A/N: This chapter was WAY longer than I intended, but I think it develops things nicely and really gives you a sense of where the story is going. I hope anyone who is reading this enjoys the interaction between Rafael and his mother. I really wanted to rehab their relationship.
Song: "Gossip" by Ben Kweller
"Hi, Mami," Rafael said, kissing his mother on her cheek as she stepped aside to let him into her apartment. He handed her a bag of groceries he had picked up on his way over. Most sons would buy flowers, but Lucia Barba, an eternal pragmatist, preferred eggs and milk. But Rafael couldn't resist throwing in a few luxuries his mother would never buy for herself.
"Hola, niño," Lucia replied, kissing him in return and heading toward the kitchen with the bag, Rafael following closely behind. "Thank you, but you know you don't have to buy me food. I do make a living, you know."
"I know, Mom," he said, "but it's not like I buy much for myself these days. I spend most of my time at the office." He started to help her unpack the bag, but she swatted his hand away. He took the hint and instead went to the cupboard to get two mugs down to make coffee. He knew she wouldn't be able to resist the fancy hazelnut coffee creamer once she found it.
"Have they got you working even harder than usual?"
"Actually, Mami, that's why I'm here," he said. "I need to talk to you about something that is going to be changing in my career."
"Why would that be something you need to talk to - RAFAEL!"
His head snapped up, and he saw that she was holding the bottle of creamer. He couldn't help it - he smiled, and despite herself, she smiled back. Just occasionally, looking up at her through his eyelashes, she still saw her little boy, before he gained the confidence and swagger of a high powered attorney.
"Don't think I don't notice that half my bottle is gone whenever you leave my apartment," he joked. "Besides, I can't stand the powdered stuff you use."
She gave him a look that was halfway between disapproving and appreciative, and continued putting the groceries away. "So what is this thing that's changing in your job that you need to tell me about?"
Rafael started the coffee and poured some of the creamer into the two mugs. As he put it away, he said, "I'm going to be running for District Attorney."
"What was that, mijo? I couldn't hear you with your head in the fridge."
He straightened up and cleared his throat. "I said I'm going to be running for District Attorney."
At that, Lucia dropped the loaf of bread she was holding onto the counter.
"What made you decide this?" Pouring two mugs of coffee, she deliberately avoided eye contact. Rafael internally groaned. He knew she would react like this.
"I don't know," he said, as she handed him one of the mugs. "For one thing, someone I hate is running, and I can't imagine working for him. For another... Mami, I'm tired."
"Tired of what?"
"Tired of seeing guilty people go free or get bare minimum sentences because someone wants to keep their conviction record up. Tired of victims being hurt because someone didn't want to fight for them. Tired of politics winning out over law." He rubbed his eyes with his free hand.
"And what happens," Lucia said, finally looking up at him, "when they come after you? When they dig into your past? You might not want to play their game, mijo, but that doesn't mean they will have your ethics."
"And this is why I debated whether or not to tell you," he snapped, mostly unintentionally. "Because I knew you'd react this way. I knew you would try and talk me out of it."
"I'm not trying to talk you out of it," she said, leaning against the counter with one hand and putting the other on her hip. "But have you thought this through, Rafael?"
"You don't think I've thought about what they'll find? I know what there is. That's why I decided I had to tell you. Because they might drag you into it."
"I don't care about me, Rafael. After what I've been through, it won't hurt me. I'm worried about you."
Rafael hesitated. "Me? Why?"
Lucia looked at him for a moment, considering something. Then, she took her coffee and left the kitchen, retreating to the living room couch. His mother had lived here all his life, and she still had the same couch from when he was a child. It was tattered, its floral pattern faded and yellowed, and had been patched more times than he could count.
"I wish you'd let me replace that thing," he said, wanting to break the silence so badly he said the first thing that came to mind.
"You always did want better things in life. And you got them, didn't you?" She sighed. "Look at you."
He looked down at his Levi's and pullover, and the Converse he only wore on weekends where he knew he wouldn't see anyone from the office. He was so confused and was getting a headache. "Mom, what's wrong?"
"Rafael," she sighed, patting the seat next to her on the couch, "come here, niño. I need to tell you something."
He sat down and she took his hand. She hadn't done that since her mother - his abuelita - had died. She cried when she found her mother dead in her apartment, but that had been it. Through the entire wake, the Church service, she had seemed disconnected from the rest of the family. But at the very end, as they walked away from the grave, she had reached for his hand. And it had been his job to hold her up. It had ALWAYS been his job to hold her up. He knew that a long time ago.
