The first time Cookie ever saw a condom, she almost ate it. Mistaking the small, shiny package for some sort of candy or gum, Cookie tore it open with her teeth, then gagged on the taste of spermicide just as Malcolm came into the room.

"Already? Again?" he laughed, and Cookie had to pretend that she had come to get a condom for him. "Grab another one," Malcolm said. "That one might be ripped." Cookie had never used a condom in her life until then, and running out of them the morning after her first night with Laz hadn't stopped them from having sex for another two days. Laz always pulled out, and Cookie wasn't worried about getting pregnant, not at 45 years old. It never occurred to Cookie that there were far worse fates.

When Cookie had to go to the doctor for what she thought was a routine yeast infection, she kicked herself when the doctor informed her that she had a urinary tract infection – something that was largely caused by unprotected sex. Cookie had already beaten herself up for the whole Laz fiasco. For weeks, she had literally slept with the enemy. Now this.

Despite taking all the stomach-churning pills and drinking cranberry juice until she nearly puked, the infection didn't go away completely. Later that month, it came back with a vengeance, along with stabbing pains in her abdomen. One day, Cookie tried to put on a pair of jeans, and she nearly cried when she tried to button them. She hadn't gained any weight, but her stomach was hurting so badly that Cookie was limited to skirts and dresses for weeks on end.

It took almost two months before the proper diagnosis was determined, and the gynecologist's face was so somber when he came out that Cookie knew she was in trouble before he said a word. Pelvic inflammatory disease. The cause was complications from sexually transmitted diseases – diseases with an s, not just one. In Cookie's case, it was chlamydia and gonorrhea. Separately, they weren't too bad. Together, however, the consequences could be so severe that a full hysterectomy was potentially in Cookie's future having been misdiagnosed for so long. That's when Cookie passed out.

The treatment turned out to be even worse than the cure. Though they were just regular antibiotics, they upset Cookie's stomach so badly that she cut her dosage from three times to a day to twice a day because she just couldn't handle the pain and the nausea. Poor Carol stuck around to take care of Cookie for as long as she could. But without Cookie to take her to and from rehab, she began to go back to her old habits, finally taking off for parts unknown once Cookie was too sick to stop her from leaving. It was just one more consequence for Cookie's weekend romp. One more reason Cookie to her to curl up on the couch and cry.

Shortly after Carol disappeared, Cookie steeled herself enough to pic up her phone and start deleting Laz from her life. All of the texts, which she didn't dare to read again. All the emails, all the pictures, all the messages containing his sexy voice. Cookie was trying not to look at or read anything or listen to anything, but then she'd come across something that made her smile, or let a voice mail play, and that would make her cry all over again. Had Laz really been falling in love with her after all, like he said he was? Was it possible that he was telling the truth? Could a man truly make love to her like he had, knowing it was all just bullshit to get to her money? She still couldn't believe that what he had done to her mind and body was a calculated attempt to seduce her for money. To hell with being betrayed. Cookie felt almost violated by it all.

Cookie was deleting pics by the dozen when one caught her eye. She was kneeling next to a small snowman, one made by Cookie's hand, with IT'S A BOY! traced in frost on the window behind her. She'd thought of sending them to her sons as a joke, but ultimately decided not to. These weren't pictures of Laz, but of Malcolm. Cookie hadn't deleted her pictures from that weekend in the Berkshires with Malcolm, nor had she ever looked at them. But now Cookie wanted to remember a time when she felt beautiful and clean and had a man who didn't want to hurt her or steal from her and who treated her sons well.

Cookie never regretted not moving to D.C. with Malcolm. She had an empire to fight for, not to mention her terms of parole forbade such a thing. But Malcolm deserved so much better than what he got from Cookie in return for all he had done for her. Cookie was too cowardly to tell Malcolm that it wasn't going to work. The ignored texts, the unanswered phone calls, and the emails she deleted without reading demonstrated shades of Lucious, but Cookie knew that it was best to just cut him off completely. Malcolm was going to make another woman an amazing husband and father, but Cookie wasn't made to be the wife of a war hero. Cookie, to her core, was born to be a thug's girl.

