Author's Note: This story was written for the Fandom Trumps Hate Charity Auction 2017, for StanfouQueen. Not one of my normal ships, so this is very much a complete/stand-alone story. However I did enjoy expanding upon the events of season 17, and trying to explain more about why Huang was working for the defense in Hodda's case—and what else he's been up to since he left New York for Oklahoma City. (References within to events in the episodes "Manhattan Vigil", "Thought Criminal", and "Depravity Standard".)
Supreme Court
Friday, November 13 2015
"Olivia!"
It was a familiar voice, one that both Lieutenant Benson and ADA Barba recognized almost immediately. Olivia smiled, beaming in surprise. In contrast Rafael held back, trying not to let his own, more mixed-emotions show.
"Dr. Huang, hey…" Benson rushed over to give her old friend a hug. "You remember ADA Barba," she said, glancing back over her shoulder.
"We've met," Rafael answered quickly, hoping to shut down any further questions or pleasantries he wasn't ready for at the moment.
For these courthouse steps on a sunny November afternoon weren't exactly how he had ever envisioned, some day, running into George Huang again. It had been a while since their paths had crossed. The last time, it had been when SVU took advantage of the psychiatrist being in town to evaluate a suspect and help make their case.
That had been a far less awkward affair than this was sure to become.
Rafael had seen Huang's name on the witness list for the defense and had, at the time, prayed there had been an error. Or conceivably, by some strange coincidence, there was some other Dr. George Huang out there. Another man who also happened to be a psychiatrist, an expert in criminal profiling and sexual deviancy.
A long shot, Rafael had known. And one that completely fell short as the three of them came face-to-face and he could no longer deny the reality of this situation.
There was so much Rafael wanted to ask George. So much that needed explanation, and yet, now was most assuredly not the time for it.
In fact he barely heard the words exchanged between Olivia and George until she finished with, "We'll catch up later." Then George was gone, dashing off before Rafael had even had the chance to say, well, anything to him.
Which might be for the best.
Olivia looked so happy in that brief moment, yet Rafael knew her cheer would be short-lived. He hated to be the one to destroy it but she needed to know what was coming next before getting blindsided by it in court.
"We'll definitely see him later," Rafael said as they continued walking along. "Hassler hired him as her expert forensic psychiatrist."
The shock and confusion that fell over Olivia's features echoed what he had felt on seeing the witness list. "For what?" she asked. "Hodda's not insane."
Rafael said nothing, at first, letting the question, and its answer, hang in the air. This wasn't about an insanity plea—he knew it, and he knew Olivia knew it, too. "He gave that confession voluntarily, okay?" she persisted. "It's not like we beat him with rubber hoses."
"I'm sure you didn't, but please don't sound that defensive on the stand," he tried to calm her. Rafael know this case had become too personal for both of them, and that was a weakness the defense could jump on if given any opening. "Hassler's sharp, and Huang's a hired gun now. He'll find something."
He left Olivia with that caution, hoping she would take it to heart. Perhaps it would spur her on to lead the squad to find something new they could use in Hodda's prosecution. And more than anything he hoped she would drop the defensiveness. He needed her to put her feelings aside and focus on the case, on justice for Hector and his mother Dolores, who had waited so long for this moment.
Just as Rafael himself needed to put aside his own feelings—not only for those victims, but for the man whom he had, for a brief time, thought might become an important part of his life. His future.
But that had been years ago. Before he had begun working for the Manhattan DA's office, when he was still in an ADA in Brooklyn. When his relationship with George Huang had never crossed any professional lines.
Years before…but not nearly as many years as Hector Rodriguez had lain entombed under cement, forgotten about except by the few who still prayed for his return against all odds.
Rafael believed that no matter what happened next, at least they knew Hector's fate. It was his job to make sure he could at last give Hodda's victims the consideration they deserved, and let the detectives still haunted by this case see its resolution.
Anything else, any other questions—any other relationships—would have to wait until after this trial was over.
The responsibilities of his job always had to come first. Didn't it?
