Thanks to SugarKane & Giwu for their reassurances and advice as I tried to pull the final draft together for this chapter. Hope you all find it worth the wait!

McCoy could see his earlier prediction was accurate - the crowd at Flynn's had already begun to spill out on to the deck, the bar floor packed with not only the usual the boisterous crowd that flocked to Ocean Beach's largest bar on the weekend, but with vacationers in for the Fourth of July weekend. As the hip hop music of The Diplomats Ground Zero assaulted his senses, he gave serious thought to returningto his motorcycle. He still couldn't believe he'd let Jake Cohen talk him in to meeting.

McCoy had been deep in thought, mystified by his earlier conversation with Brooke Prescott when Cohen joined him on the bench.

"I was offered a bribe not to watch," McCoy had replied when Cohen invited him to join a group of Prescott's colleagues, who were waiting with great anticipation to witness Prescott's performance.

"That's just Brooke's stage fright talking," Cohen said laughing off McCoy remark. "Sure she's starts off petrified, but it'll take all of ten seconds before she's hamming it up worse than Lindsay is. Trust me, McCoy - this is going to be priceless."

McCoy knew Prescott's manner suggested more than stage fright and eventually said as much when Cohen good naturedly pressed him. Cohen seemed as mystified as McCoy was. The two men had stood and were about to part ways, when Cohen reminded McCoy that Samantha Weaver was being arraigned the next morning.

"I'll be handling the arraignment, Brooke will step in when we're ready to question Weaver," the younger man explained. "I know Brooke's been keeping you appraised via email and Ms. Rubirosa, but I'd feel better if you and I sat down and smoothed out any rough spots. Any chance I could buy you a drink later this evening?"

It wasn't like McCoy didn't know exactly what Cohen was doing - it was obvious he and Prescott were more than colleagues.What wasn't obvious was why he was doing it. But, McCoy did have some questions that had been left unanswered when Prescott cut their conversation short. Against his is better judgment he agreed a drink.

As he slowly made his way through the crowd, he spotted Cohen and Prescott at the bar. McCoy swore silently, his suspicions confirmed. The pair were in the middle of a heated conversation - a tumbler and dice in front of Prescott, as well as an empty shot glass. McCoy stopped, watching the exchange. Cohen acknowledged him with a slight nod.

"Damn you Cohen," Prescott said, her back to McCoy. "This is crap - Weaver's arraignment is in the morning. You know I can't down a twenty four ounce-"

"You know what that alternative is. Quit stalling," he man said triumphantly as he pressed something that looked like a cocktail napkin into her hand. "You know the rules."

McCoy watched as Prescott stood, picking up her bag and turning slightly.

"When I figure out how you loaded those dice there will be serious pay back."

Don't accusations you can't back up with hard evidence, counselor," Cohen said glibly.

She shot the man a dagger look, and began moving away from McCoy.

"I don't appreciate being manipulated, Mr. Cohen," McCoy snapped as he replaced Prescott on the stool beside Cohen.

The other man shrugged his shoulders.

"No manipulation here, counselor. I said I wanted to discuss the case. I do. I said I wanted to buy you a drink. I plan to. What you and Brooke decide to do is up to you two. I hear you're a Scotch drinker, any particular brand you favor?"

"Fine," McCoy said indifferently, scanning the shelves behind the bar. "Chivas Regal, Royal Salute. Make it a double."

Cohen did a double take, then smiled at the obvious comeuppance implied by ordering the most expensive scotch in the house.

McCoy savored the $25.00 a shot scotch, as Cohen reviewed the itinerary for the morning. Baring any unforeseen delays, Weaver would arrive from Montana at eight thirty, figuring another hour to get from the airport to the criminal courts building, the arraignment should start at no later than ten o'clock. Cohen anticipated Weaver's lawyer would seek bail - claiming Weaver had voluntarily surrendered herself, hench proving her desire to cooperate and remain in the jurisdiction.

The two men were discussing strategy to discredit that notion, when the barrage of hip hop stopped and the D J asked for quiet.

"Alright Ocean Beach," shouted a man who looked to be younger than McCoy daughter, although with the spiked electric blue hair and what looked to be gothic make up, it was hard for McCoy to be sure. "Are you having a good time," he asked pausing to gage the crowds response. "Let's try that again - let them hear it in Manhattan if you think Flynn's rocks," pleased with the deafening cheers he proceeded. "Those of you that are regulars know Friday night is traditionally oldies night. Before we begin our set of Sounds from the Sixties, we have a debt to settle at the bar.

