Brooke McCoy leisurely pushed her sunglasses up passed her forehead and surveyed her husband appreciatively. Jack McCoy stood several feet away. McCoy was putting all of his energies into reeling in what appeared to be, a monstrous ocean creature. Both hands were on the reel, his back arched as he strained to keep from losing his rod all together. Brooke hurriedly slipped off the lounger and moved across the sail boat to slip her arms around his waist to further brace him.

After several false starts the couple moaned in unison as the line finally snapped, sending them stumbling backwards. Discarding the rod, McCoy caught his balance first. He turned to swiftly reach out and bring his wife into his embrace as his golden face grinned down at her.

"So much for fresh fish for dinner tonight."

"I've had enough sea bass to last a life time on this trip," Brooke said as she returned his smile. "You know, we could rough it and barbeque a couple of those steaks you bought before we set sail."

"Where's the fun in that," he asked mischievously as he bent down to kiss her.

After three days sailing the Mediterranean, both McCoy's were tan and well rested. Although they had gotten a late start their first day out, McCoy had already decided their voyage to Monte Carlo would follow a route that would be leisurely at best … in short…McCoy deliberately set a course that would bring the couple to their destination in four days as opposed to the usual day and a half.

When he explained his plan to Charles Henning, McCoy's new son-in-law had nodded approvingly. According to Henning, Rebecca had anticipated the other couple's need for some healing time by themselves. Henning reassured McCoy that there would indeed be plenty of time for catching up with Rebecca when the newlyweds arrived in Manhattan. While father and wife were away, Rebecca and her husband would focus on her mother and boyfriend who were scheduled to leave that Thursday.

Henning and McCoy agreed they would meet in Monte Carlo Friday afternoon; thus giving father and daughter a chance for one more chance to visit before McCoy and his wife prepared to return to Manhattan Saturday afternoon. Henning and wife would happily pilot the yacht back to Nice before they returned to Paris from their extended holiday.

"You're warm," he said softly as he caressed his wife's shoulders. "I'm going below for more bait. Wanna a drink?'

Brooke shot him a look as she rolled her eyes.

"I think I've had about all the sparkling cider I stomach in this lifetime," she replied with a smirk. "You know, I realize finding me on a pier bottle in hand might have sent the wrong message, but getting me out here without even a couple of splits of champagne? Well, it's wrong. It's just wrong."

"You'll live," he retorted smugly as he kissed her forehead. "Besides, it's not like I have a secret stash of scotch on board. It won't hurt either of us to dry out for a few days."

"If you get another call like the one you got this morning, you're gonna be wishing you had that secret stash," she replied as she followed him towards the galley. "You want to tell me what Mike had to say or is it too depressing to repeat?"

"Green hasn't been cleared yet," he responded with a heavy sigh. When McCoy extended his trip a few days he'd secretly hoped the news for Green would be better after IAD had a chance to review there findings. Sadly, the longer he was gone, the worse the news seemed to get. Several hours earlier McCoy had started his day with a new round of bad news from the cheif of detectives. Barely off the phone with the chief of detectives, his cell phone rang again and Mike Cutter confirmed what the high ranking officer had told him; the evidence against Green was getting stronger every day.

Cutter anticipated going to the grand jury for a murder two indictment no later than Tuesday of the next week. Part of McCoy wanted to dock at the nearest port and return to New York that day as soon as he heard the news. But when he had looked at his still sleeping wife, he knew Green's dilemma and any other professional disasters that awaited him in Manhattan, would have to be put on hold for a few more days.

The change in Brooke's attitude during the time they had been away had been remarkable. While McCoy wasn't naïve enough to think a few days on a pleasure trip would erase the trauma either of them had been through in the last few months, he had hoped some time alone would at least help them to recapture the simple pleasure that spending time together brought them.

McCoy knew detoxification took seventy two hours to complete. While he didn't honestly expect Brooke or himself for that matter, to exhibit classic detox symptoms such as hallucinations or severe spasms and tremors, he knew once his wife figured out what he had in mind the atmosphere might be less than pleasant…

"God damn son of a bitch. I'm not a child, Jack. Why the hell is the bar completely empty," Brooke had demanded approximately five hours after they had first set sail.

"Because I'll be God damned if I'm going to sit back and watch you fall any further into the bottle," he shot back stubbornly. "I agreed to keep the drinks coming if you choose to drink when we get to Monte Carlo. I said nothing about during the trip down."

"Bastard," she snapped as she glared angrily.

"You know that mouth of yours is almost as colorful when you're not getting you way as it is when you're falling down drunk," he countered unapologetically. "Whether I'm a bastard or not won't change the fact the only thing there is to drink on board is sparking cider, orange juice and a particularly wide assortment of flavored water."

"No scotch," she sneered. "What is this, the Jack McCoy Floating Center for the alcoholically challenged?"

McCoy shrugged his shoulders and gave her a knowing half smile.

"I never said you were the only one who's spent too much time with a drink in their hands."

Brooke stared uncertainly at her husband as she thought about her earlier conversation with Don Cragen.


"It hasn't been an easy time for either of us," she said with sudden softness as she lowered her eyes. "You shouldn't have to worry about me when you have you own problems back-"

"I have nothing more important going on in my life than you," McCoy said sincerely as he took her in his arms. "Listen, whatever is going on at home will be going on when we get back. We need this time. Not just because of the drinking, but because we deserve to take some time to ourselves. Believe it or not, I married you because I wanted to spend time with you; actually I wanted to spend a lifetime with you."

"So you think there's hope for us yet," Brooke asked with amusement as he handed her a bottle of sparking water.

"With you there's always hope, love. Right now I think we need to face the fact it's just too easy to use alcohol as a crutch. I'm not saying I think either of us has crossed the point of no return. But, I have to admit if we don't deal with this now, I think anything is possible and the possibility of becoming a shadow of my father is a possibility I like to dwell on."

Brooke's surprise was evident in the expression on her face. Although she had heard from McCoy himself about his father's chronic alcoholism, it really hadn't occurred to her that her husband could even dream there was any real of chance of him becoming his father's son.

God, she wondered as she set the bottle down and ran her hands tenderly through his hair, how could I have been so thought less? How the hell could I have missed something that would weigh him down so…?

"Never going to happen," she whispered before pressing her lips to his.

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"You're sure I can't interest you in more sparkling cider," McCoy joked as he slipped a steak onto the plate in front of his wife as the sun began to slip from the horizon.

Brooke stuck her tongue out and ignored the question as she took a sip from her water glass.

"I have a better question," she replied knowingly. "This is our fourth day out here. Did you really think I didn't know it only takes about a day and a half to sail from Nice to Monte Carlo? I may not be a sailor, but I do know how to read a map, Jack."

"Maybe you forgot we never had a honeymoon," he replied coyly as he gave her his most charming smile. "A slow boat to Monte Carlo may not be much but-"

"It's everything that I need and so much more," she said as she returned his smile. "But I think there's more to this trip than a late honeymoon and a sobriety check. I think you want to avoid what's waiting for you at home as long as you can and I certainly can't blame you for that."

McCoy shrugged his shoulders as his smile faded. While he had finally got his personal worries in order, he knew he had a whole new batch of professional worries waiting for him at home.

Had he still been an EADA, McCoy may have recused himself from the case, fearing the years he and Ed Green had worked together might ceffect his objectivity. But as DA McCoy knew he had no choice but to direct his office to follow the law based on the evidence gathered.

Even if the evidence led to prosecuting a respected detective like Ed Green.