Armando's Restaurant and Bar
143 Montague Street, Brooklyn
July 8, 2011
Rafael was well-ensconced in his favorite booth, savoring a cooling drink and reviewing paperwork. A short brief prepared by one of his law clerks that afternoon was the last bit of business on his plate for the week. He didn't want to leave it linger while the case was still fresh in his mind.
He usually tried not to take work home with him, and as long as he took care of this tonight he wouldn't have to; he could enjoy, fates willing, a pleasant weekend at home. He'd worked straight through the recent holiday preparing for a trial that had begun on Tuesday, and felt guilty for not having had much time to spend with his boyfriend in the meantime. As such, they were due to start making up those lost hours as soon as possible.
In fact he's running late, Rafael realized as he checked his watch. So I might as well use the time to my advantage to avoid rush-reading this Monday morning on the subway.
Convenient and cozy, Armando's had become one of their regular places to meet-up after work. It was a short walk from the Brooklyn District Attorney's office for Rafael and near the Borough Hall subway stop—that made it easy for George to join him after his own workday in downtown Manhattan. It also wasn't far from the bar where they had first crossed paths several months before, but a much quieter, intimate environment. It was a good place to share a drink and something to eat over conversations where they were still learning about each other, discovering the things that built a relationship beyond pure sexual attraction and chemistry.
Neither of the latter had been in short supply since that first evening Rafael had allowed George to buy him a drink.
They had made plans to meet at eight tonight. And now, after finishing his notes on the brief, Rafael re-checked his watch. Almost eight-twenty. Which wasn't that late, but usually George would let him know if work held him up for some reason. But he wouldn't worry—not for a while yet, at least. He ordered a second drink now that he could unwind without needing his mind at sharp focus.
Closer to eight-thirty and Rafael heard a familiar, gentle voice in conversation with the maître d'. He looked up and stood to wave the man over to their table. As always, George's warm smile as he drew near was infectious; Rafael could feel one forming on his own lips as he took the man in a light embrace. "Good evening," he said, before brushing a soft kiss on George's cheek. His skin was warm and slightly sticky from the summer heat outside. Combined with the lingering scent of sandalwood cologne, Rafael was growing hungry for more than simply dinner.
"Hey. Sorry I'm so late."
"It's fine. I finished the last of my work for the week while waiting." Rafael sat back down and asked, "Long day?"
"To put it mildly."
George did look tired—more so than usual for a Friday, in fact. Rafael knew the kind of work he did, the kind of people he often had to interview and allow into his head, so he didn't press for details. They typically weren't the kind of things you wanted to share over relaxing dinner conversation. Then again, neither were most of the cases Rafael had to prosecute.
They ordered after the waiter rattled off the night's specials, sticking to familiar favorites. Those were easily-made decisions that didn't require much brainpower at the end of the work week. "I was thinking we could check out the Alexander McQueen exhibit at the Met this weekend," Rafael suggested. "It's only running a few more weeks, and I've heard it's very good."
"That sounds nice. Do we need advance tickets?"
"No, I don't think so. I'll check in the morning, though."
"All right."
George's words seemed flat, distracted. In fact his tone and body language suggested something was unquestionably amiss. After a few more attempts—and failures—at stirring up casual conversation, Rafael finally decided he needed to be more direct if he was going to find out what was going on.
As they finished a first course of summer tomatoes with burrata, Rafael finally took the plunge. "George, I know you're the psychiatrist in this relationship, but I can tell something's bothering you tonight. You're not going to make me treat you like a hostile witness to find out what's going on, are you?"
A flash of embarrassed guilt passed over the man's features. "No. I'm sorry. It's…I received some very unexpected news today at work. I'm still processing it and not sure how I feel right now."
"Do you want to me about it? Or would you…if you're not up for the company tonight…" Rafael started to say, trailing off to let the other man finish if necessary. He'd be disappointed but understand; now and then a person needed alone time with their thoughts more than another's ear to bend.