"Rafael," she said, her eyes a reflection of his own, "I should have said this a long time ago, but... well, you know your mama. Stubborn as you."
He smiled. "That's a compliment, I think."
She nodded sadly. "Mijo, do you remember when you were a little boy and I told you to stick with Alex because he would be mayor?" He swallowed hard, not wanting to admit that he remembered it far more often than he would have liked. He didn't have to respond. Lucia took his silence for the admission that it was.
"I want you to know why I said that," she said. "I know you think it's because I didn't think you were good enough to be mayor yourself."
"Mami, I-"
She held up a hand. "No, Rafael, I know that's what you've thought. And I don't blame you. I know why you think that. But you need to understand this."
He sat in silence, and felt her grip his hand harder. He stared at a rip in the fabric on the couch. At this particular moment, it was easier to look at ugly fabric than his mother's eyes. Neither of them handled emotion very well, as it turned out.
"You were always such a good boy. You did what you were told. You never gave me any trouble. And I knew you were smart. So did your father, that's why he... well, anyway. I knew that you could do such great things, get out of this neighborhood. I also knew that Alex could do great things. He was ambitious and charismatic, and you were smart with an attitude. Also like me." She smiled a bit.
"Mom, you don't need to-"
"I told you, hush," she said, sharper this time. Even at forty-two years old, his mother could still scare him into silence. "Alex may have had the ambition and the charisma to be mayor, but he needed you to help him make smart decisions once he got there."
"Alex never wanted my help," Rafael said sadly. "He never asked for my help on his campaign."
"And do you ever think that if he had, maybe he wouldn't be where he is now, with another five years to go before he sees this city again?"
Rafael blinked back tears. Thinking of his childhood best friend upstate in a federal prison, gone the way so many of the kids they'd grown up with, hurt almost too much to bear.
"What are you trying to say, Mom?"
Lucia reached up with her free hand and tilted his chin just slightly upward. "That's why I told you to stick with him. Because he needed you, Rafael, not the other way around."
Rafael's chest felt tight and a rock was sitting in his throat. Emotion had his vocal cords in a choke hold. He wasn't used to this, not from Lucia Barba. When he finally regained the ability to speak, he said the first thing that was on his mind, which happened to be the biggest fear he had going into this campaign.
"The truth is, I AM afraid, Mom. Before he was arrested, Alex told me that I would never hold political office if I took him down... and if I do this, all of the scrutiny will be on me this time."
"Niño,," she said, "you were mouthing off to bullies on the playground when you were five. You've put drug dealers in prison, gang members, mafia hit men. You're not afraid of them. And I've NEVER seen you afraid of a camera or a reporter."
"You... watch my press conferences?" He was actually a bit surprised. His mother had never seemed to take much of an interest in his career. That was always his abuelita's department.
"What, you think I'm going to let all the other ladies at the fundraisers have the bragging rights to their kids' accomplishments?" She patted his cheek. "Your abuelita always thought you were going to be a judge. You're going to be something even better."
"Hi there," said a suit-clad Eli Gold, standing in Rafael's doorway at 9:00am on a Sunday morning, holding a banker's box. Rafael ran his hand through his hair, trying to tamp down his bedhead. Eli had called him ten minutes earlier to say he was on his way over, and Rafael had just barely gotten out of bed. He allowed himself one day a week to sleep in, but Eli, apparently, had other plans. He had managed to throw on a t-shirt and jeans and start the coffee, but that was about it.
"Hi," Rafael said, confused and sleepy.
"Are you going to invite us in?"
"Us?" Rafael repeated. Just then, Marissa appeared from behind her father, looking typically annoyed and frustrated.
"Just so you know, this was NOT my idea," she said. "I have better things to do with my Sunday mornings than hang around with my Dad and my boss."
"Yes, Marissa, you made that perfectly clear all the way over here," Eli said over his shoulder. He pushed past Rafael, no longer interested in waiting for an invitation inside. Seeing no table and chairs, he headed immediately for the kitchen counter, hoisting the box on top of it. Marissa typed furiously on her phone, while Rafael made for the coffee pot, defeated.
"Coffee, anyone?"
Marissa snorted. "Like you're not going to drink that entire pot by yourself? Hey! You have a cat!"
Marbury had crept out of her hiding place under his bed, which is where she usually stayed when he had visitors. Eli eyed the furry creature suspiciously, while Marissa crouched down to coax her over. Marbury approached Marissa with caution but curiosity, glancing at Rafael every few seconds as if for reassurance.
"Yeah, I found her roaming around outside. It took a few weeks, but she finally let me bring her in. I like rescuing strays," he said, looking directly at Eli. Marissa stifled a laugh as she put her hand down to let Marbury sniff her. "Funny, she doesn't usually like people."
