CHAPTER 5: FUNERAL

"...and it's a bright sunny morning on this lovely day in-" the cheerful voice on Jack's alarm clock radio was suddenly silenced as he rolled over in bed and hit the OFF button.  For a moment he stared at the ceiling, disoriented, before realizing that what he was feeling wasn't so much disorientation as it was a blinding headache and nausea.  He closed his eyes and rolled over again, burying his face in his pillow, hoping he could snap out of it.  No, no such luck.  Damn it, he hated waking up with a migraine.  The worst part was getting out of bed and navigating through a too-bright apartment to get his medication from the washroom.  Maybe Claire could get it for him-

He caught his breath as everything came back with a rush.

No, this wasn't a migraine.  This was a scotch hangover.  No need to go avoiding bright lights or taking medication, it would pass on its own.

Maybe it would take a long time to pass on its own.  Then maybe he wouldn't have to think about Claire.

ooo000ooo

He finally got up and mechanically made his breakfast, startled when his pager went off.  He checked it - the funeral home.  Called them, settled a few more details for the ceremony.

He started to clear his pager - wait, what was that?  There was an unanswered page on it, with Claire's number.  He felt his stomach lurch, but realized it must be Linda calling from Claire's place.  Funny, he hadn't heard it go off - oh.  It was from two days ago.  11:04pm.

That would have been when... when he was sleeping off the scotch he'd consumed during the day.  Had Claire tried to page him at home before going to the bar?  How could he not have heard that?  His pager was a hell of a lot louder than his phone, and he'd heard the phone when Curtis called to tell him Claire was at the hospital.

Probably in a deeper stage of sleep than when Curtis called, a few hours later.

God almighty.  But for a quirk in his sleeping patterns, Claire might still be alive.

Don't think like that.  There's no point.

ooo000ooo

Jack watched Mrs. Hysell get up at the podium and introduce herself.  He'd never really given much to thought to his future with Claire, but it certainly didn't involve planning her funeral or trying to summarize her life to a funeral director.  Jack brought his attention to Hysell.

"... a genuinely good person.  She was dedicated, idealistic, caring.  She strove to do what was right, to make the world a better place for her having been in it.  She graduated near the top of her class from Harvard law school, she could have taken any number of high-paying jobs with any number of law firms... but instead she chose to dedicate herself to represent the people, and bring to justice those who committed crimes.  Not as high-paying.  Not as glamorous.  Not as easy.  But that wasn't what Claire wanted; she wanted to make a difference, and she did."  Jack was once again struck by the fact that this really didn't have much to do with Claire.  You could say the same thing about any number of people who worked in the DA's office.  Or in the PD's office, for that matter.

"And she didn't just stop there.  She wasn't afraid to disagree with her superiors when she thought they were wrong.  She wasn't afraid to stand up for herself, for what she believed in.  She wasn't even afraid to question herself, to challenge herself, when she felt conflicted in her own beliefs."  Hysell paused for a moment, looking over the people gathered before her.

"On the last day of her life, Claire Kincaid witnessed an execution.  She went because she felt she had an obligation to do so.  She had helped to convict a man, helped to bring him to the executioner's table, and she felt she had to witness for herself what her actions had helped to bring about.  And this in spite of the fact that Claire didn't agree with the death penalty, that she had argued against it, that if she had had a choice that man would not have been executed."

We saw him die, Jack.  Doesn't that mean anything to you?

Yes.  He's dead.  That case is very much closed.

Claire had been so frustrated with him, he remembered as Hysell continued.  He'd gone to Attica for her, and it hadn't changed a thing.  For either one of them, it seemed.  She hadn't made peace with it, and he hadn't changed his mind.

I went because she asked me to.

Why did she ask you to?

Because I believe in the death penalty.

He suddenly wondered at that.  Why did it sound strange, saying that yesterday?

He did, didn't he?

