.McCoy shook his head in disbelief and turned to open the door. Noticing the ivory clutch bag, he scooped it off the counter and impatiently looked around the room. As the bell rang again, he tossed the bag in the freezer out of sheer frustration, before opening the door.

"I thought you took the train home last night," McCoy inquired while exchanging dutiful pecks with his child.

"No Dad," Rebecca said patiently as she slipped her coat and hat onto the rack."I had my car, remember? I took Mr. and Mrs. Stone to the train. I stayed at Mom's place last night. I told her I'd water the plants and bring in the mail, since she's out of town. What? No coffee?"

McCoy followed his daughter towards the kitchen and watched as she filled the empty coffee pot with water.

"Still celebrating after last night?"

McCoy followed her disapproving gaze to the two empty champagne bottles that lay next to the skillet.

"It's not every day true love triumphs over adversity," McCoy hedge,d as he began nervously rinsing the items in the sink."To what do I owe the honor of a visit on a Sunday before noon?"

"I wanted to talk to you about yesterday...about what's going on with you and Brooke," she said uncomfortably. "I was going to take you to breakfast to talk about it, but it looks like you've already eaten."

McCoy followed her gaze to the skillet that rested on the stove.

"Got an early start this morning. I can offer you eggs if you like," he said automatically; immediately regretting his words. "On second thought, maybe we..."

"Eggs sound good," she replied and began rummaging through the refrigerator. "You have everything ready for omelets."

McCoy could almost hear the string of curse words he knew were being muttered in the bathroom, as he watched his daughter return the bowl containing the leftovers from the first batch of omelets, along with the remaining eggs.

"Eggs it is, but as far as discussing my relationship with Brooke..."

"Did you two talk at all after I left?"

"Yes, we were sort of thrown together. But..."

"Did she tell you why she hit me," Rebecca asked as she busied herself with preparing the eggs.

"We didn't get that far," he replied as he glanced towards the bathroom door.

McCoy remembered the brief mention his lover made to the conflict before they left the reception. When they were dancing he'd been tempted to press her for the details; not so much as to defend his only child's actions, more to prepare himself for the eventual confrontation that would transpire between himself and his daughter over the scene.

One of the criticisms that had been a constant over the years was his ex wife's complaint that McCoy remained too lenient with his child; that he left his Ex to play the bad guy. He knew she'd been right. Even at her worst, McCoy simply could not bring himself to lay a hand on his child. Not even when he knew she needed it the most. Memories of corporal punishment used as an excuse for violent retribution for his own minor infractions as a child kept him from giving his daughter more than a disapproving stare ora sharp reprimand. The most serious punishment he ever given his daugther was the silent treatment; a strategy that had backfired by started a years long silence between them, the last time he'd used it.

While he had flinched when he saw the bright red mark on Rebecca's face; he knew it was there for a reason. A reason he was almost afraid to guess at.

When Malinowski alluded to telling Rebecca she didn't 'fuck the men' she slept with, the DA had more than clue as to what had been said to incite such a harsh response.

"Well, I provoked her. Becky explained."I said some pretty awful things. After she came in with that Mike guy... well... I thought..."

"Becky, you'll never know how much it means to me that you want to defend me, especially after our last battle. But Brooke and Mike LaSalle? Trust me, there's nothing going on there that I can't deal with."

The young woman nodded her head, as she handed her father a mug of the freshly brewed coffee.

"I know," she admitted, with more than a little shame. "Ms. Green-Stone told me that…well it sounds like you already figured it out. She told me Brooke just brought that guy to show you up if you brought some bim- I mean... a date... with you to the wedding. God, I can't believe the things I said. Dad, I'm sorry. I made a bad situation worse and you're the one that's probably going to pay for it."

McCoy finished drying his hands before handing his daughter a freshly washed plate. While he was more than anxious to return to his lover and the pleasures of their private reconciliation, he couldn't remember the last time he'd heard the words 'I'm sorry' come from his daughter's lips and he found the sound touching.

Torn between desire and curiosity, he picked up their coffee cups and sat them on the bar, before taking a seat beside his daughter.

"Brooke and I left on good terms last night," he said, a fleeting smile forming as he thought about the gross understatement he'd made. "If you're concerned about her being upset with you, I suspect she understands why you said the things you did, more than you think."

"She loves you Dad," Rebecca said firmly as she began eating. "For her to go to that kind of trouble…I mean the last time I tried to make a guy jealous like that was in junior high school. You have to make things right."

"Listen, Becky..."

"No, you listen, Dad. After she slapped me, Brooke said something about neither one of us being able to take her self respect. Now, I know what she meant when she was talking about me. I'm not so sure I know what she meant when she was talking about you," she said, her eyes narrowing as her eyes fell on the empty champagne bottles, once more. "Dad, if you…is there something going on with you and another woman?"

"Of course not," he barked without hesitation, seconds before the faint but steady sound of music could be heard.

McCoy froze, while his daughter looked around the room, trying to place the source of the sound.

"Dad, why is your freezer ringing," she asked with amusement as she moved to open the freezer door.

McCoy glanced at the bathroom door, knowing the call could be from one of Malinowski's ADA's. Belatedly, he tried to block his daughter, mumbling something about letting voice mail get the call, but it was too late.

Rebecca stared at the small handbag, then at the fire in the fireplace, then finally, accusingly, at her father.

"You son of a bitch," she said throwing the handbag at her McCoy."No wonder Brooke threw you out! What are you even doing here? Bringing women to the home you made with her? Who is it Dad? Some bimbo you picked up at the reception? What did you do Dad? Invite one of your old girlfriends back here to help you make it through the night?"

"Rebecca Eileen," he snapped as he fumbled through the bag. "That's enough!"

"What wrong? Are you afraid the slut will hear me," she said, deliberately raising her voice as she started towards the bathroom.

"McCoy," he said automatically, while he tried to intercept his daughter while at the same time, answer Malinowski's cell phone. "…no. No, you have the right number. She's here… Just…just a minute!"

"Get your clothes on and get out here," Rebecca demanded as she banged her fist on the bathroom door."Denise? Vanessa? Erica? Whoever you are, you have a phone call!"

As the door slowly opened, Rebecca stepped back stunned. Malinowski appeared, fresh from a soundless sponge bath and clad in a pair of her own jeans and a sweater.

"Becky, I..."

"Brooke, before you two start, you better take this. One of your ADA's just caught a case and there's a problem," he said as he handed her the phone. "It sounds bad."

"So, does this mean you two are back together," Rebecca whispered as McCoy ushered her back towards the kitchen. "Is the wedding on again?"