"So we have something in common," Marissa replied, to Rafael's great amusement.
"Can we please," Eli said in exasperation, "focus on the important things now?" Rafael handed Marissa a cup of coffee. She looked at him in surprise.
"Isn't this supposed to be my job?"
"You're not on my clock," he replied. "Creamer's in the fridge. Sugar's over there. Eli?"
"No, thanks. I can't mainline coffee the way you two junkies can. Anyway," he said, spreading out stacks of paper across the breakfast counter and pulling up one of the bar stools, "this is the oppo research my little team has pulled together on you over the last two weeks."
"Oppo-what team?" It had only been two weeks since Rafael had agreed to run, and all of a sudden there was a whole TEAM set up. I have definitely not had enough coffee for this, Rafael thought.
"Hazelnut? Really?" Marissa popped up from behind the refrigerator door and held up the bottle of creamer.
"Are you really surprised?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Not really. But I'm going to make fun of you anyway," she said, pouring a decent amount into both of their cups and heading for the living room.
"Marissa! Don't think I won't need you over here!" Eli turned back to Rafael, who was now sitting on the counter next to the coffee pot. "I keep forgetting you're not familiar with this process. Okay, look. Before you agreed to run, I called the Democratic Committee. Yes, I know, you can't believe I did that, what was I thinking, et cetera. Anyway, they're on board with you. Mostly because they hate Buchanan, but you've also got the potential to be a Democratic dream candidate later on for them, so they want to see how you do in a smaller election like this."
"Wait just a second," Rafael said. "We haven't even started THIS race yet, and they're already talking about-"
Eli shook his head. "I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Alicia: the absence of yes, times time, equals no. That's how it works. If anyone asks, you just tell them you haven't considered the options yet and that you would like to get through this race first. They look at this as a test case. If you decide you don't want to go any further, that's entirely up to you. But this is how we get their money and support, so you play into their idea that you might consider it."
"That seems a bit dishonest, doesn't it?"
"It's only dishonest if you're absolutely certain that you'll never run for anything again, and nothing is absolutely certain except uncertainty."
Rafael didn't have time to consider this before Eli had moved onto the next thing.
"Now, do you know what all this is?"
"You said oppo research. It's the dirty laundry, and we're trying to get in front of it."
"Spin, spin, spin," Marissa muttered as she perused the contents of the mocha-colored trestle bookcase leaning against the far wall of Rafael's living room. There were a dozen law books, of course. A few novels, including one called Anonymous Lawyer, which, upon reading the back, Marissa decided to pilfer, figuring he wouldn't have time to read now anyway. She recognized Brave New World and 1984. To her surprise, there was a collector's edition of the Harry Potter series and books of poetry by Pablo Neruda and García Lorca. She hadn't taken him for the whimsical, much less romantic, type.
Then, she noticed an odd book tucked away on the corner of the lowest shelf. When Someone You Love Suffers from Posttraumatic Stress: What to Expect and What You Can Do. She wondered what that was about, but her father interrupted her train of thought.
"Marissa! I need you." He snapped his fingers at her, which he knew she hated. She gritted her teeth and approached the counter, where Rafael was staring blankly at the stacks of paper.
"Eli, can we do this another time? I'm really not awake yet, and I don't-"
"Oh, I'm sorry, do you want me to go and ask John Buchanan's camp if they can wait to start their attack ads until you're feeling more up to it?"
"Hey!" Marissa jumped in. "Play nice, or this is going to be a really long campaign. Look, Mr. Barba, it's better to deal with this stuff early. Believe me, having seen what Alicia went through, they're not going to waste any time, and the sooner we deal with it, the easier it'll be. But," she said, "I think you can go take a freaking shower first if you want to. Right, Dad?" She gave her father a warning look.
Eli rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. "But hurry up. This is going to take most of the day to work through."
Rafael padded off to the shower, and Eli and Marissa stood on opposite sides of the breakfast counter, organizing their notes. Each pile contained a different potential problem that would need to be explained, spun, or temporarily ignored until they had to deal with it.
"So what do you think we need to worry about the most?" Marissa asked after about ten minutes of rifling through papers.
"I think the Munoz thing is going to be the hardest to explain," Eli said, reviewing the stack dealing with the former mayoral candidate. "Rafael was his confidant for so long, there are going to be implications that he tried to cover up for him."
"No way did that happen," Marissa said. "I wasn't even around for it and I know he's still broken up about having to turn that guy in."
"How do you know that?"