Did he?  Still?  He really hadn't thought about it.  He'd gone, he'd seen, he'd been disappointed that Claire still felt the same way, and he hadn't really thought about how he felt.  And then he'd been too busy getting drunk, and then too busy waiting around for Claire to die and then too busy planning for her funeral and dealing with her death.  He'd had more important things on his mind than Mickey Scott's passing and his own feelings about it.

Hysell was wrapping up the eulogy.  "The world needs more people like Claire Kincaid.  She will be sorely missed, not only for her warmth and her caring, but for her courage and conviction.  She will be missed, not only by her friends and family, but by all of those people in this world who need someone like her to fight for their rights, for justice, for a better world."

Claire's friend Marion Adams got up to play the piano, "a few pieces of music that Claire loved," Hysell had said.  He didn't recognize the piece she was playing - didn't know if it really was something that Claire loved.

He had no idea.  If he'd been asked what music to pick out, he couldn't have said what she would term as her favourite song.  She tolerated most of the music he listened to, as he tolerated most of hers, but they just hadn't spent enough time together for him to know what she would want played at her funeral.

They hadn't known each other that long, relatively speaking.  He had never met this woman, Marion, whom Claire had apparently been very close to.  Claire had never met his daughter Joanna.  He'd never even told Joanna about her - there had been no reason to.  Besides, he and his daughter didn't usually talk about personal things.  Just the law and current events.

Like a piece of scum like him should be given three squares a day at taxpayer's expense.  Stick him in the ground and forget him, that's more than he deserves, right?

Right.

ooo000ooo

After the service, there was still the reception to go through.  So many people here, most of whom he didn't know.  And of course, there was Adam, and most of the staff from their floor at Hogan Place.  Some defense attorneys as well.

And cops.  A lot of cops.  Claire had always worked well with cops.  They seemed to appreciate her, treat her with slightly less suspicion and resentment than they treated the rest of the Hogan Place staff.  He saw Van Buren, Briscoe and Curtis, Briscoe looking a bit better than the other day, but still tired and old.  Standing with Van Buren and Curtis - did that mean that Van Buren hadn't fired him?  He joined them briefly.

"How are you doing, Counselor?" Van Buren asked him quietly.

"Fine, fine," he answered her.  That question was getting fairly annoying.

"Oh - Claire left this at the precinct," Van Buren showed him a notebook.  "It probably has case notes or something."

He took it from her, recognizing it. "Yes, that's her general purpose notebook.  Interviews and case notes.  I heard your message on her machine saying you had it.  Thanks," he put it in his pocket.  "Why did she come into the precinct?"

"She came in to talk to Lennie, actually, then stayed to chat.  We had Chinese takeout."

"Why'd she wanna talk to me?" Briscoe asked.

"I think it was probably about the execution."

Jack looked away from the sorrowful expression on Briscoe's face.  "What did she say?" he asked.

"We talked about the system.  Dealing with people's lives, knowing how much our jobs affect them.  How we each cope with that."  Jack nodded.  Well, he had no idea what Curtis had done, but he and Briscoe at least had 'coped' by getting disgracefully drunk.  Although if he'd been asked why he was getting drunk, he would have said there was no connection to the execution.  He still wasn't sure there was.

Apparently Claire had coped by trying to talk to people about it.  But she hadn't wanted to talk to him.  And who could blame her?

"She was having a hard time with it," Van Buren said.

"I know," Jack said.

"McCoy... if there's anything we can do..."

"Yeah.  Thanks," Jack said, and excused himself before Van Buren could go any farther.  The last thing he wanted right now was to be treated like a grieving widower by the cops.  Or hear about Claire's thoughts on the execution.  It didn't make any difference any more anyway.

She said that what she'd seen would be with her for the rest of her life.

ooo000ooo

"Jack, thank you for arranging this," Linda said to him during a lull.

"You're welcome."

"We have to go to the lawyer's on Monday - you know, for her will and all of that."

"Claire had a will?" Jack was a little surprised.

"Yes, she drew one up during law school," Mac said.  "Her Contracts class had that as one of their assignments, so she went ahead and had hers notarized after she got it back."  Mac smiled a little at the memory.