George pushed the last slice of tomato around his plate before dropping his fork with a sigh. He looked at Rafael, straight on, and said, "No, it's not fair of me not to let you know right away. I'm being…reassigned. The FBI plans to transfer me to a different field office, where they claim my 'unique skills and experiences' are in higher need than here in New York City at the moment."
"A different office…and where would that be?"
"Oklahoma City."
Rafael blinked. He'd thought, at George's first words, of perhaps a transfer to another East Coast city, or a suburban branch outside of Manhattan, but… "Oklahoma?! What on Earth could be more needed there than in New York?"
"The kinds of things I'm not at liberty to discuss beyond Bureau walls," George answered, his tone and expression grim. "Unfortunately it's a changing and challenging world these days, Rafael. You know that. And terrorism, serial killers, sex trafficking…these aren't crimes restricted to the East or West coasts. You can find some of the worst of it in this country's heartland."
"I realize that, but…are you going to go along with this transfer request?" Rafael wanted to hear George say no, even as he knew that was selfish of him. It wasn't as if this relationship, as good as it had been during their brief time together, should come before either of their jobs.
George's answer as he expected. "It's not so much a request as it is a directive. I don't have a choice if I want to keep my job. And I've invested too many years in my career with the FBI already. I don't want to give it up now, especially when I'm only a few years away from being able to collect my pension benefits if I do choose to retire early."
All reasonable, rational arguments. And yet… "What about your family?" Rafael asked. "About…"
"Us?" George reached across the table to take Rafael's hand. His smile had a sad note to it as he said, "I like us. I'm glad we've had this time together. But…I can tell your focus is on your career right now. And so is mine. I know I can't ask you to move to Oklahoma City for me when we've only been seeing each other a few months."
"And you have no intentions of staying in New York for a relationship alone."
"Maybe…someday. But not right now. As for my family, well. You know we're not exactly on close terms these days already. The distance isn't going to change that. In fact, in a way it will make it easier. I won't have to make so many excuses as to why I'm not there for every holiday or family event. And they won't have to make the effort to invite the gay son they're ashamed to acknowledge anyway."
Rafael understood and knew George was right, beneath the bitter tone in those last few words. Still, hearing he would be leaving like this…it was an unexpected blow. They were just starting to settle into a solid relationship, one that might have potential to go further…
…and yet Rafael did have his aspirations here in New York, where he was licensed to practice and on a solid path with the career he'd always wanted. Where his mother and abuela lived and, God, he would never hear the end of the grief if he were to move half-way across the country chasing after a boyfriend to leave his family behind.
"Are you okay with this?" George asked, pulling Rafael out of his thoughts.
"Yes, just…surprised. And not exactly thrilled by this news," he admitted.
"Neither am I. But let's not let it spoil tonight, this weekend. I want to make the most of what time I do have here yet in New York, and I hope I can do that with you."
Rafael nodded. The waiter cleared away their plates and refilled glasses. "When do they want you to leave?" Rafael asked, once they had their privacy.
"The end of this month. They're paying to help me move, including the balance due on my apartment lease since I'm breaking it early."
"They must really need you badly in Oklahoma City."
"That's what I'm hoping, if I'm going to leave all this behind." George sighed. "In any event, enough of my predicament for tonight. How did your trial go this week?"
They talked briefly about Rafael's week until their main courses arrived. Rafael ate, but he didn't taste any of his food. His appetite was gone, even as he wanted to do as George suggested, enjoy this time they had left together still.
It was hard, knowing it was time spent while the clock was ticking away every minute.
That evening they went back to Rafael's apartment, though the air conditioner was in need of replacement and the night air muggy with summer heat. Windows open and fan droning, Rafael lay in bed with George asleep beside him, trying to tell himself this was simply the way things happened.
He would get over it, move on. They both would.
After all, that was the way his life had long been, with lovers who came and went. But he wasn't in love, was he?
No, it was too soon for that. He wouldn't even ask to try the long-distance thing for he knew that would be doomed to failure. It always was.