"As we all know, gambling for money in Suffolk county is illegal and Flynn's is all about keeping it legal, right? Especially when members of Suffolk County's District Attorney's office are in the house. I welcome Suffolk County Assistant District Attorney Brooke Prescott to the stage to perform a Flynn's tradition. Come on up Brooke and settle your debt. What's your pleasure: 'Drink your Debt Away' or 'Buy it for a Song?'"

McCoy watched as Prescott stepped on stage, laughing at her obvious discomfort. Cohen leaned over, explaining that the house rules required the loser to either sing the song of the winners choice, or down the houses infamous 'Ice Tea' concoction.

"I'll Buy it for a Song."

"Alright, let's go! Read your dedication and we'll get started."

McCoy could see her eyes roll as she began reading from the cocktail napkin in her hand.

"This song-"

"Mr. Cohen, as amusing as this is - and I will admit this is amusing - I really don't-,"McCoy protested.

"-is dedicated to the hottest man in New York county-,"he heard Prescott say hurriedly, her eyes wide as she self consciously read from the napkin.

" …a man with a long history of being a heart breaker. Jack, you have met you match - hit me with your best shot," she exclaimed as the music for the rock and roll classic Hit me With Your Best Shot began.

Wide eyed, slack jawed McCoy began to sit back. Cohen tapped him on the shoulder, motioning McCoy to follow the him towards the stage. As they moved through the crowd McCoy could see Cohen had been right earlier. Hips grinding provocatively, body moving with the beat, Prescott immediately was into what she was doing.

Cohen reached the stage before McCoy did. Prescott was unabashedly belting out the familiar Pat Benatar tune, most of the audience swaying and singing as well. Cohen made eye contact with her, a sly grin on his face.

McCoy stood behind Cohen, Prescott completely oblivious to his presence. Her eyes closed momentarily as she danced during the brief guitar solo. Cohen took the opportunity to step back leaving McCoy in his place, saying a hurried 'goodnight' and disappeared into the crowd.

Prescott picked up the lyrics without missing a beat, opening her eyes as she bent down to where she expected Cohen to be.

Finding herself face to face with McCoy Prescott froze, a death threat with Jake Cohen's name on it replaced lyrics, much to McCoy's amusement. Prescott desparately tried to put aside her mortified shock long enough to finish the song.

"Where the hell is he," Prescott demanded the moment the music stopped, her body shaking with fury. McCoy helped her down from the stage, handing her her purse.

"I think the execution is going to have to wait until morning," he said as they moved towards the deck. "He was out of here two verses ago. Don't be too hard on him Brooke - you have nothing to be embarrassed about. It was a very entertaining performance - I especially enjoyed the dedication."

McCoy waved at a waitress, laughing at the multiple shades of red that brought out the blue in her eyes.

"Yeah, well I should explain that-"she began, interrupted by the arrival of an inquiring cocktail waitress.

"What can I bring you two?"

McCoy ordered his usual brand of scotch, while Prescott asked for a shot of Cuervo Gold and a slice of lime. The pair stood silently looking at one another as the waitress departed .

"How'd he get you down here," she asked finally.

Listening, she quietly nodding as McCoy explained.

"Jack, I don't know what to say. You must think my office is run by a group of real incompetents with nothing better to do than-"

McCoy shook his head.

"Brooke, I won't say I understand Cohen's persistence tonight, but it's clear the man cares about you. I can't fault him for that. Besides, may be now you're ready to tell me what the real problem is between us."

She looked out past the deck at the fireworks that were brightening the night sky.

The minute she had turned down his dinner invitation, Prescott had felt like an utter fool. He was right, her explanation had been total crap. How could she make him understand while she wasn't in the least intimidated by the press, she had no desire to deal with Samantha Weaver as Jack McCoy's lover.

If she told him, she was sure he'd turn the tables on her and make the conversation about trust. 'Don't you think we can have dinner, without me trying to get you into bed'…or words to that effect. Benign on the surface, but underneath an unspoken challenge. As if there was a chance in hell that dinner at his place wasn't a sexual time bomb waiting to explode.

How could she tell him without sounding like an sex starved nymphomaniac, it wasn't his actions that she was worried about?

