DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to Dick Wolfe, whose pantheon of writers apparently doesn�t understand what we Jack and Nora fans do.... T a k i n g C a r e o f B u s i n e s s Tuesday, May 5...8:30 a.m. ...Disoriented, Jack stared at the opened newspaper Serena had just placed on the desk before him. Startled by what he saw, he looked up at her, instinctively expecting judgement, but her face registered no disapproval. Perhaps a restrained concern? Intelligent and perceptive, she read his thoughts: �It�s alright, Jack. There are no surprises here. The immediate staff have suspected it for some time now.� He shrugged and looked at the paper again, as much to hide his slight embarrassment as anything else. �I wanted to give you a heads up.� Sutherlyn discreetly withdrew, turned to him once more. � Jack, if there�s anything that I can do to help, anything...� Although his mumbled thanks were barely audible, she knew it was sincere. Closing his door behind her, she glanced through the office window across the hall. Nora sat at the sofa, engrossed in whatever she was working on. Serena shook her head. There was going to be really big shit hitting the Hogan Place fan. Deliberately discreet about details to protect Jack should their relationship ever became an issue, Nora hadn�t told him where she�d planned to be later that afternoon. Both strongly self-disciplined, they had so far succeeded in maintaining more or less separate professional and personal lives. Otherwise, they knew, this second chance would not work, for neither would ever sacrifice career on the unsteady altar of romance. Worry was a waste of time and Jack knew that even once Nora was back nothing would be discussed until they were away from the office. He�d opened his door once the clerical staff had left at five; much later, he�d heard Nora�s keys when she�d returned. Time flew by when one was intent on work, engrossed in a case that refused to co-operate. Nora hadn�t bothered to hang up her jacket; it still lay across the arm of the sofa where she sat, glasses in one hand, rubbing her right temple with the other. Evan Gilroy, the newest E.A.D.A., appeared from nowhere, knocked on her open door and entered. Jack glanced at his watch: 6:30. And how many hours to go before they would be alone? He pulled the offending newspaper from his briefcase and looked again at the photo on the top of the front page of the City section. He astride his bike in front of a brownstone, adjusting his helmet and Nora smiling at him just before climbing into the back of a limo. Nora�s brownstone. Yesterday morning. Bristling, he re-read the succinct caption: �Interim D.A. Nora Lewin and E.A.D.A. Jack McCoy, leaving Lewin�s home on Monday morning. Working overtime?� 7:45 p.m. A migraine. Nora had taken medication and gone straight to bed with an ice pack. Knowing there was nothing he could do but assure her quiet and a darkened room, Jack slipped out to the nearest Chinese take- out to grab a bite to eat. When thinking things over at the office, he�d decided that the photo must have been taken from the stoop of the brownstone across the street, but as he walked away, he could see that even had traffic been heavy, surely one of them would have seen the photographer, noted what was happening. There were no shrubs high enough to have concealed anyone. From a parked a car? Jack turned. There was a red Ford wagon parked directly in front of the house in question; had it been there yesterday morning? Having eaten hastily and picked up something for Nora should she wake up hungry, Jack decided to walk around the block, returning from the opposite direction that would be expected had someone watched him leave. Ignoring the wary looks of passers-by, he stopped and peeked around the corner. The red wagon was still there. A younger man was at the wheel, apparently using the side view mirror to look down the darkened street where Jack had disappeared. Doing his best to remain hidden, yet not look like some social deviant, McCoy slipped in behind a group of teenagers, following them towards the front of the wagon. Walking past, he glanced surreptitiously through the passenger side window; a camera on the front seat sported a long-distance lens. He abruptly strode around the back of the car. Startled to find his field of vision suddenly filled with the body of his prey, the photographer fumbled with keys and standard shift while Jack stood glaring at him only inches from his face. Repeating the license plate number as the wagon pulled away and feeling grimly proud of himself, Jack crossed the street and quietly re-entered Nora�s brownstone. The ice pack still lying across her forehead, Nora slept. There would be no conversation tonight. Jack put her dinner in the fridge. Sitting at the counter in the kitchen, he wrote her an explanatory note, which he then placed on the vanity in the bathroom where she would be sure to see it first thing in the morning. Looking in on her once more, he whispered �Sorry, Sweetheart�, then, locking the door behind him, he left. Wednesday, May 6...5:30 A.M. ...Busy professional lives often meant notes and unspoken goodbyes, so Nora was content enough with the message she discovered when, still not fully awake, she made her way to the bathroom in the morning. He�d wanted to let her sleep undisturbed so had gone to his own place for the night. She smiled. �Sweet man.