He stared blindly into the steaming brown liquid, oblivious to his surroundings.

The reality of what had happened had began to hit him when Brooke Prescott's Browning automatic hit the floor. He could feel Prescott begin to shudder as he took her in his arms. His own legs felt like over done pasta. A voice in the far reaches of McCoy's consciousness commanded him not to give in. Not to pass out. Although logic told him it was too late for Samantha Weaver, he had seen enough homicides that his mind was on automatic plot.

Jack ...you know the drill…you have to call it in… call an ambulance….the police…call…Despite the increasing urgency of his inner voice, McCoy had remained paralyzed until he felt his own legs began to buckle. By the time he had lowered them both to the floor the shudders had become uncontrollable shaking. Instinctively they silently clung to each other, surrounded by broken glass and blood until McCoy heard the sirens getting closer….

"Dad?"

Jack McCoy turned his attention away from the now undrinkable coffee and focused on the anxious face across from him.

"Yeah, honey?"

"I should stay. My boss's son is a cop. He understands. He said to take as long-"

"Becky, I'm fine," McCoy said firmly. "You need to get back to Maine. Your job, your life."

"I'm not you, Dad" she said unthinkingly, gearing up for the typical career vs. family argument that had been at the root of their estrangement. "I'm not going to kill myself over a job, when my fa-",

Her hand flew up to her mouth as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

"Dad, I'm sorry. I, I didn't.. I wasn't thinking..."

McCoy stood up from the kitchen table to embrace his daughter as she started to sob. Nearly two weeks had passed since Samantha Weaver had held him at gunpoint. The events immediately after the shooting; the statements, the trip to the ER - where his daughter had frantically tracked him down after hearing about the shooting while visiting her Mother - had taken on a dreamlike feel.

Although McCoy and his daughter had been making steady progress in mending their tattered relationship, he had been touched and mildly surprised when Rebecca had insisted on taking him back to his Manhattan apartment. Dumbfounded, when she offered to stay with him. During the Barnes affair, their hadn't even been a phone call from his only child. She was making a leap of faith and he had to be there to catch her.

After almost two weeks of being fussed over, shadowed at work, the store, not to mention being guilted into an obligatory visit to Liz Olivett, the time had come to put his foot down. To send his daughter away from the daily reminders of yet another attempt on her father's life.

The op/ed column rehash, the local television new shows continuing commentaries on violence against public officials, and the most damaging site of all; watching McCoy's carefully crafted facade of normalcy be ripped away in the helplessness of sleep. He'd toss and turn violently. Sometimes wake up in a cold sweat and cry out. He'd finally open his eyes to find himself in his daughter's arms, a look of helpless panic on her tear stained face.

"Hush, hush. Come on now, Becky," he said gently wiping the tears from his child's face. "I'm going to be tied up at the office all day to day. All you'd do is sit and read magazine's again. After I meet with the Executive Board, I'm with the Mayor and the OCRB all afternoon."

"The Executive Board? Are you announcing your replacement today?"

McCoy nodded as he dumped his coffee down the drain and began clearing the breakfast dishes.

"Figured it was time to make Tracey Kibre's promotion official."

"How's Connie taking it?"

"She's a little disappointed," he said bluntly. "But Connie's a realist. She knows she needs more experience in Major Felonies before I even think about an EADA position for her. Tracey Kibre has almost twenty years in the DA's office. Her record speaks for itself. Actually, I think Connie was pleasantly surprised that I'd chosen a woman to be my Senior EADA."

Rebecca nodded as she removed the breakfast dishes from the sink and began loading the dishwasher.

"So what about after work," she pressed. "It's Friday. I could make you dinner and Saturday we could-"

"Saturday I have to go out to Ocean Beach. I promised your Mother I'd see how the repair to the front window is coming and start looking into getting a painter out there. We both have things we need to do, sweetheart," he said stubbornly. "It's time for you to go home."

"Dad are you sure you're ready," she asked somberly. "The house. You haven't been back there since…why can't Mom do it?"

McCoy smiled at his daughter's selective memory.

"Your Mother is leaving for that conference in DC today, remember? Besides," he said gently. " I owe her. She's been very generous about letting me keep you all to myself during this visit."

"Hum hum," she said with a 'I- caught- you- with -your- hand - in - the- cookie-jar' tone of voice. "You wouldn't using the repairs as an excuse to go see a certain auburn haired ADA?"

McCoy tossed the dish rag towards his daughter's face. .

"Heavens to Betsy, why didn't I think of that," he asked, his eyes wide, as he moved from the sink to the desk in the living room

Rebecca McCoy sighed, as she followed him. As much as she usually disapproved of her father's dalliances she had to admit, this one had possibilities. Although the two women had only met briefly, Rebecca liked Brooke Prescott. Not only because she was the reason Rebecca was making plans for the day with her father, instead of planning his funeral.

In the chaos of the Emergency Room it was apparent to Rebecca that Prescott was in bad shape - the shaky voice and hands, her face drawn and colorless - yet Prescott was gracious enough to see Rebecca's panic and try to reassure her while McCoy was being checked out.

"Just go see her, Dad," she said seriously. "Skip the house."

"I'm fine," he said with forced nonchalance. "Listen. It's almost nine now. If you're going to catch the train back to Portland, you better get moving. If you hurry, I can drop you off at the station on my way to the office."

Rebecca McCoy gave her father a doubtful look. She knew he'd been putting up a good front. Both at work and at home. The only time there was any indication McCoy was anything but his usual aggressive, driven self was at late at night. When he was alone.

As much as she hated leaving him alone, she knew he father. If she pressed him nothing would change. He'd still send her on her way. The only difference would be that instead of saying good bye with a hug and kiss, they would part ways with the angry words and bruised feelings that had been the hallmark of their relationship for far too long.

Reluctantly the young woman looked up at her father.

"Fine, I'll go. But not empty handed. I want something in return for my cooperation," she said teasingly. "I want you to check in -no email crap. Phone calls. Every morning. When you get up. No matter where you wake up. Every night. Before you go to sleep - no excuses about it being too late. You start carrying your cell phone. With the battery charged and in the on position. So I can check on you, if I get scared. You check and return you voice mail. One other thing - a promise - you'll come up next weekend."

McCoy smiled with parental pride.

"You drive a hard bargain McCoy," he said with mock reluctance.

"Consider it a gift," she said with a grin as she tapped her watch. "Well, do we have a deal or not counselor? Make up your mind - this offer is only good for the next ten seconds. Otherwise, not only do I unpack my bags, I move in for good."