There's a reason a series of his assistants have been his lovers. There's a reason Ben Stone has sent you half a dozen emails ' just to see how you're doing' in the last two weeks. There's a reason that conniving bitch looks like she's having the time of her life in that damned sex disc… It's the same reason you can't stop thinking about the way he looked at you, the way he touched you…how good it felt when-

"Brooke," he said his frustration apparent. "Obviously, you're not interested more than a professional relationship - at least with me. I get that, inspite of what just happened."

Prescott stared at him thoughtfully turning his words over as the waitress returned with their drinks.

"What do you mean 'at least not with you',"she asked slipping the waitress a twenty before McCoy could object.

McCoy looked at her indifferently.

"I think it's obvious. Listen Brooke, we're not children. I really don't see any benefit to be laboring -"

"Humor me," she said, sensing something uncomprehendable.

"Look," he said his tone leaving indifference and merging with annoyed. "I've been involved with enough assistants to know-"

Prescott's eyes widen as she started to laugh.

"Assistants…you think.. me and Jake? Are you insane ," she said gasping. "If anything, Jake is infatuated with you, not with me!"

"What the hell are you saying," McCoy sputtered, completely lost.

"Jack, the man is my best friend. He's also gay. Jake wrote that wiseass dedication -another part of the house rules, by the way. He did that, no doubt to…"

"To what," he said when Prescott became suddenly silent.

Prescott downed the shot she'd been holding and met his puzzled stare.

"No doubt to ensure this conversation would happen," she said with a sigh, as she squeezed on the lime. "Jack, you have no idea how out of practice I am at… after the other night….God, the more I talk the worse this gets," she said exasperated.

"I would think the events of the other night would assure you I'm not some animal with plans to at-"

Before McCoy could finish his remark, Prescott slammed the empty shot glass down on the rail and kissed him full on the lips. McCoy recovered quickly from his utter shock. His arms went around her, dipping her body back, as she parted her lips. He kissed her with intensity that made her knees weak with desire. Prescott clung to him lost in the taste of his mouth, the scent of his cologne, the feel of his hands on her body, until the sound of applause startled her into opening her eyes.

McCoy brought her back to a standing position, both of them smiling at each other unembarrassed by the attention they had drawn from their fellow patrons.

"Maybe we should take this someplace more private,"Prescott suggested,blushing at the self assured smile forming on McCoy's lips.

Grabbing his hand she lead him away from the bar and towards the docks.

"I can see I've alleviated any doubts you had about my interest in a less than professional relationship with you."

"Completely," he said as he stopped her, pulling her to him and reclaiming her lips. The tenderness of the previous evening still evident in the way he began the kiss. once again he waited for her lips to part before he replaced tenderness with carnal desire.

"I can think of a more private place to take this than the dock," he whispered as he ran his hands over her shoulder and down her back.

She shook her head chuckling as she looked up at him.

"Yeah, you wouldn't be thinking of your place by any chance," she said as she continued to lead him towards the docks.

"Given that your place is forty minutes away by ferry, my place does make the most sense," he said matter of factly.

"Listen," she said stopping and facing him." I'm not trying to play the untouched virgin here. But I can't walk into a meeting with Andrew Tepper and Samantha Weaver tomorrow morning with you and do my job the way it needs to be done if we sleep together tonight. It's not that I don't want to, Jack. I'm just old enough to know better-"

"You're over thinking this-"

"Jack, I'm not some naive twenty something ADA, just out of law school. I know what this is and what it's not. I know myself-"

"Brooke, we've both done this job long enough to know the press-"

She shook her head putting a finger to his lips.

"Jack, if it was about the press, I wouldn't have just kissed you in front of the whole damned township. It was bad enough preparing for this case when you were just a colleague," she said softly," but watching that disc … dealing with Weaver after we sleep together… no, it can't happen tonight."

McCoy started to say something, then stopped shifting his gaze from Prescott downward.

"You know the next ferry out isn't for another forty five minutes," he said an amused smile on his face. "any ideas on how you'd like to pass the time?"

Prescott gave him a wicked grin and took his hand.

"You see that bench," she whispered in his ear, pointing."the one at the end of the dock? It's very secluded down there - very private."

McCoy's nodded taking her in his arms again.

"Good. There won't be any interruptions." she said her lips brushing against his cheek. "It's the perfect spot for us to sit down and strategize for tomorrow."