Laz was a thug. He was a member of the 125th Street Bulls. He carried a gun and turned Cookie on in the worst way. The night he first touched and kissed her body, she had to stop herself from having sex with him right there on the restaurant table. Cookie went to Laz's place the night Hakeem had been kidnapped and beaten and offered herself up to him, straight up. She was desperate to make everything go away.

"You said you got me, right?"
"Yeah, I got you."

For three days, Laz and Cookie engaged in the kind of mind-blowing, back-banging sex that Cookie had longed for from Malcolm so long ago, back when he treated her to a four-day Kama Sutra clinic instead. But other than loads of dirty language (in two languages, no less), the only thing Laz and Cookie really talked about was Lyon Dynasty. It didn't bother Cookie then, because she just figured Laz was a hard-working hustler like she was. Cookie could see now that Laz was just pumping Cookie for information so he could extort her for even more money later on. Other than being an ex-cop (lie) and a graduate of the University of Texas – hence the longhorn tattoo on his back (lie), Laz hadn't told Cookie much about himself. She didn't even know where he was from.

In comparison, Cookie knew what rank Malcolm was when he was discharged from the navy (Petty 1st Officer), his childhood crush (Jody Watley), and his middle name (Derek). Likewise, Malcolm knew that Cookie's middle name was Diana, that she was proficient on both piano and guitar, and that she had a lifelong crush on Freddie Jackson. While Cookie had spent three days butt-ass naked and eventually went home wearing the same clothes she'd work on her way over, Cookie and Malcolm actually spent more time with their clothes on than off, partially because Cookie regularly needed time to sleep and recover after they made love.

Long ago, shortly before Cookie tried (and failed) to take over Empire, Anika observed that the one thing the two of them had in common was that neither of them knew how to handle being treated well. It was true. Cookie was much more comfortable with Laz, who hadn't even taken her to the corner bodega until she got up and went on her own, than with Malcolm, who had driven three and a half hour drive from Massachusetts twice to make sure that the cabin they stayed in was clean and packed with food and amenities. The problem was that Malcolm turned Cookie into a blushing, giggly woman she barely recognized. Laz made Cookie feel like the bad bitch that she was. Malcolm brought out the side of Cookie that trembled. Laz brought out the side of Cookie that swallowed.

Cookie's hard and fast romance with Laz ran into the six-digit figures by the time it was all over, and Cookie had absolutely nothing to show for it except a son with a scarred back and post-traumatic stress disorder. "I had no idea that I was gonna fall in love with you," Laz told her when Lucious finally exposed him for what he was: a thief who scammed mothers like her into giving up hundreds of thousands of dollars in "security" and "promotion" and "permit" money. The words rang so false and hollow that Laz would've been better off saying nothing at all. When Laz's body was reported floating down the Hudson two days later, Cookie smiled. The bastard got what he deserved. Still, every time Cookie closed her eyes at night, she saw that goddamned tattoo.

Other than Lucious, Cookie had only had sex with two men in her life: Laz and Malcolm. It was hard not to compare the two now that she actually had someone to compare. Laz was a lot better than Malcolm in some ways. She felt much more in control when she was with him. That part of Cookie that would always be a nasty bitch who liked it hot and hard and on her hands and knees was a side of Cookie that, for some reason, she didn't feel comfortable exploring with Malcolm.