Maybe George would get transferred back to New York in a year or two. Or maybe he would find someone else, another man who had the quiet calmness and strength that Rafael so admired, found such a good match to his own sharper nature. Someone who was as attractive on every level, and so comfortable in his own sexuality that he made Rafael more comfortable in his own.
Maybe. But it might be a long time coming. And something not to think about while he still, fleetingly, had this.
One Hogan Place
Sunday, November 15 2015
Memories of those last summer days with George hung heavy over Rafael's thoughts all through the weekend. It was a distraction he didn't need as he tried to stay focused on Hodda's trial—and he had more than enough work to do in that regard. But whenever things were too quiet for too long, sitting in his office alone and undisturbed save the occasional phone call from Olivia or Carisi, the small details and flashes of those times would come back in vivid detail to his mind.
He didn't want to invite them in. It had been four years. Four years where work had remained his focus, leading him on a path where people were talking how he could even have a future in politics, possibly.
If he wanted. He wasn't sure about that.
He found himself wondering where and why George's career path had veered off in the direction it had, with him taking retirement and going into private consulting. Had he found someone he wanted a more settled, less-stressful life with? Finally put personal affairs first? Rafael couldn't blame him if that were the case, even if it did make this current predicament…prickly for him.
A knock on his office door interrupted Rafael's thoughts. He looked up to see SVU-Sergeant-turned-Special-Investigator John Munch standing in the threshold of his open door, waiting for acknowledgement. "Counselor, catch you at a bad time?" he asked.
"Not at all, come in." Rafael straightened himself up. It surprised him to see Munch here on a Sunday, though at least he had eschewed the suit and tie for the weekend. "I didn't realize you were working today as well. Didn't you get out of SVU to put an end to all these unpaid overtime hours?"
John smirked. "The Hodda trial takes precedence over a relaxing brunch over the Sunday Times. Unfortunately, I can't say that work has paid off as I'd hoped it might." He sat down across from the ADA with a heavy sigh. He looked tired, and Rafael understood that weariness. He'd been at it all weekend himself getting ready for court on Monday.
He knew both John and Olivia had both worked this case since Hector's initial disappearance—in fact they were the last two still in either SVU or the DA's office still directly connected to the investigation. He should have known both would fight until the end to make sure justice had a chance to prevail.
"I tried to find anything new linking Hodda to Hector before his disappearance," John continued. "Re-interviewed a few teachers from his school whom I could track down, see if they recalled any incidents, remembered any new details stirred up with the case back in the news. Even tried a few of Hector's old classmates who're now all grown up. Tried to push if they had ever seen Hodda watching them, or following them around the neighborhood back in the day. But with almost twenty years passed?" He spread his hands, offering up apology. "I think we're stuck with the circumstantial evidence and the confession."
"…which the defense is going to try to cast doubts upon however they can," Rafael knew. He could practically hear Hassler's arguments in his head already. "Coercion, threats and lying…"
"…and a once former ally now being paid to spin some tangled psychological web," John finished for him—and at Rafael's curious glance he added, "Heard about that from Fin; 'Liv was on fire back at the 16th after she heard Huang was on the defense team. You know, I've never trusted or had much use for shrinks, but Huang always seemed all right. I can't believe he sold us out."
"People change, John. Circumstances change."
John shrugged. "In any event, I'm heading home now to try to enjoy the last remnants of this fading weekend." He stood but before leaving, added, "Good luck on Monday. I'd show up for the proceedings but I know Lomatin will be testifying this week. I don't think he likes me very much."
Barba snorted. "Understatement of the year."
"Yeah. Best for me not to agitate that situation. If you think there's any chance she could be swayed, I could try talking to Ms. Colfax," John offered. "Hearing how the case is so restrained without Wyatt, maybe we could get her to change her mind about letting him testify?"
"You can try, but my impression is that she won't budge. But perhaps you could surprise me with one bit of good news."
"I'll go make a nuisance of myself. It's one thing I'm good at."
Rafael smiled. "Good night, John."