Claire taking Contracts.  That was an amusing image.  Somehow he just couldn't see her as anything other than a criminal lawyer, but she had to have taken the compulsories too in her first year.  Probably hated them as much as Joanna had hated Torts and Criminal last year.

"Jack?" Linda said, a little sharply.  He brought his attention back to her.

"I'm sorry," he gestured to her to repeat herself.

"Would you like to come to the lawyer's?" she asked him patiently.

"Oh - no, I doubt I'd be in any of her official papers.  Do you want me there?" he asked.  She looked at him sadly.

"I would appreciate it, if you wouldn't mind."  He nodded, and excused himself as a couple he didn't know approached Linda to offer their condolences.

ooo000ooo

All right, the reception was all done, he'd stayed until the end, accepted condolences with what he hoped was a modicum of graciousness, just blanking out his mind and going through the motions.  And now everybody had gone home, he'd said goodbye to Linda and Mac, and gone to sign the papers for Claire's cremation.

Nothing is certain but death and taxes.  And paperwork.  Paperwork even after death, sign this, initial that, sign here too...

ooo000ooo

Now what?  It was late afternoon.  He supposed he could go home, back to his damn empty apartment... or back to his damn empty office... or maybe he could just start the bike and see where he ended up.

Stopped at a light.  A bar beckoned, promising a shortcut through yet another day.  He turned away, realizing that a bar was where he'd probably end up eventually.  Where else was there to go?

Another light.  St. Augustine's Roman Catholic Church, said the sign.

I'll come back to the Church, he'd thought during the night at the hospital.  No bargaining.  Whether she lives or dies, I'll come back.  I've been away too long.

Two nights ago - was that how long it had been? - he'd felt the pull of the chapel, the need to seek comfort from a source greater than any he usually needed.  Where had that pull gone?  Was it just an instinctive reaction to the fear and uncertainty that he was feeling that night?

Was that what he needed right now?  To go into the church, seek out God as he had at the hospital?  Could God fill this emptiness, this intense loneliness?

He found himself parking his bike, going into the church, feeling uncertain as hell.

There was the Blessed Virgin, her hands out, blessing all of her children.  But she was just a statue.  No fitting substitute for anything real.

He looked around.  No.  This was just a building.  God didn't live here.  If He lived anywhere.  There wasn't any sense of comfort here, any more than there was in his apartment or his office or his bottle of scotch.

"May I help you?" he turned around, startled, as a youngish priest spoke to him softly.

"No, thank you, Father," he said automatically.  He glanced back at the statue, preparing to leave.

"Are you sure?"

He looked at the man, suddenly unsure.  "I'm not sure what I'm doing here," he finally said, feeling a little odd.  That wasn't anything he normally said.

"Why did you come in?"

"I... I don't know," he said slowly.

"Are you all right, sir?"

What a question.  He almost chuckled at that, nodded and started to turn around, to leave - and then he stopped and shook his head.

Are you all right?  That at least was one question he could answer definitely, out of all of the confusion of this whole situation.  He wasn't sure about much else right now, but he was absolutely sure that he was not all right.

"What's wrong?"

He shrugged.  "A woman I know died two days ago.  I... I don't know why I thought being here might help."

"Was she a friend of yours?"

"Yes."

"A close friend?"

"Yes."

"You were a couple?"

Jack hesitated before replying.  "Yes, I suppose we were.  We were colleagues... we were sleeping together too."

"And she died two days ago?"  Jack nodded.  "Why wouldn't you be here?"

"I'm not religious."

"People don't have to be religious to turn to God in troubled times.  Do you have anywhere else to go?"

"No, but I don't... I don't even know if I really believe in God.  I'm fairly sure I don't believe in the Church.  No offense, Father."

"None taken," the priest smiled.  "I'm Father John, by the way," he held out his hand.  Jack shook it.

"Jack McCoy."

"When was the last time you were in church?"

"Catholic church?  Probably when I got married."

"You're Catholic?"

"Lapsed.  I was brought up Catholic.  Went to St. Ignatius school."