"The same way Nora could always tell when you were up to no good," Marissa said.
Eli dropped the pile of paper he was holding but tried to sound nonchalant. "Meaning?"
"I mean that eventually, assistants start sharing a brain with their bosses. We start thinking like you. Not acting like you, thank God, but we get inside your head. If you're nice to us, we don't mess with anything while we're in there. And speaking of Nora," Marissa said, "it's a shame you weren't nicer to her, because I need her to come out here."
Eli almost fell off his stool. "What? Why in God's name would you want that?"
"Wow, Dad, you make it sound like I just asked you to get Charlie Manson out here."
Eli pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, I just mean there's no reason she needs to drop her entire life and come out to help with this campaign."
"Are you kidding me?" Marissa crossed her arms. "Peter can live without her. We can't. You don't even have half your apartment unpacked because you have no idea how to deal with your life."
"That is B.S.," he said, also crossing his arms. "I don't need Nora to-"
"Ever wonder why people have assistants? To deal with the bullshit so that they can take care of business. That's why Mr. Barba has me, and that's why you need Nora."
"I am perfectly fine on my own," he said.
"Fine, then I'm not helping you either," she replied with a shrug. "I can think of thousands of better things to do with my weekends anyway."
"WHAT?!" Now he was confused AND pissed. "Marissa, you already work for him. How hard will it be for you to be his bodywoman the way you were for Alicia?"
"First of all, Dad," she said, "If you really wanted me to help, you'd accept that I've earned a better title than that. And second, in case you didn't remember, I have a job. It's not like he's going to stop doing the job he has just to run for the job he wants. I have to put my job as his legal assistant before my job as his campaign assistant."
"Why can't we hire someone from the DNC to help you, then? Why does it have to be Nora?"
"Because," Marissa said, "she's the only one who is going to be able to tell you where to go when you get bitchy. The DNC will send you a yes man. I don't need that. I need someone who will tell you to calm the hell down."
"You're being ridiculous," he said, eyebrows furrowing angrily. "There is no reason I can't hire someone right here in the city to work for me."
"You really think anyone's going to work for you for more than a couple weeks? The first time you scream at them the way you did at Nora, they'll run straight to Buchanan's campaign and tell them everything."
Eli stared blankly at her, his mouth hanging open. He hated to admit it, but she had a point. He didn't have time to build trust with someone else, even someone from the DNC. He knew his own temper, and he knew he had a knack for alienating people. Nora was accustomed to his rages. Sometimes he wondered if that was the reason she hadn't asked to come with him to New York.
"I really don't care about your reaction to this," Marissa continued, "because if you don't get Nora out here, I'm not doing this. Period."
Just then, Rafael came back into the room, looking slightly more like himself. Though his hair and skin were still slightly damp, he had managed to pull himself together into a button down and jeans. "What's going on? Marissa?"
Marissa didn't answer, but gave her Dad a withering stare that told him she wasn't going to budge. Glaring at her, Eli said, "Will you excuse me for a moment? I have to make a phone call." With that, he left the apartment for the hallway, preparing himself for the taste of crow. Rafael looked from Marissa to the door and back again.
"What was that about?" Barba gestured toward the living room. "Please, have a seat." Armed with fresh coffee, she sat on the couch while he took the matching overstuffed armchair.
"I'm making him call his old assistant. I need reinforcements. I realize I'm amazing, but I can't do both jobs."
"What's the problem with that? Does she have some reason to hate him? Besides, you know, being him."
Marissa smiled ruefully, while Marbury jumped into her lap and purred. "You have to understand, she'd worked for him since I was eleven. My parents got divorced three years later. That's twelve years of her life she's spent working for him, and almost a decade of that time was spent running his after the divorce."
"So why didn't she come out here with him?"
"That's why she's mad at him. He didn't even offer. Thought he could do it all on his own, didn't want to pay her moving expenses, figured he'd just find someone new if he needed to. Whatever." She rolled her eyes. "The truth is, Nora's the only one who has ever been able to tolerate my Dad's bullshit, except for maybe Alicia, and she hasn't been doing it nearly as long as Nora has."
She looked up from petting Marbury to see that Rafael was half-smiling at her. "What?"
"Do you think that in twelve years, you'll still be able to tolerate MY bullshit?"
"I think that if I'm still working for you in twelve years, I will have to reevaluate my life choices." There was an implied wink in her words, and Rafael suddenly felt that he had not only an assistant but a confidant.