"Night."
Left to the silence of his empty office, Rafael tried to get back to matters of the case at hand, and not past memories.
He wished he felt more confident about how the next few days would go. He wished George Huang was there to testify on his side, not against it.
He wished…
Well. For many things long since pushed aside.
One Hogan Place
Friday, April 25 2014
"You've moved up in the world, I see."
Rafael smirked. "More like moved laterally, Brooklyn to Manhattan. Same position, same job, just different cross-streets. But there is a certain cachet to this particular address, I can't deny that."
George gave Rafael a knowing smile. "And now you're working with some of my old friends from Manhattan SVU as well. I guess it is a very small world."
"Indeed it is."
The SVU squad members had departed, leaving Rafael and George alone in his office to prepare the doctor's testimony for trial. Rafael wasn't all that happy with the case he had to present. Could he expect a jury to commit a man for his thoughts and desires, when he had not yet definitively committed a crime? He wasn't convinced about that, or that the judge wouldn't throw out such a conviction even if he won the jury's decision. But having George on-hand to testify as an expert witness for the prosecution would hopefully help make their case…as feeble as it otherwise was.
And there were, of course, other matters in the air, things Rafael was hoping they could catch up on while George happened to be in New York for a few days. But even bringing those things up seemed tricky. Tacky, even, when more pressing concerns were here before them.
"They're good people at SVU, dealing with troubling crimes," Rafael said, trying to navigate the awkward spaces of their conversation.
"Oh, I know.," George agreed. "I don't know some of these new detectives as well as I do Benson and Tutuola…but with their lead, I'm sure they're all doing their best."
"And what about you? How is the FBI treating you in Oklahoma?"
George's expression suggested he was thinking carefully how to answer. "It's…important work, but frequently extremely difficult. In ways it never was when I located here in New York. Never mind the mid-west is not exactly where I pictured myself settling down, even temporarily."
"You miss this city."
George sighed. "I miss…a lot of things. Every second of every day. But, for now I have to stay where I'm needed."
"Is it what you need?" Rafael asked. George could often be aloof with his feelings, keeping them close to the vest. So it was hard for Rafael to tell if he was quite as unhappy as he seemed to be, to Rafael's eyes, or merely keeping up professional distance.
After all, they were no longer lovers. That had ended several years before.
"Unfortunately that's rarely a matter of consideration."
I'm sure. Rafael checked his desk clock, took a gamble. "We could continue this over a late lunch, or early dinner. However you want to call it."
"I wish I could, but my conference begins this evening with opening remarks. And I have to give my first presentation in the morning."
"I'm sorry we're tying you up with our troubles, then."
"Not at all," George insisted, looking apologetic. "It's just that my free time is limited between now and when you'll need me in court next week. Maybe some other night, over the next few days? Once I know my full schedule."
Rafael nodded. "Of course. Let's review your conversation with Wilkes again—and how I expect his defense to challenge it. Then maybe we can meet up later to run through your testimony—and spare a few minutes for more personal conversation as well."
George nodded. "I'd like that."
So would I.
Supreme Court
Part 27
Monday, November 16 2015
"Olivia—"
"No, not now, Barba."
Rafael flinched back. When she spoke to him in that sharp, cold tone, using his last name instead of first, he knew she was pissed. He had to step double-time to keep up with her as she rushed out of the courthouse and down the steps.
"This was nothing we didn't expect," he insisted, sucking in the cold November air. Huang had just finished his testimony for the defense and Barba had sat there the entire time, imagining how Olivia must be taking it. The reality was even worse than he'd feared. "The whole reason the defense hired an expert witness is to try to discredit Hodda's confession by whatever tactic they could dream up."
"That may be. But to have someone I used to work with and trust to be on our side being the one trying to discredit my work?" She shook her head in exasperation and then laughed, but it was a sound of frustrated anger, not any kind of mirth. "How could he do that to us? I used to think of George as my friend, Rafael!"
