McCoy's mind was still on the stricken looks on the faces of Melnick and Prescott when he heard the muffled sound of laughter coming from the other side of the front door. Assuming it was of the other tenants returning home, he started towards the bathroom. Just before turning to close the door, McCoy heard the deadbolt slide back on the front door.

From the darkened bathroom doorway, he watched with a combination of surprise and increasing annoyance, as his fiancée fumbled in the darkness for the light switch by the door, while she exchanged amusing comments with a detective, whose low voice that McCoy immediately recognized. With the faintest pang of guilt, McCoy pushed the door forward, leaving it at slightly a jar.

"So where is the great man," Logan asked as he scanned the dimly lit kitchen and living area of the loft.

Malinowski took a few steps towards the bed at the other end of the room and frowned, while she let Logan remove her coat.

"Now I am a little worried," she said, returning her gaze to the detective. "When he didn't answer his cell, I figured he'd come back here and crashed after the speech. Maybe I better think about calling the local precinct or maybe some of his friends that were..."

"Relax counselor... damn I did it again... I mean, Brooke. Relax, Brooke. It's a little after two. You said Ross and some of his other former assistants were going, right? McCoy probably went out for a night cap with a few of them. I wouldn't sweat for at least another hour."

"Spoken like a confirmed bachelor, Michael," she said with a smirk as she moved towards the kitchen. "I appreciate you walking me up, but it's late. You want a cup of coffee while I call you a cab?"

Logan debated the wisdom of accepting the offer as he swayed ever so slightly. The prospect of spending more time chatting with his found friend was tempting, but the idea of explaining his presence to the DA, was less appealing.

Regretfully Logan shook his head as he placed her coat on the rack.

"I'll take a rain check, Brooke. Elaine's is only a few blocks over from you. I'll catch a cab with the late theater crowd. But I appreciate the offer."

"Listen, I appreciate your little pep talk. Now, if I can just put those words of wisdom to good use the next time an opportunity presents itself."

Logan leaned against the door frame, contemplating her words and the amount of liquor they had consumed the hour and half they had spent discussing Logan's childhood. He couldn't remember discussing his alcoholic mother with anyone since the untimely death of his former partner. Lennie always had a way of getting into Logan's soul, of making it seem natural to talk about the demons of being a child of an abusive alcoholic. Maybe it was due to Briscoe's own demons involving the bottle, Logan wasn't sure.

At the steakhouse he had tried to bait Malinowski into spilling the details of McCoy mysterious 'experience with domestic violence' by letting a few 'teaser's' about his own child appear to 'accidently' come out. But the experienced prosecutor was too savvy for that. Before Logan knew it, she'd ordered them another round and turned the tables.

She put him at ease, much the way she did a nervous witness or even a distraught friend, causing him to inadvertently dominate the conversation. By the time they left the steak house, Malinowski had tears in her eyes and Logan felt a closer bond to the woman he had been discreetly admiring most of the evening.

"The words are only wise because of the lady who inspired them," he said sincerity that surprised them both.

Malinowski flushed almost as brightly as Logan.

"Come on Mike, talking about your Mom… I know that was tough. I still can't believe how candid you were with me. I know it wasn't an easy topic…very personal…it's something I'm sure you consider a private matter. That's something you and Jack both share. You're both men that think they can take on the world. Yet, when it comes to admitting there are things in your own private worlds that you could use help with, you both revert to that stereotypical stoicism your people are famous for."

"Well I guess that's better than you calling us martyrs,' he said with a chuckle as she joined him by the door.

"That was next," she added without missing beat.

"You give McCoy this much wise ass," he asked with a sigh, while his nose caught a fleeting whiff of her perfume. "No wonder he's not back yet."

Malinowski moved closer, her hands on her hips as she gave him a playful glare, her face inches from his own.

"You're callin' me as wise ass? Come on Logan, what about all that blarney you handed me about Jack and his assistants on the cab ride back here? I'd say I'm a mere novice compared you, detective."

"You make it too easy," he said undaunted. "You should have seen the look on your face when I told you I walked in on McCoy and Southerlyn doing the deed in interrogation…I could see the wheels spinning in your head…trying figure out if McCoy had enough going on to make a lesbian switch teams for a night."

"Shut up Michael," she said as she reached out to smack his arm, much the way she would have Cohen during one of their battle of wills. After self medicating for several hours, she momentarily forgot about her tender back and ribs. As she smacked Logan a sudden spasm of pain shot up her spine and she instinctively grabbed his arm to steady her.

Logan reached around, pulling her into an embrace to steady her.

"Thanks, Mike," she said breathlessly and without thinking, she rested her hands on his shoulders as she gave him peck on the cheek.

