"You didn't have to cover for me with Danielle."
"Are you saying you wantedto spent what is left of our weekend discussing your reasons for substituting Liz Donnelly for Kim Greyleck on the Criswell case,"Brooke McCoy inquired, as she sent the tennis shoe she had just removed sailing towards his husbands calf.
"Well no, but-"
"Instead of complaining, a simple 'thank you' will do."
"Who's complaining," Jack McCoy continued after catching the renegade shoe and setting it beside its mate as he joined his wife on the edge of the bed. "If you hadn't spoken up and told Danielle and Sam the AC was out at our place, we'd be back in that oven we call a home."
"Lucky for us Danielle hung on to her place when she and Sam moved out to Islip," Brooke replied before lying back on the bed.
"Lucky for us, Danielle's between tenants," McCoy agreed as the cool breeze coming from the bedroom vent reached the nape of his neck. "God, that feels good."
"Then, lay back and enjoy it. Danielle said we could camp out here until Wednesday morning. After that, it's back to the oven, unless the a miracle happens and the repair guy finishes on time."
McCoy nodded as he joined his wife and closed his eyes. He could feel his body relax as goose bumps began to form on his forearm and the worries of the day seemed to melt away. Instinctively assuming the fetal position, McCoy was half way to immediate slumber, when the feel of his wife's hand on his cheek, caused his body to stir and his eyes to open.
"Poor baby, you look exhausted."
McCoy stretched back out enough to gently pull Brooke to him. As he wordlessly cradled her in his arms, he pondered the question that had been left unanswered in the park. The question he knew was at the heart of his most recent disagreement with his wife, as well as the terse way he'd addressed Melnick in the park.
"You look beautiful," he whispered before meeting the amused look in her eyes with a rakish smile.
He could hear Brooke's faint chuckle as he covered her mouth with his. Her mirth was quickly replaced by a soft moan as her body moved closer to his. As he deepened the kiss, McCoy felt his own body respond to the increasingly seductive movements of his wife's body.
"Should I assume you're not mad at me anymore," McCoy inquired with his eyes following the hands that had opened the front of his shirt before carefully moving between cloth and skin.
"I'm the one that declared a truce in the first place, remember?"
"Always the bigger person, right," McCoy quietly teased before closing his eyes once more and savoring the feel of Brooke's curious fingers on his chest.
"Right. One of us has to at least pretend to be a grown up."
McCoy silently smiled at his wife's smug tone. He found it hard to believe that it had only been a week since the combination of no air and the short fuses that came with it had brought their sex life to a screeching halt. The way his manhood strained against the confines of his jeans, it seemed as if months had gone by since McCoy had been intimate with his wife, instead of days.
"I suppose that was the spirit of your suggestion this morning," he snickered after Brooke swung a leg over to straddle him.
"Suggestion?"
"You remember love," McCoy persisted as his hands continued to methodically caress her back, before he suddenly pulled her to him and smoothly rolled on top of her. "You suggested I screw a light socket and stay the hell away from you."
"That was then, this is now," she replied with such matter-of-factness, both of them couldn't help but begin to chuckle.
McCoy was still laughing at the simplistic logic of his wife's last statement, when he felt Brooke's hand pressing his head down to meet her lips. Brooke's ability to match him toe to toe in any debate was something McCoy had always admired about his wife. But it was her ability to put her own stubborn pride aside in order to calm the troubled waters between them…even when they both knew full well she still believed herself to be in the right…that continued to intrigue him.
While some men would have erroneously interpreted Brooke's sudden compliance as a victory in their war of words, McCoy knew better. He had been with Brooke long enough to know it wasn't defeat of any kind that brought about her sudden show of affection. Since the abortion, McCoy had sensed the shift in her priorities. Her need to be right had been subtlety replaced by a growing need to stay close… both emotionally and physically… to him.
Often, McCoy was male enough enjoy without question the temporary reprieves when they came. But this time he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. A twinge that grew more insistent as his conscious reminded him of the reasons for this last blow up between them.
"Brooke."
"Jack," his wife playfully mimicked after he broke the kiss and she opened her eyes to find his soulful dark eyes inexpiably clouded.
"About today…the business with standing you up at Jake's…not to mention-"
"Forgiven and forgotten," she softly interjected, while she took the opportunity to finish removing his shirt. "Jake made a few suggestions about the anniversary party that I want to run by you, when we're through in here."
"Am I also forgiven for keeping you hanging about the next four years? About the election," he continued, with sudden seriousness that took his spouse completely off guard.
"Hey, it's your career, not mine," Brooke responded as let McCoy guide her back into a sitting position beside him; her husband immediately seeing through her not quite sincere attempt to keep the peace.