� Disappointing, though, that he couldn�t make it for breakfast. Still, there was his promise of dinner out at her favourite restaurant as an apology for the unavoidable early-morning appointment that would keep him away from their usual bagels and coffee. Even though they wouldn�t begin it together, it would be a good day after all, she decided, for there would be something special to look forward to. 8:45 P.M. .... As Jack showered and she prepared them a nightcap, Nora could only shake her head in wry amusement at the promise of a good day gone well and truly bad. There had been the small clutch of scandal sheet reporters and their photographers on the steps outside One Hogan Place when she�d climbed out of the limo, and her confusion as their onslaught had begun. �Have any comment about the photo that appeared in yesterday�s City section, Ms. Lewin?� At least the puzzled expression on her face would have looked sincere! Unable to do anything but claim �No comment�, she�d walked away purposefully, hoping to look especially competent as she did so. Then Jeannie�s initial dumbstruck silence when Nora had asked her what she might know about the photo. �Perhaps you should discuss that with Mr. McCoy, Ms. Lewin� she�d said softly. An embarrassed pause, and �I believe that he can tell you what you need to know.� Breaking their self-imposed protocol that there were to be no personal visits during working hours, she�d knocked, not waiting to be invited in. �I seem to be the only person in New York still in the dark about some damn shot that was printed in the City section yesterday�, she had begun, but the look on Jack�s face had silenced her. Thus she had learned about Jack�s encounter with the photographer last evening and about the �appointment� he�d fabricated so that, were they watched, he would be seen coming out of his own apartment building alone the following morning. The full impact of their professional responsibility, the possible negative consequences of their personal relationship would need to be addressed as quickly as possible. Nora had authorised her recently hired campaign manager, Mark Constantine - who Jack had already forewarned in a furtive call the previous morning - to release an appropriate statement to the press. She and Mark had met with the chairman of the Campaign to Elect Nora Lewin, former mayor Rudi Guiliani, whose reassurances, support and understanding had lifted a huge weight from both her and Jack�s shoulders. It had been especially difficult to call together and speak frankly to the people they worked with on a daily basis, the assistants and the clerical staff. Both of them knew that there would be the inevitable talk, perhaps even some sour grapes, but that such things were outside their control so were best not thought about at all; more broken glass to walk upon, to be sure, but not impossible to live with. Rather than a special dinner, there had been Deli sandwiches, fries and shared left over Chinese take-out. But it had been here, on the rug in front of the fireplace, while the cold autumn rain, turning to wet snow, battered the heavily curtained windows that sheltered them from more than just the weather. And they were together tonight, openly. The other storm swirling about them notwithstanding, they had made a decision, taken a stand; their professional lives had never been compromised by their relationship, and as long as they were able, it would remain so. A revelation, which had held the potential for disaster - for both their love for each other and for their respective careers - had ultimately opened a door for them that would have remained closed otherwise. Hair still wet, plaid pyjama bottoms slightly clinging to his still damp derriere, Jack leaned over, kissed her mouth and took the drink that she had prepared for him. �To us�, Nora toasted with a smile. He clinked his glass against hers. �To D.A. Lewin�, he replied, then gently, �To us.� �J-a-c-k....�, she began with the exaggerated coyness which he had come to know signalled something more than a little out of the ordinary. �Hmmm?�, his exaggerated complacence in response. �Marie Antoinette...� His brown eyes widened in mock but amused surprise. �Whoa! They cut off her head! How do we do Marie Antoinette?� Placing her glass on the coffee table, she leaned into his long legs, began running her hands up and down his thighs. �And Marc- Andre...� He smiled down at her. �Who?� She cupped her hands around his small, tight bum. �Marc-Andre, the tanned, lean, hard-working peasant.� Slowly, slowly, she pulled on the hems of his pant legs.� Marie spies him, his gorgeous arse in the air, from her carriage one day as she is returning to le chateau...� Jack had to admit that there were certain elements which sounded promising. �Oui? And....?� Pyjama bottoms to his knees. �She forces him to return with her, to become her love slave.� To his ankles. �And, you should be told, mon amour, that she was misquoted.� Eyebrows raised in mock surprise, his breathing becoming shallow. �Really?� �Yes. Mmmm. Oh oui! What she said to them. Mmmm. What she told the poor, it wasn�t exactly �Let them eat cake�.....� Review Story Homepage Nothing could have prepared Nora for what awaited her. Nothing. Completely dry, yet with a bath sheet wrapped around him, a wide-eyed Jack stepped back to let he |