"Why, Miss Carmichael . . ."

Disclaimer: Law & Order belongs to Dick Wolf and NBC. I am not lucky enough to be either.

Author's note: I've watched Law & Order for years, but I've never had the urge to write it. Thanks to my friend Dark Charaxes, I now have something to write. It's a simple one-shot, with the pairing of Jack/Abbie in mind. There's no particular timeline to it, except if you look at the ending, you'll see it's set some time after Abbie's departure as A.D.A. Beside that, just read and judge me as unrelentingly as you feel you need to. I can take it.

Oh, and this is inspired by an interview with Angie Harmon (Abbie's actress) and her husband Jason Sehorn, a segment of which was dedicated to bedroom fantasies. Their second favorite turned out to be the schoolgirl. In homage, I wrote this. Enjoy.

"Miss Carmichael? Miss Carmichael? Abbie?"

The black-haired young woman, garbed in a respectable navy blouse and khaki slacks, looked up at her tutor. He was a considerably older man, his hair gone salt-and-pepper years before and deep but distinguished wrinkles accentuating a still-handsome face. Dark eyes peered out at her from above a strong roman nose.

"Yes, Mr. McCoy?"

"That's the fourth time today I've had to struggle for your attention, Miss Carmichael. And it's been going on for the past month, at least. Is there something troubling you?"


"Miss Carmichael . . . Abbie . . ." Mr. McCoy gently placed his hand on her knee. "If there's something wrong, you can tell me. You don't need to play tough for me the way you do for everyone else."

"If I tell you, this goes no further than us, ok?"

"I'll take it to my grave . . . not that I have very far to go before I reach there." An ironic smile brightened his features.

"I like someone. In fact, I don't think it's just like. If I just liked him, I wouldn't be breathless in his presence. If I just liked him, I wouldn't be waking up in the middle of the night every night in a cold sweat with stained underwear."

"You love him?"


"So what's wrong? I wouldn't imagine you, of all people, to be shy, Miss Carmichael."

"He's older than me."

"How much older?"

"He could be my father . . . if my father had me later in his life."

Mr. McCoy paused. "Then I'm sure it would be a good idea for you to wait until you're old enough that he won't get into legal trouble for pursuing a relationship with you."

Abbie chuckled. "Who says he'd be doing the pursuing?"

"There's my spitfire. But, just to satisfy an old man's curiosity, who is this man of whom you're so enamored?"


"Me? Abbie . . . I . . ."

"You don't have to say anything. You could have your pick of grown women. Why would you want someone who's not even out of high school yet?"

"Abbie, if I wasn't your tutor and you were at least a year older, I'd be on you in a heartbeat. But . . . there are things like the law . . . and morality . . . to consider."

"I know."

"I mean, I could be accused of taking advantage of your emotional vulnerability and inexperience for my own satisfaction and I don't want to do that to you. You deserve better."

"Who says you'd be taking advantage of me? Couldn't it be that I would be taking advantage of you?"

"What are you thinking, Miss Carmichael?"

Abbie smiled, the smile matching the gleam of seduction in her dark eyes. She placed her hand over Mr. McCoy's, which was still on her knee. "Why haven't you taken your hand off my knee?"

Mr. McCoy began to move his hand, but Abbie held it firmly on her knee. "Abbie . . ."

"One night . . . just one night. After that, if you're too disgusted by me or yourself, we don't have to see each other again. You can tell my parents that a conflict came up and you'll be indefinitely unable to tutor me."

"Do you have any idea what you're asking?"

"Yes. I'm not completely naïve, Mr. McCoy."

"Abbie . . . I –" Abbie cut him off by kissing him on the lips, pressing herself against him. Mr. McCoy could have easily pulled away from the kiss, but he only made halfhearted attempts. When he asked himself why he wasn't putting up more than token resistance, the answer that came was simple.

He didn't want to. He wanted the spitfire as much as she wanted him. When she was legal and he was no longer her tutor, they could try something. Until then, they'd just have to keep things under wraps. That was fine by him; he was good at keeping secrets.

He felt Abbie smile against his lips as he began to return the kiss. When they finally paused to breathe, he asked her, "Where's the bedroom?"

"Follow me, Mr. McCoy," Abbie replied.

"Please . . . call me Jack."

"All right. Follow me, Jack." She walked out of the living room where he had been tutoring her, practically sashaying up the stairs to her room. Jack followed, watching her swaying hips as she moved.

In a New York apartment building, a certain E.A.D.A. named Jack McCoy woke up. He looked to the other side of the bed and saw that it was empty. No Abbie. That rather disappointed him, given the nature of his dream.

However, it was a good reminder that he had to check up on her. See how she was doing and all that. It wasn't as though he had feelings for her. She was a good friend, a treasured partner, and he missed her a lot. But that didn't mean he was in love with her. He just wanted to hear her voice, maybe see her face again. That was all; just old friends catching up, nothing more.

But he couldn't quite get over the feeling that the dream had been trying to tell him something. Even if it was, he reasoned, that was the last time he watched schoolgirl movies before going to bed.

End Notes: I was originally intending to write this as adult fic, but I couldn't quite go through with it. However, I hope I've written something satisfactory to you, anyway, and if enough of you ask, I can expand it into "uncensored" territory. Heh. As my friend Dark Charaxes would say, see you in the funny pages.