"Now say that as if you really mean it," McCoy countered as he gave her a knowing smile. "We share a life now. What I decide affects you every bit as much as it does me. No wonder your patience gave out today. If I hadn't been so damned selfish by shutting you out-"
"It's a hard decision. I know that, Jack. Maybe if I'd given you a wider berth…been more supportive… instead of pressuring you to announce-" she began, only to be silenced by the sound of her husband's soft laughter.
"I don't know which frustrates me more: When we fight to the death or when we fall all over ourselves to make amends…so much so that we never get back to resolving whatever the problem was to begin with."
"I don't know what frustrates me more, Jack," Brooke shot back, with mock seriousness. "When we fight to the death or when we finally start make up sex, only to have you get philosophical and decide that now you want to open up and share your feelings, instead of-"
McCoy's smile deepened into a full blown grin before he slipped an arm around her shoulders while taking her hand in his to guide it down towards the prominent bulge between his legs.
"I hope that puts to rest any doubts you have as to my intentions for after I'm done 'sharing my feelings'", he confidently murmured, as his lips pressed against the back of her ear.
"So which is it, McCoy? Are you in or out," Brooke suggestively countered. "Of the election, that is."
"I have the petition sitting in my top desk drawer," he admitted with an uncharacteristically uncertain shrug.
"Can't win an election with it sitting there, Jack. But you know that. Look, something is holding you back. Something besides Donald Shalvoy…what is it, Jack?"
"You mean besides the fact I'm not a politician," he asked as he stood up.
"The voters don't want just another politician. They want someone that will give them justice and make the city seem safe."
McCoy nodded, as he stood and absentmindedly began to pace back and forth in the small space between the bed and the doorway. He knew she was right. He knew that was one of the reasons Arthur Branch had elected to fill the vacant Senate seat when it came up, instead of running for another term as DA.
"Maybe it's the general crap that comes with the job that is making me think twice about running," McCoy finally admitted before pausing in front of her to scan his wife's face for a sign of understanding. "Brooke, you know I loathe the social obligations that go along with the being DA. The glad handing, the benefits, not to mention the fundraising…all of it means wasting hours and hours with mindless conversations with people that are even more mindless… not to mention the 'grey areas' of corruption that are rotting the system from the inside out."
"Sounds you've got the weight of the world on those shoulders of yours," Brooke gently remarked as she stood and moved to where he stood.
McCoy thoughtfully watched as she carefully ran her hands up his bare chest on their way to his shoulder blades. He closed his eyes as her hands attempted to rub the tension from his body; nodding in silent agreement as he recalled how often the pressure of his new position had driven him to let his temper get the best of him, both at the office and at home, over the course of the last few months.
"Doesn't justify taking it out on you, love," he whispered before taking her hands in his as he opened his eyes. "I told you months ago I was going to run. You had every right to expect me to follow through, instead of putting you off every time you wanted to talk about fund raising or getting Adam to endorse my-"
"Stop it Jack. We were both wrong. My motives weren't always so pure and noble. I hate sitting on the sidelines, especially when we're talking something or someone that directly affects my life. The bottom line is you are dealing with an imperfect system, run by imperfect people. Your running or not running isn't going to change that."
"True. But not running leaves the office wide open for someone even less perfect than myself to make a run for it...someone that will probably be in Shalvoy's pocket."
Brooke sympathetically sighed at the torment she saw in her husband's face. As much as she'd wanted to clear the air about the election once and for all, she still hated to see her husband in such obvious turmoil. The concerns he had voiced that night hadn't come as a surprise to her. Many of them she heard before. Others, she had worried would come to the surface as the election grew closer.
As McCoy pressed her close, Brooke found herself thinking of the day Jack McCoy had been appointed DA. At the time, the pair were little more than casual acquaintances, thrown together due to a twist of fate after Diana Hawthorne's and Samantha Weaver's joint effort to discredit McCoy went terribly wrong.
Even then, Brooke could sense McCoy's apprehensiveness about taking the job. She remembered the afternoon his appointment had been announced…her trip to his office where a celebration had been in full swing. It was also the day they shared their first kiss.
At the time, Brooke had assumed McCoy's uncharacteristically amateurish attempt at seduction was due to too much celebrating and the expected adrenaline rush that came with being asked to accept the highest post a prosecutor could hold in the city. Turning her husband's last remark over in her mind, Brooke suddenly realized how wrong she had been that day.
"You never wanted the job at all, did you Jack? You were trying to protect the office all along, weren't you?"
"All along?"