"Really?"  The priest's eyes twinkled with amusement.  "Me too."

"Probably not the same one.  I grew up in Chicago."

"No, not the same one, then."  Father John looked at him for a moment.  "So you haven't been in church since you got married?"

"Not regular church."

"What do you mean?"

"I went to the hospital chapel the other night, when - when we were waiting for Claire to-" all of a sudden he realized he couldn't talk, that his eyes were filling with tears.  He looked away from Father John, cleared his throat a few times.  "Sorry," he murmured when he was back in control.  "I just came from her funeral."  Father John regarded him for a moment.

"Why don't you come into the office," he suggested.  Jack found himself nodding, a little surprised at himself again, and followed Father John down a narrow hallway into a small office.

"Have you eaten, Mr. McCoy?" Father John asked.

"What?"

"There was a reception after the funeral, right?  Did you eat?"

"Uh - no," Jack realized.

"I was just getting myself a couple of sandwiches.  Why don't you have one," he indicated a small plate on a coffee table in the office, explaining, "Most people don't really think about eating or sleeping or mundane things like that right after a loved one dies.  But you still have to take care of yourself."

"I wouldn't know what most people think about.  I've never done this before."

"You've never lost anybody?"

"Not like this.  My father died ten years ago, but we weren't very close.  And he'd been going downhill for a long time.  Claire - she, she was in an accident-" he stopped, annoyed, as his throat tightened again.

"In my line of work, I deal with a lot of grieving families and friends.  Have a sandwich."  They sat down and ate in companionable silence for a few minutes.  Finally Father John asked, "So why did you come in here today?"

"I don't know.  I guess... I didn't feel like going home.  Or going to work.  I... I just didn't know what else to do.  I didn't want to go back to a bar again."

"You've been drinking some in the last few days?"  Jack nodded.  "How much?"

"I drank most of a bottle of scotch last night.  Didn't feel very good about that this morning."

"No, I can imagine."  Father John chewed on his sandwich for a minute, then said, "This is none of my business, but... alcohol?  Does it play a large part in your life?"

"Are you asking if I'm an alcoholic?  No, I'm not.  And I do know what alcoholism is."  Father John gave him a questioning look.  "My father was one."

"Ah.  I don't mean to pry - it's just sort of second nature to me."

"Lots of alcoholics in your parish?"

"Yes, actually, including myself.  Just got my four year pin."

"Oh."

Silence.

"I do drink, but it's never affected my work, my personal relationships, anything."  He shrugged, uncomfortably aware that he sounded like he was justifying himself to this perfect stranger.  "And I'm aware that as the firstborn son of an alcoholic I'm at a high risk of becoming one myself."

"But alcohol can provide a way to get through a difficult time.  You found that out yesterday.  And this is going to be difficult."

"I know."

"You can come here, you know.  You don't have to turn to a bottle."

Jack sighed.  "No offense, Father, but... come here and do what?  I haven't been to church in a long time.  I'm too much of a skeptic to go along with most aspects of organized religion.  What would I do here?"

"Be with people.  Be with God.  This is a place in which God's presence is important.  And I get the feeling God hasn't had much of a presence in your life."

"No."

"There hasn't been much need, as far as you could tell."

"No."

"Things change.  God can help to get you through this, if you let Him."

"How?"

"You said you went to the chapel at the hospital.  What did you do?"

"I asked Him to help Claire.  And I asked Him to help me, if she didn't make it.  Help me to believe that she's not completely gone."

"Do you?"

"What?"

"Believe she's completely gone?  Or do you believe she's somewhere better?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

"Good reason to come here, then."

"And do what?" Jack repeated.

"Pray.  Pray for help, pray for faith."

"Should I say rosaries and Hail Mary's and Our Father's as well?"  Jack regretted his sarcasm immediately, realizing the man was just trying to help.  "There's a reason I left the Church.  I couldn't see the point in it - mouthing the same words until they cease to have any meaning, following rules that don't make sense, out of a wish to please a Being that you have no proof of.  That doesn't fit into my view of reality."  He paused.  "Why say the words?  What does God care?"