And I used to think of him as far more than that, Rafael almost said but pushed the comeback aside. "Let's calm down, get a drink." The judge had dismissed them for the day before Rafael could get in his cross-examination. While that wasn't ideal—it left the doctor's words lingering in the jury's thoughts overnight—it also meant Rafael would get his chance to raise questions and counter him first thing in the morning, when their minds were fresh for the day. "Let's try to calmly discuss how to undue the damage done, and also talk about my closing argument because I'm sure we'll be there tomorrow."
"You think?"
"Yes. We don't want to drag this out too long, lest the jury start getting anxious about their Thanksgiving plans. No doubt they already are." He hated trying complex cases like this one so close to a holiday, when jurors could be more worried about getting home to prepare for that than deliberating. They'd heard enough of the complaints during jury selection, all the people trying to get off the case on any flimsy excuse when they heard it could run for than a few days. But neither did he want to rush through challenging the defense.
Still, if both could make their closings tomorrow he was fairly certain they'd have a verdict by the weekend. Then everyone could go home…if not happy then at least satisfied.
Olivia didn't look convinced, but she was calm enough now to nod in acquiescence and let him lead the way to the bar.
Supreme Court
Part 27
Tuesday, November 17 2015
"Good morning, Dr. Huang."
"Good morning."
Rafael was a professional. He had questioned many he regarded as personal friends before—he only had to look over his shoulder, at Olivia, to name one. But it was a little different having to cross-examine someone who'd once shared his bed.
Yet another reason why he was glad they were doing this fresh in the morning, when he'd had all night to sleep on it, to mentally prepare. "Yesterday afternoon you recited for us your lengthy resumé—education, qualifications, previous work experience. All of which is quite impressive."
That earned a most modest nod of acknowledgement and polite, "Thank you."
"Yet I was wondering…is there any particular explanation as to why you left off the fact that for nearly ten years, you also worked for the NYPD? Specifically, you acted as the resident psychiatrist for the Manhattan Special Victims Unit— the same unit which lead the investigation into and subsequent arrest of Lewis Hodda?"
"It was not my primary job at that time."
"Yet you were on the NYPD payroll, were you not?"
"Objection," Hassler interjected. "Relevance."
"Your honor, I'm getting there."
"Make it quick, Mr. Barba," Judge Horowitz replied, and to the doctor, "You may answer."
"I received compensation for my hours, yes," George said. "But I only consulted when requested."
"Requested…quite often by Lieutenant Olivia Benson herself, isn't that correct?"
"Her, or, other detectives, command officers in the unit, yes."
"In any event, you have had extensive opportunity to observe Lieutenant Benson—albeit Detective Benson, at the time—and the others at their jobs for most of a decade. Even returned on several later dates to assist and give your expert opinion."
"That's correct," George said.
"And would you have done so if you had doubts as to the manner in which Lieutenant Benson and the rest of SVU handled investigations, interrogations?"
He started to open his mouth, then seemed to cautiously consider his words before saying, "Even the best detectives make mistakes. Go too far to make an arrest, close a case."
"That's not what I'm asking," Rafael pressed. George was a practiced witness, and that too made it difficult to trip him up. He knew very well how to restrict and measure his replies.
"I worked for Manhattan SVU when they felt my help was needed. And often that was to evaluate the mental capacity and condition of suspects. There were more than a few occasions when my opinions of those suspects, and how they were being treated, put me in conflict with those of the investigating detectives. But in general I believe they did—and still do—good work."
"And your opinion that they didn't do 'good work' here is based on…how long, exactly, have you been treating Lewis Hodda as your patient?"
"I haven't been treating him."
"No? But you must have spent considerable time with him to draw such conclusions as you presented yesterday regarding his mental state, his supposed suggestibility which you believe could have lead to a 'false' confession. How many hours have you spent with Mr. Hodda?" Rafael asked.
"I had a one-hour meeting with him."
"Ah! All of one hour, I see."
"But that was after thoroughly reviewing case materials including the video of his interrogation."
