By the time they left Clancy's, neither McCoy nor Malinowski, was in the mood to fight the Friday night date crowd for a dinner out. As the town car moved away from the curb, the pair exchanged suggestions for dinner.
"Pizza from Dante's," Malinowski suggested.
"Connie brought me back a slice for lunch today. Moo Shoo from Wang's," McCoy countered.
"For the third time in a week? I don't think so. Usually when you do pizza you want something light for dinner. Maybe, soup?"
McCoy considered her suggestion and slowly nodded in agreement.
"Soup works for me, but if we get it from a restaurant, we might as well stay and eat there."
Malinowski shot a look at a passing street sign and abruptly told the driver to turn right. McCoy recognized the bodega coming up on the corner and started to protest.
"Brooke this isn't a good idea. Max..."
"Pull up at the corner Max," she interjected quickly."Jack, relax. I can handle it."
McCoy sighed heavily as the car slowed when the sign that read: Lupe's came into view.
"You know we're having Mexican tomorrow when we go out to Queen's," he reminded her in a futile attempt to derail her plans.
Malinowski shrugged her shoulders, as she opened the door.
"There's no such thing as too much Mexican food. Besides, this is just soup."
McCoy bit his lip and followed her into the small market that was just two blocks from the building Malinowski had been held in. It was the first time they had been anywhere near McCoy's apartment building since the kidnapping and while Malinowski seemed sure she could handle the experience, McCoy's comfort level was being tested.
By the time he caught up with his fiancée, she was already chatting with one the owners daughter. McCoy watched uncomfortably as she placed a double order of the chicken soup and flour tortillas, certain of what her next words would be.
"Hey Jack," she said brightly."You never did tell me how Anita Van Buren became an expert on Mexican cuisine."
"Debra Curtis. The wife of one of Van Buren's detectives," McCoy explained, grateful for the temporary reprieve from a request he was sure would be soon to follow. "She swapped recipes with Van Buren for years."
"Well as much as I love it, I'm the first to admit, Mexican food is not my specialty. But I do think Anita will be impressed with that Key Lime pie I made for dessert."
"I'll admit, you make a wicked pie. I guess those years you spent with Sam have some benefits," he said as he stepped back to avoid the playful smack he knew would come.
"Very funny," she said as handed McCoy the take out bag."You know, I'll bet you haven't checked your mail this week. Maybe we should go to your place and eat the soup before it gets cold."
There is was.
McCoy swore silently as his unspoken fear was realized.
As a prosecutor who had read more than his share of psych reports, McCoy knew many victims found it therapeutic to walk through the events of their kidnapping. Visiting places connected with their abductions helped some victims to move forward in their recovery.
The problem for McCoy was twofold: First, it had even been a month since the kidnapping and he feared a visit without the benefit of someone like Liz Olivett to walk her through it, would do more harm than good. The second, and more pressing issue on the DA's mind, was the guilt he felt every time he walked into the building that had acted as a prison for the woman he loved.
As he prepared to list the reasons why a trip to his place was out of the question, he saw the disappointment already in her eyes and knew he couldn't turn her request down. He took her free hand and gave her a broad smile.
"Lead the way, counselor."
The moment the car pulled up in front of the modest brownstone, Malinowski could feel her pulse start to race. She took a deep breath and tried to hide the panic she felt from the man that held the car door open for her. She knew McCoy would use the first sign she was falling apart, to justify a speedy departure.
She could hardly blame him. She could feel his guilt; guilt for not only for her kidnapping but for not finding her sooner. The guilt, the shame, the inability to forgive himself for things Malinowski knew had been out of his control, just made the feeling of isolation she felt even more unbearable.
She had been out of the hospital almost three weeks and they still hadn't made love. That knowledge alone was killing her. After her outburst the first night she'd been home from the hospital the couple had made the expected apologies to one another and begun the subtle process of building emotional walls. McCoy spent more time at the office and Malinowski crocheted caps and scarves until her fingers were raw. The renovation of the loft was put on hold as evenings with friends and colleagues helped to keep their time alone at a minimum.
When they were alone more often than not, the conversation was superficial, although the affection between them was genuine albeit awkward at times.
After what Malinowski perceived as throwing herself at her lover, only to find him not merely unwilling but unable to make love to her, she hadn't been able to bring herself to initiate sex again. Although she could feel McCoy's love and often his passion for her, whenever they embraced or kissed, neither of the two seemed to be able to bridge the gap between them.
As she walked through the lobby door, Malinowski knew the real reason she'd insisted on returning to the scene of the crime. She knew until she found away to dispel her own demons, she had no hope of helping the man loved so completely, find his way back from his own demons.
McCoy followed her into the elevator and stood motionless. When Malinowski cocked her head towards the floor buttons he raised an eyebrow.
"You tell me Brooke. Which comes first? My place or the basement?"