Yet, the main reason why Cookie was able to even present that side to Laz in the first place was because of Malcolm. Having lost her virginity to Lucious at 14, Cookie saw sex as more of a back-breaking, ass-slapping, hair-pulling kind of thing. She was most comfortable with her butt up in the air and her hair pulled while she screamed until she grew hoarse. Cookie wouldn't go as far as to say she wanted to be tamed, as Carol put it, but she definitely wanted to be dominated. It was Malcolm who taught Cookie how to move and manipulate her body and make a man so weak that he had no choice but to follow her lead. It made Cookie uncomfortable and self-conscious at first, but Malcolm never teased her or embarrassed her about the fact that Cookie had no idea what the hell she was doing until she finally began to get it right. It wasn't until she was with Laz that Cookie discovered how much she actually liked being in control. And Laz had loved Cookie taking charge in the bedroom. She just wished she'd been able to show more of that side to Malcolm, who deserved to witness her sexual growth, than with Laz, who didn't deserve Cookie at all.

That wasn't to say that Malcolm was perfect. He was just as intense and competitive as Cookie, and he had to be right about every fucking thing. He could grow moody and shut down very quickly. But it was Malcolm's insecurities about Lucious that drove Cookie the craziest. Cookie had a feeling that was that reason that while Malcolm could make love like a god, he wouldn't just straight up fuck her because Malcolm didn't want to remind Cookie of Lucious. Secretly, Cookie thought that Malcolm was the closest thing to a white man that she could get without ever being with a white man. His demeanor was that foreign to her.

In spite of all that, Malcolm had a knockout cock – the kind of sex that knocked Cookie out after just one round. Malcolm never expressed resentment for such a thing, nor did he ever gloat about it. Malcolm made Cookie laugh. He made Cookie feel special and beautiful. Cherished, even. Not because or she could cook rock just right or because she had a great ear for music or because she could make a man rich. Just because.

"Who's the most beautiful woman in the world?"
"I am."

For the first time since that the day Malcolm walked out of her life, Cookie realized that there was more than one way to be hard. Malcolm didn't turn her on like Lucious or Laz did. He lacked the swagger and aggressiveness that Cookie found to be so sexy. Forget the sidewalk – Malcolm's life was a red velvet carpet on a yellow brick road compared to Lucious, who had to sell drugs just to eat, or Laz, who had (supposedly) grown up in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. But was Malcolm – an ex-Navy SEAL who had earned the Silver Star for bravery during a war - really any less tough than Lucious or Laz just because he didn't wear it on his chest?

When it was all said and done, Malcolm had a confidence that Cookie found irresistible. With his third generation naval legacy, Eagle Scout honors and near-perfect grade point average, Malcolm could've gone to Annapolis and cruised through his military career until he retired with a plush officer's salary. Instead, Malcolm earned his place in an elite fighting force, then signed up to fight and defend some of the most hostile territories in the world. What could be tougher than that?

It was selfish of her, but Cookie wished so hard that Malcolm was there to hold her now, just as he'd held her the night he'd shot Reg and slept over at her house just to make sure she'd get a good night's rest. It was funny how both Lucious and Laz had sex with her on nights when she was clearly distraught and using sex as a distraction, but Malcolm had turned her down that night for the very same reason. "Not like this, Cookie," he'd told her gently, even when Cookie all but begged him to make love to her. "It wouldn't be right." That was just one more example of how Malcolm had truly been the better man – and for Cookie, possibly the best man she could have ever wanted or had.

Cookie had never cried over losing Malcolm, largely because letting him go didn't feel like a true loss. Now, lying on her couch, rocking back and forth with nothing but winter wonderland memories and a heating pad on her abdomen, Cookie cried until she couldn't breathe. She missed Malcolm so much that it hurt worse than her body did. Maybe this whole PID thing was karma. If it was, Cookie knew that she deserved it. She'd been a fool to have a man like Malcolm, then throw him away. God, if I ever get another crack at a man like Malcolm, Cookie thought as the doorbell startled her, I swear I'll do right by him.

And then, on the other side of Cookie's door, there he was.

TBC

Note 1: The title of this story comes from the song by Teenage Fan Club: "even though it's complicated/we got time to start again"

Note 2: In Episode 110 ("Die but Once"), Lucious is told that Malcolm put in for a "long weekend". In the United States, that would fall on a Thursday and end on a Sunday. Hence, the reference to Cookie having spent four days with Malcolm, not three.