FIC: "Placing Blame", Jack McCoy/Ed Green
Title: Placing Blame
Author: hawkeyecat
Fandom: Law & Order: The Original Series
Medium: Television
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Jack McCoy/Ed Green
Theme: R is for Ramshackle: So poorly constructed or kept up that disintegration is likely; rickety.
Disclaimer: Do you have any idea how much money I don’t have and would if I owned it?
Word Count: 566
Author’s Notes: Major spoilers for the season finale. Thanks to amazonqueenkate for the beta.
Ed hadn’t realized it before, how old Jack really was. It hit him, the way it had hit him when he was ten years old and the dog started having a hard time standing up. Jack was a fine-looking man for his years, but the past weeks had worn him down to nothing. He was ribby, like that dog had gotten near the end, and he hadn’t been sleeping. Ed had gotten up early one morning in the blue-grey dark to piss, and Jack hadn’t been beside him in bed. He found him out in the living room, staring at a book and reading nothing, the low hum of the television ignored. It had worried Ed, but he passed it off as a one-time thing, stress after Alex’s murder, and he figured it would go away in time.
But like the dog, Jack got worse. He fought for his cases in the courtroom, sure, but he had no heart behind it. The dog had stopped playing with his chew toys. Jack stopped caring about the law.
Ed’s mother would have called him heartsick, the way he watched Jack shrink in on himself. She would have known what to do, how to talk to Jack and get him back to himself instead of hurting inside. Blaming himself, that’s what Jack was doing, and Ed couldn’t stand it.
He made himself wait until one slow, hot July Saturday to talk to Jack, see what was going on besides the obvious. Ed was careful about it, edging closer on the couch until Jack was leaning back against his chest, as relaxed as he’d been in months.
“You still blaming yourself?” Ed asked, low-toned, like he was asking about the score of a Mets game.
Jack grumbled something Ed couldn’t catch before answering. “I’m not blaming myself for anything. Can we just watch the game?”
Uh-uh, not when Jack was trying to pass it off like that. “You are. You’re blaming yourself for Alex.” Ed kept his hold around Jack loose, so he could get up if he wanted. That old dog had gotten mean as he got worse, resisting affection, tries to comfort him.
Instead, Jack just twisted in his arms. “I shouldn’t have let her keep the case.” His tone was damning, condemning himself over something he couldn’t have predicted.
“And had it be you instead?” Ed demanded. “Make me lose you?” He wouldn’t accept that.
“Yes,” Jack snarled. “Me instead of her. She was young. Her life was ahead of her. It should have been me.”
“It shouldn’t have been either,” Ed corrected him. “It’s not your fault, Jack. And we put away the scum who did it.”
“I could have taken the case from her.” Like that damn dog, not letting up on his bone. Ed pushed him away, enough so he could pull up his shirt, expose the long scar.
“You see that? You remember how you worried over that, thought I was dead from it?” Ed demanded. “You want to put me through that with you?”
Jack’s face closed off for a moment, and then he buried himself against Ed’s shoulder, not crying or shaking, just clinging to Ed. He let him, wrapping his arms around Jack’s too-thin back, keeping him close. And tonight, he resolved, now that they’d cleared that up, Ed was ordering a pizza, getting some meat back on Jack’s bones.
Author: hawkeyecat
Fandom: Law & Order: The Original Series
Medium: Television
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Jack McCoy/Ed Green
Theme: R is for Ramshackle: So poorly constructed or kept up that disintegration is likely; rickety.
Disclaimer: Do you have any idea how much money I don’t have and would if I owned it?
Word Count: 566
Author’s Notes: Major spoilers for the season finale. Thanks to amazonqueenkate for the beta.
Ed hadn’t realized it before, how old Jack really was. It hit him, the way it had hit him when he was ten years old and the dog started having a hard time standing up. Jack was a fine-looking man for his years, but the past weeks had worn him down to nothing. He was ribby, like that dog had gotten near the end, and he hadn’t been sleeping. Ed had gotten up early one morning in the blue-grey dark to piss, and Jack hadn’t been beside him in bed. He found him out in the living room, staring at a book and reading nothing, the low hum of the television ignored. It had worried Ed, but he passed it off as a one-time thing, stress after Alex’s murder, and he figured it would go away in time.
But like the dog, Jack got worse. He fought for his cases in the courtroom, sure, but he had no heart behind it. The dog had stopped playing with his chew toys. Jack stopped caring about the law.
Ed’s mother would have called him heartsick, the way he watched Jack shrink in on himself. She would have known what to do, how to talk to Jack and get him back to himself instead of hurting inside. Blaming himself, that’s what Jack was doing, and Ed couldn’t stand it.
He made himself wait until one slow, hot July Saturday to talk to Jack, see what was going on besides the obvious. Ed was careful about it, edging closer on the couch until Jack was leaning back against his chest, as relaxed as he’d been in months.
“You still blaming yourself?” Ed asked, low-toned, like he was asking about the score of a Mets game.
Jack grumbled something Ed couldn’t catch before answering. “I’m not blaming myself for anything. Can we just watch the game?”
Uh-uh, not when Jack was trying to pass it off like that. “You are. You’re blaming yourself for Alex.” Ed kept his hold around Jack loose, so he could get up if he wanted. That old dog had gotten mean as he got worse, resisting affection, tries to comfort him.
Instead, Jack just twisted in his arms. “I shouldn’t have let her keep the case.” His tone was damning, condemning himself over something he couldn’t have predicted.
“And had it be you instead?” Ed demanded. “Make me lose you?” He wouldn’t accept that.
“Yes,” Jack snarled. “Me instead of her. She was young. Her life was ahead of her. It should have been me.”
“It shouldn’t have been either,” Ed corrected him. “It’s not your fault, Jack. And we put away the scum who did it.”
“I could have taken the case from her.” Like that damn dog, not letting up on his bone. Ed pushed him away, enough so he could pull up his shirt, expose the long scar.
“You see that? You remember how you worried over that, thought I was dead from it?” Ed demanded. “You want to put me through that with you?”
Jack’s face closed off for a moment, and then he buried himself against Ed’s shoulder, not crying or shaking, just clinging to Ed. He let him, wrapping his arms around Jack’s too-thin back, keeping him close. And tonight, he resolved, now that they’d cleared that up, Ed was ordering a pizza, getting some meat back on Jack’s bones.