Logan smiled down at her, as their eyes met. Malinowski was oblivious to the fatigue, as well as the pain he felt. She suddenly felt wide awake and aware of the stillness of the loft and the question in Mike Logan's eyes.

"Brooke, I-"

Before Logan could finish, the sound a toilet flushing, caused the pair to jump. Belatedly, Malinowski noticed McCoy's tux jacket and tie on the seat of one the barstools at the kitchen counter. As the pair turned towards the source of the sound McCoy stepped out of the bathroom.

"Counselor, Brooke was just about to form a search party for you," Logan said as Malinowski stepped away from him.

"I was about to do the same, "McCoy countered as he walked into the kitchen, deliberately refusing to meet Malinowski's quizzical eyes. "Had I known my fiancée was with one of New York finest, I wouldn't have given her absence a second thought."

"Actually, I ran into the lady while she was waiting for you," Logan replied bluntly, when he saw the look on Malinowski's face. "Standing a beautiful woman up can open up a can of worms, counselor."

"Don't you have somewhere to be at this hour detective," McCoy said as he poured himself another drink, in no mood to trade banter with the fellow Irishman.

Before Logan could reply, Malinowski had the door open. After thanking him again for seeing her home, she met his concerned gaze with a firm squeeze on the arm.

"Mike, I'm fine,' she said softly while she put the open door between herself and McCoy's line of site. "I'm sure I'll talk to you soon."

"Our paths do seem to have a way of crossing."

Malinowski nodded as she stepped back to close the door.

"It's good to know you can find company so easily when I'm not around."

"If you want to do sarcasm Jack, let's talk about you and that stunt with the bathroom, just now. I've been home at least fifteen minutes. What happened to you in the bathroom? Did you fall in or did you just like the view better from the doorway?"

"I didn't expect you to bring somebody home with you Brooke," he said shortly as began to remove his cufflinks. "I certainly didn't want to intrude on you and your drinking buddy."

"I'm not going to fight with you over Mike Logan and a kiss on the cheek. Not after drinking as much as I have and not at two in the morning." she countered wearily as she dropped herself onto the sofa and carefully reached for a shoe. "Damn it Jack, it's not like you found us in bed together."

"Only because voyeurism doesn't do it for me," he shot back as he raised the glass in his hand.

Malinowski glared at him, as she tossed a discard shoe in his direction. McCoy easily dodged the shoe that had been aimed at his shin. He automatically set the glass down and exchanged it for the shoe. His patience exhuasted after his encournter with Melnick, his judgment dull after too much drink, and his mind on the look he'd seen pass between his fiancée and the detective, he caught the shoe before it hit the ground and in a single motion, threw it with enough force to shatter the glass vase on the end table beside the sofa.

Malinowski jumped back from the shower of glass and stared at McCoy; eyes wide, jaw dropped.

"You know damn well if you walked in on a scene like that between me and another woman, you'd jump to the same conclusion. You're not stupid Brooke. Don't treat me like I am."

Malinowski fought to steady her trembling body. She knew he was right. She knew better than to sit in a bar and drink for hours with a guy like Mike Logan. A guy that was drop dead gorgeous, not to mention charming, as well as funnier than hell, and ...whether he said so in so many words ...oh so clearly available.

She could feel her face glow as McCoy reached for his tuxedo jacket and keys. The redness stemming not so much from the frightening display she'd just witnessed, but from the realization that she had not only inadvertently put a friendship at risk, but a relationship far more important to her.

"Jack, don't go."

McCoy swung around after opening the door and looked towards the glass that littered the floor.

"I think its best if..."

"You're right," she injected sorrowfully, as she moved towards him, her hand reaching out to push the door closed."I wasn't thinking. It was late. I'd been drinking…it was stupid to … too easy to send the wrong signals."

McCoy could see that her hands were shaking. Her eyes were shiny and wide with what he assumed was terror such a violent display. McCoy himself felt sick to his stomach. He couldn't remember the last time he lost control like that. He knew better than most, what that kind blind anger could result in.

He stared down at her tear streaked face, into the sad blue eyes that suddenly looked so much like his mother's. The pleading tone…the sound of breaking glass, causing his head to pound …he could feel his throat begin to tighten as his breathing became shallow…

"Honey, I'm so sorry. Please Jack, you have to know I would have never let it go any further..."

"Don't," he whispered as he reached for the knob.

"Jack you can't just walk out on me," she pleaded while placing her hand on his. "You can't just leave -"

Malinowski could see him winch as he closed his eyes.

It was a scene he remembered only too well: Too much liquor, too much yelling, the sound of things breaking, dreams shattering into a million pieces...

A scene that would either dovetail into a regretful prelude to a melancholy trip to the bedroom or escalate into a seemingly endless series of slaps and punches that would eventually end with the front door slamming and the sound of uncontrollable sobs…

"For God's sake Mom, don't beg him…"