McCoy sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his face in his hands. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the feel of her body, the sweet smell of her perfume, the taste of her lips - images that had replaced the visions of his life flashing before him on the courthouse steps.

He knew he'd hurt her. He also knew momentary sting she felt now, would do far less damage, than if he gave in to the feelings he'd suppressed for months.

It had been years since he'd seriously thought of pursuing another assistant. After Claire Kincaid had died he'd been far too shattered to even consider a relationship with Jamie Ross. When Ross left to spend more time with her daughter, her replacement's fiery personality had immediate caught McCoy's attention. However, when Abbie Carmichael began as his assistant, McCoy was involved with a history professor at NYU. By the time that relationship had ended, Carmichael had revealed to him the rape that had left her emotional scars that still hadn't healed. The revelation cementing a strong and deep bond of friendship between McCoy and herself.

McCoy felt protective of Serena Southerlyn, due to her youthful idealism, almost immediately upon meeting her. Her reaction when she learned of his history with some of his assistants amused him, as well as sent him a clear message. He didn't realize the extent of her disinterest until the night Arthur Branch fired her, when Branch confided the details of his meeting with Southerlyn.

By the time Alexandra Borgia graced his doorway, Jack McCoy's reputationwas all but extinct, except to select members of the senior staff.

McCoy remembered everything about the first time she stood in his doorway, patiently waiting for him to look up. What she wore, how she wore her hair, her soft spoken nature that he was wise enough not to confuse with shyness. While not intimidated by McCoy in the least, Borgia had a quiet strength about her that had always impressed him. For someone so young, she seemed wise beyond her years.

It was those traits, as well as her breathtaking beauty that had stirred McCoy from the start.

Finally he opened his eyes, getting ready to seek out the bottle of scotch he kept on the kitchen counter.

Borgia stood in the doorway. Her eyes dry, watching him with quiet certainty. She had removed her clothing, wearing only McCoy's discarded dress shirt, which fell loosely over her slender frame, held together by a single button. His eyes widened in surprise, as he felt his body's respond while his eyes traveled over her. His resolve to do the right thing, almost exhausted.

"You're right. Things would change," she said quietly as she moved towards him, sitting beside him. "Maybe it's time they did."

"Alex," he began. His voice hoarse, his throat suddenly dry. "you're making it very hard to take the high road."

"I guess being so close to death as made me bold," she gently as she touched his cheek. "you never answered my question."

"I'm sorry," he said murmured as he fingered the lapel of his shirt. "what did you ask me?"

"Do you want me to go?"

McCoy stared down at floor as he responded with a single word.

"No."