Jack McCoy scanned the men's club for a familiar face. Although it was only seven forty five, the main bar of The Townhouse was beginning to fill up. Many of the patrons, were no doubt waiting for the live music that would begin in another hour. McCoy headed for an empty table near the back of the room, as he removed his fedora and all weater jacket.
The table appealed to him for two reasons: First, it was far enough away from the hubbub of the room to have a conversation without shouting. Second, he was less likely to continue to get the appraising glances he felt on him as he crossed the room.
"May I see your membership card, sir," the waiter asked after taking his order for a Dewar's rocks.
"Randall, Mr. McCoy is my guest," Jake Cohen said as he took the seat across from McCoy.
"Your usual, sir," the young man asked.
Cohen nodded as he set his trench coat alongside McCoy's jacket on the chair between them. After the waiter departed, the two men looked at one another, each uncertain how to begin.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Jake," McCoy said at last, as he offered his hand. "After the way I behaved the last time I saw you, I wasn't sure you'd come."
The younger man accepted McCoy's hand with a relieved smile.
"You were out of line, but that still didn't give me the right to hit you. I want you to know Brooke gave me hell for it, too. Told me she could fight her own battles and that if I did it again, she'd be the one that got charged with assault with intent. I know this place isn't exactly your cup of tea, but I have plans later this evening and-"
"This is fine," McCoy said as the waiter returned with their drinks. "You came in all the way from Long Island."
"I was glad to do it," Cohen said as he drank a good portion of his vodka tonic. "I'd been meaning to call you all week."
"Why is that?"
"Listen Jack," Cohen said leaning across the table. "You know I was delighted when you and Brooke got together. In fact, I pushed you two together more than once. Maybe that's why I feel responsible for some of the hell she's going through right now."
"Jake, I asked her to marry me. Not once, but several times," McCoy said earnestly. "What I said to her was unforgiveable that day at the bakery, but I've tried to let her know how much I love her. She just won't let her guard down enough to let me in."
Cohen nodded in agreement.
"She hasn't been herself at work, as well. Listen, Jack. Brooke has a tendency to want to take on the world – an asset as an ADA – a huge liability personally. Right now, she can't get her bearings…blames herself for things that well... you and Sam should be men enough to accept some responsibility for."
McCoy raised his eyebrows as he bit back a reply. He hadn't seen Jake Cohen since the day McCoy realized Brooke had slept with Prescott. While he regretted the deliberately cruel way he'd treated Brooke, Cohen's words were the last thing he had expected to hear.
"Jake, I forgave her.I want to marry her. What else-"
"What makes you think she needs to be forgiven? My God Jack, she slept with her husband. She slept with him and called out for you. It's not your forgiveness she needs, it's her own."
McCoy stared at Cohen in disbelief and the younger man nodded in conformation.
"You heard me correctly. Then you basically call her a whore and Sam is just as bad. He gets her into bed after she makes her feelings about you clear and makes her feel like trash for it afterwards. I swear Jack, neither one of you deserve her."
If it were anyone but Cohen, McCoy would have said to hell with it and left without another word. But, the usually smiling eyes weren't smiling; the usually warm smile was an unbending line of disapproval. It struck McCoy what a shame it was Cohen wouldn't be a parent. His natural protectiveness towards those he loved made him a natural.
"Jake, everyone's been on edge. That doesn't excuse anything, but-"
"Listen Jack, I didn't come here to tell you what a son of a bitch you've been, just to prove I can. I came here because I think you do love Brooke. I think Sam does, as well. But, neither of you are hearing what she can't find the words to say."
"And what might that be?"
McCoy looked up and accusingly back at Cohen. Sam Prescott shook his head when he recognized the man whose back had been to him.
"Damn it Jake, call me when you want to do this privately," Prescott said as he turned to leave.
"Sit your ass down in that chair, before I do it for you Sam," Cohen said with uncharacteristic force, as he blocked Prescott's way.
"You know Jake, there is a limit to-," McCoy began as Prescott grudgingly added his coat to the pile.
"There sure as hell is Jack and I'm here to tell you you're both pretty close to it."
Cohen paused as the waiter returned. After ordering a new round for the group, Cohen looked at the two men with contempt.