"You were drunk …the day Branch officially announced your appointment…that day in the conference room…"
McCoy stepped back from her enough to study his wife's face. His look of puzzlement melted into a look of amusement when he realized where his wife's remarks were headed.
"You yourself said I was a stupid drunk that day," he teased as he thought about the first time he'd made a play for the woman who would eventually become his wife.
"That isn't champagne I smell on your breath is it," Brooke asked; shaking her head as she stood up and stepped away from him. "It's hard liquor, on what I'll bet is an empty stomach."
"I didn't realize you were a member of the Suffolk county temperance society, "McCoy dryly retorted.
"That's just stupid, "she said ignoring his remark."More than stupid, for a man in your position."
"If I'm a stupid drunk, then I guess I can't be held accountable for my actions can I, counselor," he said suggestively as he leaned down.
"Ya know what? Why don't you call me after you've had some lunch," she said turning towards the door to skillfully maneuver herself out of his reach.
"You said something the last time I saw you - something about being afraid to love again," he said, knowing what her reaction would be.
As she swing around to face him, McCoy reached out placing a hand behind her head as his lips tenderly brushed hers. He didn't know which surprised him more: The brief moment he felt her respond to his kiss, the force in the slap across his face or the feel of the side arm holstered on her left side.
"Damn it Jack, "she said her voice cordial. "See what you made me do? Now you're gonna have to figure out how to explain that hand print to the press."
"You certainly were a handful that day."
"Yeah, look whose talking," Brooke snickered. "I thought you were just being reckless…reckless because you'd celebrated on an empty stomach. I wasn't close enough to you to be able to figure it out then. But, I am now," she continued, with sudden seriousness. "You weren't 'celebrating' your appointment. You were drowning your sorrows, weren't you? You were playing gatekeeper that day, just like you will be if you file that petition, right Jack?"
The look on McCoy's face was reminiscent of the look a child wears when they've been caught red handed in some kind of wrong doing.
"You're falling back into old habits, love. I'm not selfless," McCoy half heartedly protested. "Don't fool yourself into thinking I haven't enjoyed the taste of power I've been offered these last few months."
"A taste you never asked for and weren't jumping up and down to accept," Brooke gently reminded him as she took his hand before moving back to the bed. "That's why you haven't circulated that petition yet. Whether you want to believe your motives are pure or not Jack, we both know the last thing you want is for one of Shalvoy's political hacks running the DA's office."
"There is always the possibility that Shalvoy will get enough pressure from the law enforcement groups in this state that he'll be forced to back a candidate that is actually qualified to be DA," McCoy countered as they sat down.
The look in his wife's eyes told him she was more than a little skeptical… and feeling he himself felt as well. But it was what he'd been hoping for ever since his last go around with the governor.
McCoy had seen too many DA's try to dodge too many political bullets, fired by too many political enemies, too many times not to know his chances of being able to effectively do his job and win re-election were slim to none at best. Yet he reasoned, if a candidate emerged… someone with both a moral backbone and the experience to get the job done without having to rely on the endorsement of Donald Shalvoy to get him on the ballot… then he could decline to run for DA and still be able to sleep at night.
"Maybe it's time for you to try out your considerable powers of persuasion on your old friend Ben Stone," McCoy joked as he smiled weakly at his wife. "I doubt even Shalvoy has a shovel that could dig deep enough to find anything that could bury Ben the Noble. I bet Adam Schiff would be the first in line to offer Ben his endorsement-"
"It's a nice fantasy Jack, but Ben's no more likely to disrupt the life he's built than you are to walk away from Donald Shalvoy without giving him the fight of his life."
"I'm tired, Brooke," he wearily admitted as he lay back on the cool bedclothes and closed his eyes. "Maybe that's a sign it's high time I stop tilting at windmills. We have a new grandchild, not to mention a new marriage. Maybe we'd both be better off if I appreciated those things a little more, instead of obsessing about Donald Shalvoy and a career that's already cost me two marriages and my daughter's childhood."
Brooke sighed as she took her place beside him. A mixture of understanding and regret filled her when she gazed up at him. She understood that it was one thing for a man like McCoy to dirty his hands when a conviction was at stake…the prosecutors faithful security blanket of pursuing justice often served to rationalize the ends justifying the means…but it was quite another thing to get down in the mud for the personal gain that came with winning an election, no matter how selfishless the reasons may have been for entering the race at the start.
The regret came from the realization that what McCoy needed more than ever was her support and patience, instead of what she saw as her petty display of anger and disappointment earlier that day.
"I think we both could do with a little appreciation, right about now," she said as she ran a hand gently over his chest and looked into the dark eyes that were watching her with renewed interest. "That is, if you're not too tired?"