Huang had suspected from the start that the young man would reach out to him. Michael's pain was palpable, even to the detectives peering in through the bars of his cell. Still, Huang stiffened when Michael gripped his waist and pulled him close. Huang had forgotten what it was like, being close.
While Michael's therapist had turned out to be an utter crock, her diagnosis had been correct: above all else, Michael needed a mother. Maternal abuse had shaped his emotional tendencies, maternal lack now dominated his life. If the damage could be corrected, if Michael could find a way to fill that immense void, he had a chance at contentment.
But this barred chamber was no womb, and Huang was no mother. No. Huang-the shrink was a psychiatrist: a scholar and a master of control. His job description did not include back-patting and hair-smoothing. Instead, he was trained to probe gently with words and to nurture through the creation of catharsis
Moreover, Huang-the-person was not much of a toucher. He had come from a family that, while loving, did not encourage the physical expression of affection. Huang treasured the touches of those he loved, and quietly admired the casual intimacy between Benson and Stabler. But without an intuitive grasp of the norms of interpersonal contact, he was comfortable neither initiating nor participating in extended physical contact.
Still, he found himself grasping Michael's shoulder, patting the younger man awkwardly as the accidental criminal cried into his suit jacket. Huang looked to the two detectives outside of the cell, and Benson caught his eye, a strange expression on her face. Was it pity? He couldn't tell.
He waited patiently, if uncomfortably, for Michael to cry himself out. The young man sobbed into Huang's tie for several minutes, burying his forehead in the psychiatrist's sternum. After he'd quieted, an orderly in a crisp white shirt let himself into the cell.
"Let's get you to bed, huh?"
Michael nodded, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. He stumbled out of the cell with the orderly, silently looking back at Huang with haunted eyes.
Huang picked himself up and breathed deeply before walking over to the detectives. Benson spoke first.
"Want a ride back to the station? We've got some paperwork to finish up."
"Sure. I do too."