other', as long as it means I'm the one who gets to be with you."

"Well come here then, lover," she said softly, before kissing him.

After a few passionate moments, Jack pulled away, cleared his throat, and said, "I'm going to get my competition now."

Claire made a pouting face, which quickly turned into a huge grin when she saw the concern pass over Jack's brow. She wished him luck on his mission and said, "If she starts telling you about her days with the USO during World War II, get out of there as fast as you can, otherwise you may not surface for a month. And then you'd miss the office party...my birthday...Christmas...New Years...

He threw his hands up in exasperation. "I got it!" he said, laughing. He grabbed her keys off the table by the door and headed out.

"Don't forget my cat!" he heard her cry as the door shut behind him. He chuckled, and headed down the hall.

Jack returned with Lucy half an hour later. Claire was sitting in the over-stuffed easy chair in her living room, in front of a fire she must have lit before calling her parents. She was still on the phone.

"No, mom, please," she was saying, "Mom, you know how much I hate it when you get like this. I'm not interested in meeting anybody new right now."

She went silent for a moment, presumably listening to her mother's reply. Jack stood in the foyer holding Lucy, not particularly liking what he was hearing.

"Mom..." Claire began again, but was apparently interrupted because she went silent again.

"Mother, will you listen to me for once? Honestly, Mom, he could be a Greek God with all the gold of King Midas and I'd still tell you I wasn't interested," she stood up and that's when she noticed Jack standing there. "Look, Mom? I've had a really long week, my energy is just completely sapped. I'm gonna hang up now."

There was a silence while her mother replied.

"Thanks mom, but no, you don't need to come stay with me tonight. I'll be fine. Gordon is in custody, so I'm perfectly safe. Yes, I'm sure. I need to be alone this first night, okay? It's important to me. I'm just going to take a bath and go to bed, so it'd be a waste for you to come, anyhow. Fine. I'll see you in the morning. Yes. Good night, mother. I love you, too."

Claire clicked her cordless phone off, and walked over to Jack, who still held Lucy in his arms.

"Thank you," she said, and kissed him on the cheek. She reached for her cat. "Come here, baby. I've missed you."

Instead of snuggling up to Claire, and nuzzling her face as she usually did, Lucy squirmed so much that Claire released her. The cat landed on the floor with a little meow, proceeded to rub herself against Jack's legs, and ran off down the hall.

"Welcome home to you, too, Luce," Claire called after her sarcastically. She turned to Jack. "Looks like I'm in the doghouse again. She does this every time I go away."

Jack thought to himself, "hey, if you left me for a week, I'd be sullen as your cat when you finally returned."

"You weren't gone very long," she commented.

"No, I wasn't. Lucky for me, Mrs. Harrington doesn't like to stay up much past nine o'clock. She was getting herself ready for bed when I knocked."

"Lucky for me, too," said Claire, and she wrapped her arms around Jack's neck. "Thanks again."

"Quit thanking me," he told her, smiling. "I was happy to do it for you."

"Don't you like it when I express my gratitude?"

"That's not exactly what I meant," he explained. "I don't mind that you thank me for doing things for you. But I don't do them just so you'll thank me. It pleases me to do things for you, particularly if they make you happy, that's all."

"Regardless of your motives Jack, when you do something nice for me, I'm going to thank you. But if you would rather, I could always SHOW you my appreciation, rather than voice it."

"And just how would you do that?"

"Oh," she said, playing with the hair at the back of his head, "I'm sure I could come up with something. I'm very resourceful, you know."

"Are you?" he asked, nonchalant. "I hadn't noticed..."

"Oh, you!!!" she said, digging her fingers into his ribs.

"Ooof!" he groaned, grabbing his side in feigned pain.

They separated and walked into the living room. Jack sat down in the middle of the sofa and brought his feet up to rest on the coffee table. Claire sat next to him, and snuggled in close as he casually draped his arm over her shoulders.

"I couldn't help but overhear some of your conversation with your mother. When you said that you wanted to be alone your first night home, did you mean you just didn't want her coming over? Or do you really want to be alone?"

Claire looked down at her lap. She didn't think Jack would care for what she was about to say, especially given his reaction to her leaving his apartment earlier that evening. She didn't want to hurt him, but at the same time felt it somehow necessary to her recovery from all Gordon had put her through that she spend her first night back in her apartment alone. "I think it would be best for me to be alone tonight, Jack. Do you mind terribly?"

An entire minute went by before he answered. "Yes, I mind. But I'll live."

"Jack, I hope you realise that this has absolutely nothing to do with you or us. I just need to know that I can do this. For me. Do you understand?"

"I do understand, Claire. That doesn't mean I have to like it." He removed his arm from her shoulder and moved to get up. "So I guess I'll be on my way now."

She grabbed his hand as he was standing. "Jack, you don't have to leave right this instant!" she exclaimed.

He was standing now, his hand clasped tightly in hers. He looked down at her looking back up at him, her face a mask of expectation. Slowly, a closed-lipped smile split his face in two. His eyes lit up, and Claire smiled back: she loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

"Well, if you insist..." he said.

"I do," she confessed as he sat back down.

Very soon, they once again found themselves immersed in the beginnings of foreplay. When she was sitting on his lap and they were both shirtless, Jack paused for a moment.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked.

She opened her eyes. "Of course. What is it?"

He took a deep breath. "When you were talking to your mother...what was all that about Greek Gods and King Midas?"

