I Failed
Carisi stares at the screen in shock. He knew it was a possibility – but still – his number, 732-346, isn't there.
"Is it there?" an excited Amanda exclaims from over his shoulder. "Are you on the list?"
"N – No." The word sticks in his throat.
"Are you sure?" she leans in closer to get a better look at the screen in order to help him find it – maybe in his nervousness he had just overlooked it. "What's the number?"
"7-3-2," a slight pause. "3-4-6." His voice trembles. "It's not there."
Her finger touches the screen listing the pass list for those who had taken the Bar Exam and scrolls down it.
"Oh no," she says quietly, one hand lifting to her open mouth and the other coming to rest on his shoulder.
He leans forward, burying his head in his hands for just a second before agitatedly pulling his fingers back through his hair and abruptly standing up.
"Sorry, Amanda," he mutters as he grabs his jacket and leaves the precinct.
"Damn, that's harsh," Fin says after he is gone.
Amanda is still standing there with her hand over her mouth, her other arm now crossed beneath it at the elbow. Then she drops it and says defeatedly, "I thought this would all go so differently."
"Yeah," says Fin.
Sonny had really wanted to talk to his mom - she'd always been so good at lifting his spirits when he had been feeling low - and he had gone back to his old house on Staten Island to do just that. But now he finds that he can't even bring up the subject because he just doesn't think she'll understand. She had never really understood the drive, the desire to escape their hard life on Staten Island that had led to his intense focus on schoolwork growing up.
It wasn't that she wasn't proud of the grades Sonny brought home – she was the envy of her friends and neighbors whose children had trouble in school - too distracted by the hardships they went through every day to even care about their studies. Even given that, she always encouraged him to slow down, rest, not work so hard. She worried about him becoming discouraged – her perpetually optimistic boy. She didn't want that to happen to him – it would be devastating. He seemed to always be chasing some lofty goal that was just out of reach. She knew he wanted to go to college – desperately - but she also knew that they would never be able afford it. Not in their financial condition – not raising a family so large. She felt that he was working so hard for nothing.
Sonny stayed with his mom for dinner - letting her try to comfort him with a home cooked meal she had prepared with love just for him. He watched her while she cooked, still holding himself back, wishing she could be different. He could tell she knew something was bothering him, and that she was waiting for him to tell her what is was.
He never did.
"Amanda, can I come over?"
Carisi sounded – different.
"Sure, hon. You know you're always welcome here," she says warmly.
"Yeah, I know."
He still sounded . . . was it glum? She understood why he was down. Given the blow he took today . . . he must be a wreck. She was glad he was reaching out to her and not trying to deal with this by himself.
"Please come over. I've got dessert."
"Did you make it or buy it?"
"Uh, I'm not sure I should answer that question."
"I ate too much for dinner tonight. I think I'm too full for dessert."
"Yeah, right. You're just saying that because you're worried I actually made something myself, aren't you?"
"You caught me." Where there should have been mirth, there was nothing. His voice was flat, dead.
"You know, Jesse eats my food."
"She doesn't know any better."
She laughs. He doesn't.
When he shows up at her door he looks bedraggled – like he'd been caught in the rain. But there was not a drop in sight as it had been clear all day. His hair was beyond messy, clustered together in spiky clumps – a combination of the over-gelled style he always wore and the clenching and unclenching of the hands he had run through it several times in obvious distress.
"Has your mom seen you this way?" she asks as she touches his shoulder, leading him in.
"Yes."
"And she let you leave her house like that?" Amanda tries to joke.
He just glares at her.
"O – Kay," she says carefully.
She tries to lead him into the kitchen, but he just stands there, right inside her doorway. "Wouldn't you like some of the dessert I promised?"
"Of course not, Rollins. Your food tastes like shit," he snarls. It should have come out as a joke. It didn't. Instead it was surly and mean.
She turned on him, wagging her finger. "Don't talk to me that way - don't you ever talk to me that way. I know you're upset about the Bar Exam, but that's absolutely not acceptable. I don't want Jesse seeing that."
His ears are burning in shame. Yet still, he defends himself. Loudly. "See what? She's six months old."
"She won't be that age forever. And I won't put up with even the slightest bullshit like that – not from you - not from anyone. Not even when you're upset. Do not take this out on me."
He hangs his head. This day is going really really bad.
"I'm a mother now and I need to set a good example for Jesse." She puts her hands on her hips and looks at him sternly, trying to catch his eye. But he doesn't look up.
"Even if that means you have to leave," she says in a low voice.