"Yes, well…I'm sure that was sufficient to develop a full mental history profile and understanding of his state of mind, compared to the detectives who had been investigating this murder case for thirteen years leading to his arrest."
"Objection!"
"I have nothing further," Rafael dismissed quickly, turning his back to the stand. He caught Olivia's eyes as he did so, and it was clear to him she wasn't sure he'd done enough to counter Huang's claims. Neither was Rafael. But at this point, he wanted to get them away from this line of thought and back to the real victim, to Hector.
He watched as George left the witness stand and walked past, and wondered if it might be the last time they ever spoke or saw each other.
Whiskey Tavern
79 Baxter Street
Tuesday, November 17 2015
The Scotch left a sour taste in his mouth this evening, and Rafael debated asking to close his tab and leave. Some nights the warming drink relaxed him, felt like a needed reward after a long day. But tonight he wasn't sure he deserved that indulgence. Olivia hadn't deigned to join him and so he was drinking alone, mulling over his performance in court, picking apart what had gone right versus gone wrong.
He'd tried to do his best in closing, to move away from the doubts raised by Huang, and Lomatin. To remind the jury of the boy who'd been killed and buried under cement for all those years—a boy who deserved justice and to be remembered, and that Hodda had to be the one responsible for his death.
But would it be enough? Sometimes he could read a jury with ease and tell whether they were on his side or not. He couldn't be certain with this one. He knew a few of the women—the mothers, the older ones—had seemed to respond strongly to his words and to Delores when she'd taken the stand. But some of the men and younger individuals had looked thoughtful as Hassler had spun theories about Lomatin and tried to build sympathy for Hodda.
So it felt like a crap shoot, going into deliberations. Rafael hated that feeling.
"Is this seat taken?"
That voice, surprising him again. Rafael turned his head to see George standing beside the empty bar stool to his left. When Rafael didn't immediately answer, he continued, "That is, if it wouldn't be unsightly for you to have a drink with someone you cross-examined this morning."
"Not at all, please." George took a chair, then asked the bartender for a club soda and lime.
"Still on billable hours for your client?"
"No," George said with a small laugh. "And for the record I get paid a flat fee for my appearances. But in Oklahoma City there was very little social scene beyond patronizing one of a small handful of gay bars downtown. After a while, the alcohol and the same few faces became…tiresome. And a scene I realized wasn't a healthy one for me. Or for anyone, really."
Rafael looked at his own barely-touched drink and said, "I can appreciate that." He asked the bartender to make it two club sodas, pushing his drink to the side. "So is that why you left the FBI and came back to New York?"
"In part, yes. I thought I could hold out until I could claim my full retirement. Hopefully get a transfer somewhere else in the meantime. But after four years there I came to the conclusion it wasn't worth it. Even if it meant taking a cut in my eventual pension. I needed to start living the life I wanted, in the place I wanted to be, before it all passed me by." He paused, taking a sip of his soda when it arrived. "You know, I'd been meaning to get in touch, since I got back in town." There was a note of apology in his voice.
"I can say it was quite a shock seeing your name on the defense witness list," Rafael admitted.
"I imagine. Obviously, that wasn't how I planned to let you know."
"Obviously. So when did you? Arrive back in New York, I mean."
"About eight months ago," George said. "It took a while to settle in, get my private practice underway. I called on a few old contacts to get my first clients."
"You could have called on me. I can think of any number of cases I've worked this year where I would have been glad to use your expertise. Unless you're only working for defense attorneys these days," Rafael put in, a touch more sharply than intended.
"No, it all depends on the client, and the case. That's what matters to me now. I told you years ago, when I went into this field I wanted to help sex offenders, try to counsel them toward rehabilitation. But when I saw how few really wanted to change, or even could change, that's when I became involved in law enforcement. The FBI… SVU. And I don't deny in any way that it's work that needs to be done. But after too many years, I've seen the people who slip through the cracks on both sides of the equation. The ones who get off too easy on crimes they'll only go back and repeat. And the ones who get railroaded by the system, who get pushed to their breaking point by the very people who are supposed to stand for justice." He paused and considered his drink for a moment, while Rafael contemplated his words. "I've also seen good people become jaded, who've been surrounded by all this darkness and pain for too long, and that can cloud their judgement and actions as well. Sometimes you need to know when to get out."