"Ahhh, that," she said. So that had bothered him. She had wondered if it might when she saw him standing there so quiet, holding her cat. "Unfortunately for me, my mother has begun to hear her biological grandmother-clock ticking away, and she's always trying to set me up with the sons, grandsons, nephews, and cousins of her friends. She has seen to it that I have gone on some of the worst blind dates in history. I keep telling her I'm not interested, but she doesn't listen. She wants grandchildren and won't be satisfied until she has some. It's not enough that my step-brothers, Mac's sons, have five children between them that call her grandmother. She keeps trying to guilt me into marriage and motherhood with the idea that only the children I have will be, let's see, how did she put it? 'The flesh of my flesh'."

Jack nodded. "Sounds like any mother with an un-wed daughter. And the Greek God?"

"A friend of a friend has a nephew who is, quote, 'young, devilishly handsome, intelligent, wealthy, and available'. He's a lawyer for some Wall Street firm. My mother, being my mother, of course, thinks he'd be perfect for me."

"Certainly sounds like he would," said Jack. His mood was getting dark again, and he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why. It wasn't jealousy: he had heard her tell her mother, very emphatically, that she was not interested in this Wall Street guy, whoever he was. "Why didn't you say yes?"

"Jack?" she asked, confused. "Why would I? Do you think you mean so little to me that I'm going to run into the arms of some yuppie the first chance I get?"

"Of course I don't think that." He stood up and moved to the window.

"Then I don't understand you."

That didn't exactly come as a surprise to him, because he didn't understand it himself.

"You heard the conversation, Jack. You heard me tell her I didn't want to go out with this guy."

"I know."

"Then what's the problem? Where is all this coming from?"

He said nothing for a long while. He was trying to figure it out, himself. And suddenly it dawned on him.

"Why didn't you tell your mother about me?"

"Come again?"

"She's telling you she wants to set you up with someone. All you had to do to put her off is tell her your seeing someone. And that I'm that someone."

Claire's mouth fell open, and then closed again. She had no idea what to say.

He walked across the room so that he stood near the couch, looking down at her. He was actually feeling himself becoming angry. "Well?"

Claire grabbed her shirt from where Jack had discarded it, stood up, put it on, and walked around the table so that she stood by her mantle, her back to Jack.

"With my mother, it's....complicated."

"Don't give me that shit, Claire. All you had to do was say, 'Mom, I'm involved with Jack'."

"It's really not that simple, Jack. You don't know my mother. You didn't hear her when the fiasco with Joel Thayer went down. She wasn't exactly pleased with me over that one, let me tell you."

"Tell me something then," he said.

"What?"

"When exactly are you planning on telling her?"

"I....I....I don't know. Honestly I hadn't given it any thought."

"That hurts, Claire. Tell me this: are you ashamed of me?"

"God! Of course not! You have to know that, Jack."

"Why? Why do I have to know that? You don't want anyone in the office to know. You won't tell your family. So you tell me, what the hell am I supposed to think?"

"That's crap, Jack, and you know it. You're just as eager to keep our affair out of the office as I am. Don't say you're not."

"Fine. You're right. I don't want our co-workers to know just yet. But that still doesn't explain why you feel you can't tell your mother about us."

"I told you... with my mother, it's difficult."

"That's not good enough, Claire. How hard can it be? You start with four simple words, 'Mom, I'm seeing someone', and you move on from there."

"Did I mention he's my boss?" she added, playing out the conversation.

Jack had to admit to himself that she had a valid point there, one he could readily understand. But his temper had hold. Still, he could give, a little. "Is that really such a problem?" he asked, softening some.

"Not as much as your age will be." Damn! That had come out sounding more harshly than she had intended.

"I'm sorry I'm so inconvenient for you, Claire," said Jack. He picked his shirt up angrily, drew it over his head in a hurry, and reached for his coat.

"Jack! Wait!" Claire cried.

He turned to her, his face a mask of wounded anger.

"I didn't mean that how it sounded," she began. "My mother...she'll be fine with all of this once she gets to know you. It's just initially that I'm worried about. You don't know my mother, with her, it's imperative that you approach things in the right way."

"You're right, I don't know your mother. Perhaps you should introduce us sometime soon?"

She looked at him. Glared actually. He could tell she was becoming extremely annoyed. "Are you listening to me? I'm trying to tell you that I have to wait for the right moment."

"What if the 'right moment' never comes, Claire? Are you going to keep me your little secret forever? The problem with waiting for the 'right moment' to do something is that the 'right moment' invariably never comes. And the longer you wait, the more difficult it'll become for you," he told her, his voice becoming stern, scolding. "Sometimes we have to do things we find unpleasant, Claire. It's part of life, what it means to be an adult. We may not like it, but we do it anyhow."

"Stop lecturing me like I'm a 12 year-old, Jack."

"Then quit acting like one."

They stood on opposite sides of the coffee table, taking each other in like two prize fighters who have just gone 11 rounds and aren't sure if they have the stamina for a twelfth, but somehow feel an urge to continue. She looked at him. He had never seen her so angry. "I can't believe you just said that!" she practically shouted. It was the only time, other than the night of their first kiss in the elevator when she had accused him of screwing with her career, that he could remember her losing her cool enough to raise her voice.

"Tell me what you expect me to say, Claire! Are you listening to yourself? All I'm asking is that you do something that is easy and natural enough to do: tell the people that matter to you that there is a new man in your life. And you're whining like a child and complaining about how difficult it will be. You're making a federal case out of nothing. Just tell her and get it over with. What are you so afraid of anyway? She's not going to ground you for God's sake!"

"You know what Jack? I'm tired and I don't want to explain it to you again. You don't like my explanation anyhow. I'll tell her when I'm goddamn good and ready and not before."

"Fine," he said. This time, when he reached for his jacket, she didn't try to stop him. "Call me when you decide to grow up, Claire."

He turned and headed for the door, drawing his coat over him as he went. When he reached the door, he paused, giving her one last chance. She said nothing, just stood staring at the fire. Angrily, he opened the door, and slammed it shut behind him.

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