"I'm sorry. I know you're big on tough love and all that, but can't you cut me a break? Just this once? I've had a terrible day," he whispers, his head still down. Then even quieter than she can hear he says, "Please?"
She softens. This whole thing had turned nasty and now she felt bad. But he usually doesn't push the buttons that make her so defensive.
He just looks like he desperately needs a hug right now so she steps forward to do just that. Before she's even halfway there, he's grabbed onto her tightly.
"It's okay," she whispers. "It's all going to be okay."
"No it's not."
That's when it starts. His face lands on her shoulder and he hitches. With deep ragged breaths the tears come and soak her shoulder. She holds him tightly and strokes the hair at the nape of his neck, just letting him cry in her arms.
Eventually Jesse, neglected in her high chair at the kitchen table starts to cry at the sight of Carisi clinging to her mother.
Amanda rubs his back and whispers into his ear lightly, "See, now you've made Jesse cry."
He hitches again and something that's between a sob and a laugh escapes him and he pulls his head off of her shoulder. He clumsily wipes at his eyes, sniffs, and asks, "Can I?"
"Sure," she says and follows him into the kitchen, where he pulls Jesse out of her high chair.
"Hey, baby girl," he says gently but then she starts to wail. "Oh, no need to cry there."
Amanda comes up to them and strokes Jesse's hair, "Shh . . . shh. It's okay baby girl."
"Yeah," Carisi says as Jesse continues to wail, "Just because I'm sad, doesn't mean you need to be."
He makes a big show of wiping the tears still left on his cheeks and says, "There, see? No more tears."
Jesse's wails calm down to a whimper and she looks at him, perplexed.
"See, no more tears," he says again and wipes the baby tears from her face ever so gently.
Jesse stops crying and gives him a gurgly smile. The closest thing to a smile Amanda's seen all day forms on his face. But she can still see how very very sad he is – it's not really a smile. Even Jesse can't really cheer him up. She takes her baby girl from him and says, "Look, why don't you go lie down? I've got a couple of those books you've been reading on the nightstand."
"I don't want to read."
She cocks her head to the side. "You love to read."
"Not anymore." He sighs deeply and drags a hand across his forehead. "No more books. Too many books over the years. Too much studying – for nothing. Can you even comprehend how much reading I had to do for law school? Can you!?"
"Come," she says and takes his hand off of his brow. He's starting to get surly again and they don't need that. Either of them. She clasps his hand tightly in hers and walks him back to the bedroom.
It's the middle of the night, Jesse's sleeping peacefully, and Amanda is in bed beside him. He keeps waking up - keeps waking up to cry silently to himself. He tries not to move much, tries not to breathe too deeply, too raggedly. He doesn't want her to awaken and find him like this. But it's hard to be still with his tears.
This failure is eating him up. He's never actually failed at anything until now – at least he never thought he had. Sure, his friends would tease him from time to time about failing at something, but he always thought he just needed to be a little more persistent to make it happen. And it had always worked - at least to his knowledge.
But this was different. This was a huge. He had worked so hard for this – for so many years. To say it was a disappointment to fail the Bar Exam was the understatement of the year.
He had agonized over taking that test, been so nervous that Amanda had to come over to his place and dress him for it. He had been all butterfingers. Especially with his tie. She couldn't understand why he was wearing a suit and tie in the first place. Didn't he want to be comfortable? Nope, he wanted to look and feel 'lawyerly.'
Pre-exam he had felt a different type of agony – a 'happy stress.' The anxiety built of finally taking that step . . . the one that should lead you to where you want to be, no matter how scary.
But in the end that path didn't go anywhere and he was here now, swallowed up in the misery of a broken dream. He replayed all of the test questions in his mind. He had felt fairly confident on most – and that's what he had relayed to Barba when he told him he had taken the exam. He really thought he had passed. But now he agonized over the few questions that he had gone back and forth on, changing his mind several times … and the ones he had been stumped on. He thought there were too few of those to count against him, but he was wrong. His own pride had led to his failure – he must have missed some of the questions he thought he had aced, too. No wonder he wasn't allowed to practice law. He felt so ashamed as the tears rolled down his face.
His unrelenting thoughts are interrupted by Amanda turning over in bed – towards him. He freezes, hoping she's just turning over, that she's still asleep - but he is not that lucky. Somehow she knows he's awake too and reaches out to rub his back, "Hey."
He rolls over to face her, thinking it will be okay, that she won't be able to see his tears in the dark. But then she reaches out to stroke his cheek and feels them, knows they are there. "Oh, honey. Come here."