"I don't think He does.  We don't say them for Him.  We say them for us."

Jack looked at him, puzzled.

"No, really.  Rituals have very little meaning in and of themselves, but they can be a comfort, especially in times of need.  They can help you to feel that you're not so alone.  It's not about saying words that have no meaning, it's about saying words that have been said through millennia by people going through the same doubts and pains as you.  People who have survived that pain with the help of God and with the help of each other."

Jack thought about that for a moment.

"You don't normally feel the need to be with others, do you?  To be like other people?"

"No, not really."

"But you've probably felt the need to be with others more in the last few days than you have for the last few years."  Jack shrugged.  Yes, he had - at least when he wasn't feeling an intense need to get away from people who were shoving their pity at him.  "Do you have anybody to be with?  Friends?  Family?"

"I have my work.  That's always been enough."

"Not right now, though."

"No, not right now," he felt his throat closing up again, thinking of going back to work, seeing Claire's absence there again.  Her empty office, her empty desk.  Felt a sudden surge of anger.  He stood up, shaking his head.  "This is ridiculous."

"What is?"

"This.  Coming into a church - not wanting to go back to work - you know what I realized today at her funeral?  I don't even - I didn't even know her favourite music."  He felt tears starting, wiped them away impatiently.  "She wasn't my wife.  She wasn't even - most people weren't even supposed to know we were sleeping together.  And we wouldn't have lasted.  She was too young for me, too idealistic."

"You think so?" Father John asked quietly.  Jack looked away from his compassionate eyes.

"We weren't - we weren't even - it's not like I've lost the love of my life.  She was just a woman I worked with and slept with, and not even the first.  She was just a notch on my bedpost," he said bitterly, remembering Adam's cynical words.

"Does it make her loss any less painful, to tell yourself that she wasn't that important to you?"  Jack turned on Father John angrily.

"How would you know how important she was?"

"People don't spend the night at a hospital or turn to God for help over the end of a casual affair."

"How would you know?"

Father John shook his head slightly.  "Priests are not exempt from human emotions, Mr. McCoy.  And we're not blind - at least, some of us aren't.  You aren't here because this woman was just a fling and now you're a little down because you don't have a date for Saturday night.  You're here because you're dealing with a kind of loss that you've never had to deal with before.  Minimizing it won't make it go away."

"She was thinking of quitting," Jack said angrily.

"I beg your pardon?"

"She was thinking of quitting the DA's office, where we work.  I went to her apartment yesterday, and one of the messages on her machine was from the U.S. Attorney's office.  She'd put in a resume with them, and I didn't even know.  How close could we have been if she didn't even tell me that?"

"Had you two been fighting lately?"

Jack found himself laughing.  That was the understatement of the year.

"Did I say something funny?"

"You have no idea how funny.  Yes, we were fighting.  We were - I actually said, right before I left the bar that night, I said to hell with her.  I was thinking we should go our separate ways.  And apparently so was she, because she was going to leave the DA's office."

"Would leaving the job mean leaving you?"

"Of course."

"Are you sure?"

"What we had together was based on our work.  If we weren't working together... how long would it have lasted?"

"Is that how your other relationships with your coworkers ended?"  Jack looked away.  "What were you fighting about?"

"The death penalty, the justice system... her job..."

"What about it?"

"She was thinking of quitting."

"I thought you didn't know that."

"I didn't know she was serious about it.  I didn't know she'd started to look for another job."

"What about the death penalty?  Why were you arguing about it?"

"I'm for it."  There it was again.  It felt strange to say that.

"Why was that a problem?"

"You've heard of Mickey Scott?"

"First man executed in the State of New York, the other day-" Father John's eyes widened slightly as he put two and two together.  "You two worked in the DA's office."

"We prosecuted him.  Then we went to witness his execution."

"Both of you?"

"Yes."

"And what did you think?"

"She said it was savage.  That executions were savage."

"Do you think it was?"