"I hope you're proud of yourself Sam. The woman that carried your child is back in therapy and all you seem to give a damn about is taking that house from her and blackmailing her into submission. A situation that is going to end, right now," Cohen said turning to McCoy. "For your information Jack, when Sam faked his death, Brooke miscarried shortly afterwards. After she lost the baby, she fell into a major depression-"
"Jake, I am well aware of Brooke's state of mind after Sam-"
"What you're not aware of is, she swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills before she finally hit bottom. She damn near died. When she got upset with 'Mr. Concerned Husband' here, she made the mistake of alluding to that fact and Sam's holding it over her head to get her to go to see your friend Dr. Olivet."
Cohen paused as he checked faces of each man to be sure he was making an impression. Satisfied with the looks holding a combination of shame and horror, he continued.
"For the record, save the blackmail for drug lords and the Russian Mafia,Sam," Cohen said with disgust. "Fucking piece of work… after I belted Jack, I should have gone to your place and knocked you on your ass."
"Well, if that's how you feel," Prescott said as he stood."I can oblige you – right here - right now."
"Fine by me," Cohen said as he set his drink down and began to stand.
"Oh this is great, three officers of the court in a public brawl," McCoy snapped. "Both of you just save for when you're not in my jurisdiction and sit down."
"Jack I don't-"
"Damn it Sam, you know Danielle will have both our asses if you don't sit yours down and relax."
The three men sat in silence as they alternately glared and drank during the course of the next several minutes.
"Why exactly are we here Jake," Prescott grumbled as he motioned to the waiter for another beer.
"We are here because you need to be told a few more things Brooke neglected to tell you when you breezed back in to her life."
"If you mean things like the fact I'm a fucking son of a bitch that doesn't have a fucking clue-"
'No, apparently she already covered that. I mean things like the fact it took Brooke five years to finally clean out your study. That she used to sleep in your desk chair with a bottle of tequila and a tin of your pipe tobacco in her lap. Like the fact she damn near bled to death when she miscarried two weeks after you left her. Like the fact that she can't stand herself for hurting you the way she did that morning she slept with you."
The two other men looked across the table at each other, then down at their drinks.
"And you, "Cohen said turning his attention to McCoy. "You think marrying her when she doesn't know up from down is what she needs. No wonder this is going to be your third time around."
"No one ever claimed I was perfect-, "McCoy retorted.
"Then admit that to her and stop trying to fix her with sex and the pressure of starting a new life when she hasn't had a chance to let go of her old one," Cohen snapped. "Now, what I've said is just the tip of the iceberg. If either of you need more evidence for the ass like behavior you've exhibited, I can continue, but I think I've made my point?"
Cohen glared in turn at both men before picking up his coat.
"I trust that not only will I not have to do this again anytime soon, but that one or both of you will pick up the tab, since I have a dinner date I'm all ready late for."
The pair watched as Cohen stood and moved towards the doorway.
"Jake always did have a flare for the dramatic," Prescott observed as the waiter returned with his beer. "Jack, can I buy you another?"
McCoy nodded as he drained his glass.
"He's right about the study," McCoy said somberly. "I helped her move the desk out, not even six months ago. The tin of pipe tobacco was sitting front and center on it, along with a picture of both of you form your wedding."
Prescott's eyes softened as he sighed.
"Mal was always so strong…so sure of herself…damn it, I never expected…"
McCoy nodded as the waiter set their drinks down. He understood Prescott's dismay all too well. He remembered the various times he'd watched her under duress. Whether cross examining a witness, undergoing cross examination herself, or even having to shoot another human being to protect the man she loved, McCoy had admired Brooke's ability to handle whatever came at her. The woman Cohen had described seemed like a stranger.
"That house really does hold a lot of memories for both of us," Prescott said at last. "I never meant to give Mal the impression I wanted to take it from her; it just seemed right that one of us should try to hold on to it. I also assumed you wouldn't want to live in what would appear to be my shadow, even if Mal could find away to hold onto the house herself."
"I'll admit, it was a lot easier to consider a move to Islip when you were only a memory," McCoy replied, as he thought of Melnick's words from hours before. "But now…it's not a deal breaker. I have no intention losing Brooke over a house or anything else."