He rolls into her embrace and just lies there for a while, willing himself not to cry anymore. And he succeeds.
"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" she asks.
"I don't think so," he says, resigned. "No one can understand what I'm going through right now, not even you. All those years for nothing."
"Honey, listen. I don't think you should go into work tomorrow."
"Neither do I. But Benson's going to get pretty pissed if I don't show up. I just walked out today."
"I think she understands that. I told her what happened."
"What!? Are you serious?" He pulls away from her suddenly angry again.
"I didn't want to get you in trouble."
"That's not the point, Amanda. Now I'm totally embarrassed."
"I don't get it, Fin was there. He knows. What does it matter if she does?"
"Yeah, you don't get it. She's my boss, Amanda. This is great, just great."
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry about that. But the cat's out of the bag. We can't go back."
He makes an agitated 'sheesh' sound.
"But hear me out . . . "
He stays silent for a while so tentatively she goes on.
"Look hon, I understand why you are upset. This is absolutely devastating for you. This was your dream. . ."
"Yeah." His voice is no longer angry, but it's dead flat again.
"But I can't really understand what's going on in your mind. All that you went through, all of the sacrifices – how much of you was fully invested in this. How much this defeat has taken from you."
"Yes, that's true. But no one will."
"No, it's not true. You need to talk to Barba."
"Barba? Are you kidding me?"
"Not at all. I'm dead serious."
"I can't tell Barba - I cannot humiliate myself in front of him like that. You know how much I look up to him – how he's mentored me."
Quietly she rests a hand on his forearm and strokes it, trying to be comforting. "That's why he's the best person for you to talk to. He understands you in this way - he's been where you are."
"Not likely," he snorts. "Do you really think he didn't pass the bar?"
"That's not the point and you know it. He's the only attorney you're close to."
"Oh god, I'm so embarrassed. I can't." He pulls his hands down his face. "I just can't."
"Just think about it, okay?" she says.
"Maybe."
She kisses him softly, but he doesn't respond to her. Instead he rolls over, turning his back to her. He's still in his own world - one built of failure and shame.
He sits on Amanda's bed listening to the sitter giving Jesse a bath. He did not go into work today, but Amanda didn't expect him to stay and watch Jesse all day either. She had left him options. Like the one to go see Barba.
He says goodbye to the sitter, kisses Jesse on the head, and lets himself out. Once he's home he just sits and stares at his closet. On one end are the suits he never wears anymore – the 'detective' suits. The ones he wore when he was new to SVU. And on the other, now filling up most of his closet are his 'lawyerly' suits. His mother always told him to dress for the job he wanted, not the job he had. He had tried to model himself after Barba, although with suits more in his price range.
He shakes his head, almost laughing. Barba sure knew how to spend money on looking good. No expense spared.
He continues to stare at his clothes and then makes a choice. He slowly dresses himself in one of his older suits - one he hasn't worn for at least a year and a half. He doesn't deserve to look like a lawyer. Not anymore.
The suit makes the man. He shrugs at his reflection in the mirror. He hadn't really felt like shaving, so he hadn't. But still he had put his hair into place. So there was that.
He doesn't know what makes him do it, but he finds himself putting one foot in front of the other, walking the path to the District Attorney's office. And he finds himself knocking on Barba's door around lunch time, hoping that for once he's not in.
Barba pulls open the door and looks behind him for his assistant, "She just let you in? Oh … she's not there."
Then he pulls back and takes a good look at Carisi, his eyes travelling up and down the length of his body noting every detail.
"No offense, but you look like something the cat dragged in. Amanda been playing with you too roughly?" Barba smirks.
His joke doesn't even register with Carisi. "Can I talk to you?"
"Come on in, my lunch hour is all yours," Barba says, sweeping his arm in an exaggerated welcome motion. He is not happy about this intrusion - he gets so little time to himself.
Carisi sits down in the chair across from Barba's desk.
"I can't believe I'm even going to be saying this to you – after all you did to help me on my path." Carisi is glad his tears dried up long ago. He will not allow himself to do that in front of Barba. Admitting his failure is humiliating enough.
"Go on." Barba waits for him to continue with his elbows on his desk, his fingers interlaced just under his chin.
"I didn't pass," he says so quietly that Barba can't hear him.
"What was that?"
Carisi looks down at his feet. He can't say this and meet his eyes at the same time. "I didn't pass. The Bar Exam. You know . . . "
"Hey," Barba says and puts his hands down onto the desk. "Look at me."
"I can't," Carisi says, shaking his head and keeping his gaze on the floor. "I'm so ashamed. After all that you've taught me. I'm a terrible student. Just terrible."