"I don't know any more.  He died.  And then she died."  Father John looked puzzled.  "We went, and then she took the day off.  I did too, but we never connected.  I... I was trying to reach her all day... I ended up spending the day at a bar, getting drunk, and she stood me up, and then I went home and... and then by the time she finally got to the bar to pick me up, one of the cops who'd been to the execution was there.  He was drunk, she drove him home... and that's when..." damn it.  He couldn't seem to get through anything without being on the verge of tears again.

"Do you feel guilty about that?" Father John asked after a moment.

"What part?"

"Any of it."

"Or all of it?" Jack sighed, walked over to the window, looked out into the churchyard.  "I don't know.  If I'd stayed at the bar... if I'd tried to talk to her before that day, really talk to her... if I'd woken up when she paged me... if I hadn't asked for the death penalty..."

"You know, subconsciously you may be feeling that you're being punished for something.  Don't.  God doesn't work that way."

Jack turned, narrowing his eyes at Father John.  "You're not much like the Jesuits I grew up with."

"Considering the fact that you're a lapsed Catholic, I'm going to take that as a compliment," Father John said humorously.

"Believe me, it is."

"They were part of the reason you left?"

"When you're raised by Jesuits, you grow up either obedient or impertinent."

Father John nodded in agreement.  "I'd say impertinent in my case as well.  Impertinence doesn't preclude faith."

"Really?"

"I may wear the collar, but that doesn't mean I've left my brain at the church door.  I don't believe God demands that our faith be stupid."  He paused.  "So what do you think about the death penalty now that you've seen it?"

"I don't know any more."

"Do you believe it was wrong?"

"I don't know.  All I know is I watched them both die in pretty much the same way.  And I would have done anything to keep Claire alive... just watching her breathe out for the last time, it, it..." Jack stopped, unable to continue for a minute.

"Claire was trying to get me to see that Scott was still a human being.  She - at his execution, she actually had tears in her eyes afterwards.  I thought it was just stupid sentimentality.  But..." he shook his head.  "I don't know if the fact that he was a human being is enough for me to say his life should have been spared, but... I suppose she was right about one thing at least.  It wasn't just like any other sentence."

"Why?"

"It's final.  The way she died, the way my father died... that's something to fight against, not something to speed up."

"So you're against it now?"

"No, I just... I don't know how I feel about it."

"It's not a simple sentence any more, is it?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Good.  It's not supposed to be."

"You're against it, aren't you?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm undecided.  I've come across too much evil in this world to really believe that everybody is a child of God, that every human life deserves protection.  There really are monsters out there, and I don't know how else to deal with them."

"But?"

"But I do think it's playing God.  And we have to be very, very careful when we do that.  The real one gets pretty miffed otherwise."  Jack gave a small chuckle.

"Is that what we were doing?  What I was doing?  Playing God?"

Father John shrugged helplessly. "I don't know.  I don't know you well enough.  I do know that no death is simple," he said gently.  "Mickey Scott's, your father's, Claire's... every death has repercussions."

"I know."

"Mr. McCoy... you aren't used to that, I don't think.  I don't know you very well, but it seems to me that you're not used to things you can't control," he said hesitantly.  Jack nodded in acknowledgment.  "You can't control most of what you're going through right now.  Grief and loss... they're frightening.  We can't deal with them on our own.  No matter how independent we may think we are."

"So I've been told," Jack said wearily.  Father John looked at him questioningly.  "I've been the recipient of a lot of sympathetic looks for the last two days.  And our departmental shrink came by to tell me about support groups and counseling and taking time off..."

"All of those are probably good ideas."  Jack sighed and looked away.  "Dropping into a bottle is a bad idea.  Even if it may seem easier and even if you can do it all by yourself."

"I just can't see myself at a support group."

"Well, that may not be helpful to you.  Give yourself time."  Jack nodded.  "And definitely give yourself time off."

"I don't see how sitting at home is going to help-"

"Time off doesn't mean sitting at home.  It can mean being with family or friends, or coming to church, or seeing a counselor, or whatever.  It doesn't and it probably shouldn't mean sitting there doing nothing."

Jack nodded.