"Are you talking about yourself, or someone else?"
"A little of both, I suppose." They sat in awkward silence for a minute longer, Rafael trying to come up with words that, in his mental exhaustion of the moment, were escaping him. George eventually took a final drink and then started to stand up, reaching for his wallet.
"Please, the least I can do is buy you a club soda," Rafael protested.
And there was that smile, long missed. "All right, thank you." But George did pull out a card from his wallet and handed it to the ADA. "Maybe we can work together again in the future—next time on the same side. If Olivia can ever stand to see me now without shooting daggers in my direction."
"I'll work on the lieutenant," Rafael replied, pocketing the card. "Have a good evening."
"You, too." He placed his hand on Rafael's shoulder and squeezed gently, seemed almost to be contemplating a kiss goodbye before he left, but then appeared to think better of it.
Alone once more, Rafael sighed and flagged the bartender over to settle up his bill.
Office of George Huang, MD
108 Lafayette Street
Monday, November 23, 2015
The doctor's office in lower Manhattan was so near the courts and One Hogan Place, Rafael was surprised he hadn't run into George on the street since his return to the city. Granted New York was a big place, but the world they traveled and worked in was a much smaller one. He entered the suite of offices, took the elevator up to where a receptionist met him, ringing Huang's line to confirm he was in and available.
"Down the hallway, to your right."
"Thank you."
He knocked on the door and heard a muffled voice tell him to come in. When he entered, George was at his desk, putting aside a folder as he grinned at his visitor. "Rafael! This is a nice surprise."
"I hope I'm not interrupting."
"Absolutely not, I was just finishing up for the day—and getting ready for the holiday ahead, in fact. Please, have a seat."
Rafael did so, taking in the decor around him. The office had a soothing, neutral quality to it—warm toned, decorated with minimalist modern art. All of it very much as he remembered George himself, and not dissimilar to his old apartment. George said, "I heard from Hassler about the judge declaring a mistrial. I'm sorry."
"I'm not," Rafael replied. "After we left court, Mrs. Colfax came to me and said she'll allow Wyatt to testify against Hodda after all. So we can retry him for Wyatt's kidnapping, which is a much stronger case. Hodda might not go away for Hector's murder, but he'll still be off the streets for years."
"Then that is good news. But I have the feeling that's not why you came here this afternoon, is it?"
"Not exactly." Rafael paused. He'd come up with all sorts of elaborate statements and ways to approach the question on his mind. But now that the opportunity was here he decided to cut straight to the chase. "You mentioned getting ready for the holiday. Do you had any plans for Thanksgiving?"
"Ah, at the moment? Just going to my sister's, where I'll be harangued and questioned by my parents all day for being away from them for so many years. That and why I still haven't settled down and married a good Chinese woman instead of being their gay disappointment of a son."
"Well, if there's any chance you can get out of that, how about spending Thanksgiving with me, at my mother's?" Rafael proposed. "You'll likely only be harassed about how how long we've been together and why I haven't told her I have a boyfriend until now."
George laughed. "Of course, the obvious answer to that is we haven't been together in quite a long time."
"True. But there's nothing saying we can't try again, is there? Unless…well, if there is someone else…"
"No. I haven't even had the chance to stop and consider that since I got to New York. And in Oklahoma…there was no one serious."
"Well if that's settled, how about this evening? Catch up on things besides work, court, and cases that I could use an excuse not to think about for a while."
"Let me make one phone call and I'll be right with you. I don't suppose…is Armando's still around?"
"I believe so, but I haven't been in a while." Since you left; too many memories. "It might not be quite what it used to be."
"That's all right; sometimes change is good, as long as the heart is still what it used to be."
Rafael smiled. "I suppose there's only one way we can both find out."