"You?" Barba snorts.
"Yeah, me."
"You may have been the most annoying law student I've never encountered, following me around like a lost puppy all the time . . . but a bad student? You know better than that."
"Then how could I have not passed the Bar? I worked so hard studying for it - you know that."
"Yes, you worked hard. You didn't pass. Take the test again. It's that simple."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is." Barba says firmly. "Do you know how many people don't pass the Bar on their first attempt?"
"Did you not pass?"
"That's beside the point." Barba quickly brushes his question away. "No one can be as perfect as me."
"So you passed."
"I didn't say that."
That makes Carisi look up at him, study him. Was he joking?
"But you . . . "
"Leave it alone. I don't want to humiliate you right now with my perfection."
That almost gets a smile out of Carisi. Barba can be too much sometimes.
"Let me ask you something, Counselor . . . Did you get straight A's in school?"
"Of course."
"'Of course' he says." Carisi mumbles to himself. "Do you want to know what kind of grades I got?"
"Does it matter?"
Carisi's brow wrinkles.
"Yeah," he says adamantly to Barba.
"Why?"
"What do you mean, why?"
"Did you make it through college? Did you make it through law school?"
"Yeah, but it took me almost 20 years."
"But you made it." Barba says firmly.
"So?"
"And you will pass the Bar," he says even more firmly, looking Carisi dead in the eye.
"But you don't understand, I don't deserve to pass the Bar," he answers and Barba notices his eyes are without their usual luster. He's never seen Carisi like this. And never expected to.
"And why is that?" Barba says softly, trying to sound empathetic. And he is – Carisi's in a really bad place right now and Barba feels terrible for him. So he works hard to sound empathetic because he knows even when he is, it rarely comes off that way – especially with Carisi. Good thing Carisi has a thick skin.
Carisi begins telling him about those failed questions, all of his missteps, his pride.
Barba just patiently listens. Listens to the whole story as Carisi recounts how he got here in the first place. The trials of getting through law school while holding down a full time job, the endless nights studying. Barba smiles at that, remembering. No matter how fast you get through law school there will always be those endless nights. And in a way they prepare you for the endless days to come.
Eventually the two of them commiserate over the strenuous ordeal of getting through law school, taking the Bar and then enduring the agonizing months-long wait. They bond in a way they never have before. As equals. And then Carisi turns the conversation back to its starting point - to the present, the recent past. Why he doesn't want to take the Bar again, shouldn't take it again, and why he feels he will not make a competent lawyer.
"It's those questions. The ones I thought for sure I got right. Doing the math alone if I had answered them correctly, I would have passed. I had confidence that I knew what I was doing even when I was way off-base. No one who does that should be practicing law. I was so arrogant." He shakes his head and looks down.
"Arrogance? That's a sin?" Barba asks him ironically.
"Not for you."
"Why is it a sin for you, but not for me?"
Carisi's head snaps back up. "Because you're perfect. You always have the right answer. You can be as arrogant as you want."
"Well, Carisi, unlike me you're far from perfect then. Let me count the ways . . . " he jests, pointing at his left index finger, his hand splayed out ready to count.
"Please, spare me." Carisi says with chagrin.
Barba just looks at him for a second with an odd expression.
"What?"
"I'll be right back." Barba tells him.
"Huh?" Carisi says to his retreating form.
Barba turns back and puts up one finger before disappearing behind the door.
When he returns he holds in his hand a monstrosity of a mug that looks like it was painted by a kindergartner in all primary colors. Barba deposits it on his desk unceremoniously. "There!"
"What is that?" Carisi says with an almost disgusted look on his face.
"Look at it."
Carisi picks it up and turns it over in his hands. It's almost impossible to read, but he can make out the words, "World's Best Student."
"You made this?"
"Yeah, at one of those pottery shops." Barba waves his hand dismissively.
"For me?" Carisi says incredulously.
"Yeah, I've never mentored anyone before. I thought we'd celebrate once you passed the Bar."
"With a mug?"
"Give that to me," Barba growls and grabs it back. Carisi realizes that Barba has faith in him – enough faith to plan for his success and he feels suddenly lightened.
"Man, you paint worse than Rollins cooks," Carisi jokes. It's the first time he's actually smiled since looking at that computer screen. The one devoid of his ID number.
Barba slams the mug down on the desk, leans over, and says in all seriousness. "You'll get this when you earn it. When you pass the Bar. Take the exam again."
It is in that moment that Carisi decides that he will.
FIN