"Mr. McCoy... can you tell me a little bit about Claire?"  Jack looked at him, a bit surprised by the request.

"Why?  What good would that do?  She's gone."

"Not to you, not really.  Her body's gone, but her memory is still alive.  You're still going to see her everywhere you go, and trying to forget her or ignore how you feel... that's not going to help.  Maybe talking to somebody who didn't know her, maybe talking about the last couple of days, might help you come to terms with this."  Jack shrugged and looked out the window again.

"You know... the fact that you were going through conflict with her makes her sudden death more difficult.  It's like she left in the middle of an argument, and you can never finish it now.  Not with her."  Father John cleared his throat.  "But I'm here.  You can try to tell me about it, come to terms with her as best you can."

Jack regarded him for a long moment, then hesitantly sat back down and started to speak.

ooo000ooo

Jack smiled slightly at himself as he lit a candle at the altar a few hours later.  Here was something he hadn't done in about twenty years.

He looked up, gazing curiously at the stained glass windows of the church.  Pretty enough, but they didn't say much to him.

Well, I'm here, he thought as he crossed himself and bowed his head.  I don't know if this counts as going back to the Church, but I'm here, Lord.  I'm here because I don't much want to live in a bottle like Dad did and I don't think I can avoid that without You.  Bear with me, though, this is not exactly my forte.  I am as You made me, and that includes skepticism and an instinctive need to be a wiseass, even when praying.

I'm also here because I want to feel that Claire is with You.  I don't know how else I'm going to be able to accept her loss.  This was a bit too much to dump into my lap all at once, but I suppose You have Your reasons.

He paused, thinking of Claire.  It had been comforting to talk about her, tell Father John something about her, how they'd met, what she had been like.  What they'd argued about.  What he would have wanted to say to her, if he could have.  He pictured her for a moment, smiling at him.

Claire, if you could see me now... I know you'd probably find this fairly amusing, me lighting a candle for you at a church.

No, actually, you wouldn't.  You always had a lot more understanding and compassion than I did.

This is going to be hard, Claire.  Even if things were starting to go badly between us... having it end like this, it's going to be hard.  I'll try not to deal with it by doing things that would have pissed you off, though.  I'll try not to drink too much, I'll try not to just forget you.  You deserve better than that.  But... it's not going to be easy.

ooo000ooo

Jack left the church, heading for his bike, not really thinking much of anything.  He spotted a pay phone and decided to give Adam a call.

"Yes?"

"Adam, it's Jack.  I'm going to need some time off next week, to deal with, uh, Claire's things and her will and all of that.  Linda's asked me to help out a bit."

"Take as long as you need."

"Thanks.  It shouldn't take more than a day or so."  There was a silence, and then Jack cleared his throat and made himself go on.  "I... uh... I'm also going to take some personal time, maybe a week or so."

Adam felt his eyebrows climb up, but kept his voice neutral as he responded, "Good idea.  You've probably got about a year's worth of leave time backed up anyway."

"I don't need a year, Adam," Jack returned a little brusquely.

"Fine, suit yourself," Adam said, his habitual gruff voice back in place.  Jack smiled, reassured by that as he hadn't been by much else in the last few days.

"Jack, you know if there's anything I can-"

"I know."

"You want to come over for dinner?" Adam said abruptly, startling them both.

"To the Schiff mansion?  That's a novel idea."

"Do you want to or not?"

Jack started to demur automatically, then stopped himself.  Yes, he did.  The other choice was going back to his empty apartment, and back to his bottle of scotch.

"I'd love to."

"I'll see you at six then."

"Thanks, Adam."  Jack hung up the phone and paused thoughtfully for a moment, then headed back to his bike.

ooo000ooo

Author's Notes: Thanks a million, Kyllikki, for permission to use your Deus Ex Machina answering machine for this and the other Aftershock stories.  And thanks to Chris for beta-reading, and for being my own personal pro-death penalty Jack :)

If anybody wants the actual script for Aftershock, e-mail me at

ciroccoj2002 at yahoo dot com