It took him a moment before he could bring himself to hit "call" on Nora's number. This conversation wasn't just going to be uncomfortable, it was going to be downright wrenching. He didn't know why he hadn't deleted her number from his phone before. It wasn't like he ever made social calls, least of all to her. Pacing back and forth in the hallway, he wondered if he could make up a conversation that would sound plausible enough to convince Marissa he'd called. I could tell her that Nora said no, that she hung up on me, he thought. Oh, hell, but Marissa would call her. That won't work. He realized he had no choice. He swallowed hard and hit call.
Ring. Ring. Ri-
"Hello, this is Nora." Honey-sweet and sharp, he'd almost forgotten the sound of her voice.
"Hello."
Silence followed, and Eli supposed she had just woken up, since she had sounded sleepy when she answered and since she obviously hadn't realized he was on the line. He looked at the phone to make sure the line hadn't gone dead. When he saw that it was still connected, he cleared his throat.
"Nora, it's Eli."
"Oh," she said. "What do you want, Eli?"
"Is that any way to talk to your boss?"
"FORMER boss, Eli, or did you forget that you left me in Chicago when you ran away to New York?" He could almost see the disdain in her dark eyes.
"Oh, come on, Nora, it's been eight months. Isn't it time we move on?"
"I have moved on, Eli. I'm working for Peter. You know that. And believe it or not, he treats me like a human."
He rubbed his forehead. Just then, Rafael's apartment door opened.
"Dad, are you-"
"Oh, go away!" Eli snapped.
"Eli, what the hell-" Nora said.
"Not you, Nora. Marissa," he said, redirecting to his daughter, who was still hanging out of the doorway, "I'll be in when I'm done. Just start going over the gay thing."
"Oh, come on, Dad, I can't talk to my boss about-"
"MARISSA!"
"I swear to God you're paying me double what you paid me last time." She slammed the door behind her, and Eli put the phone back to his ear.
"Marissa doing well?" Nora's voice was softer now, less agitated.
"She is," Eli said. "She's working for a prosecutor right now..."
"I know," Nora said. "She emailed me."
"She-what?" His eye started to twitch.
"She and I still talk, you know. We HAVE known each other for over a decade," she replied coolly. "So what do you want, Eli?"
"You spent too long working for me," he said. "You've lost your knack for pleasantries."
"No, just the inclination to extend them to you. I'm gonna ask you again and this time I want an answer or I'm hanging up, what do you want?"
There was no more stalling. He took a deep breath and in one exhale said, "Nora-I-need-you-out-here-could-you-please-come-and-help-me?"
There was a pause long enough to make him check the line again, and then, "This isn't funny, Eli."
"Who's laughing?" He forced himself to relax his crunched-up shoulders. "Nora, look, I-"
"I'm not coming out there, Eli," she said. "I have a job. A job I love."
"I know. Peter is a good man to work for. I did it for years, remember?"
"So, what, do you not think he needs me in this campaign? Just because you thought I was disposable doesn't mean he thinks so. Do you really think he'd just let me go work for you again because you suddenly decided you're not capable of running your own life after all?"
"If I asked him to, he would, not because you're disposable," Eli replied quickly, "but because he knows you're indispensable."
"What the hell are you talking about? You're the one who said you didn't need me, that there wasn't enough work for me, and that you didn't need an assistant anymore. What's changed?"
"Well," he began, "you said you knew Marissa was working for a prosecutor."
"Yes, but what does that have to do with-oh, Lord," she said, suddenly realizing what was coming. "Oh, no, Eli, absolutely not. Not again." Her voice was firm, steady, and indicated that she was not up for his usual bullshit. So he tried a different tack.
"Nora! I promise - I PROMISE - this one is worth it. It's Peter all over again. He's a good candidate. He wants to do good things. He deserves to win. And the thing is, Peter can get a thousand people to help him. He's a good man to work for. I'm-"
"Not," she finished. "I'm about to be really honest with you, Eli. You SUCK as a boss."
"Well, I don't think THAT'S entirely-" he started, but she cut him off.
"No, you SUCK. I worked for you for twelve years. You have a terrible temper, you don't care who you embarrass, you have no people skills, you're barely a human most of the time. And you're even worse when you're on a campaign. It makes you good at your job, but it also makes you a terrible boss."
He stood there in stunned silence. It wasn't as though no one had ever said those things to him, but it was the first time Nora had ever said them. Maybe it was because this was the first conversation they'd ever had outside of her employment with him. But for some reason, the words stung more coming from her.
"Nora, what do I have to do? We need you here. I can't run a campaign without some serious help, and Marissa won't be able to do it all."
Nora let out a silky, light laugh. He knew that laugh, had heard it for over a decade, but felt like he was hearing it for the first time. "Marissa asked you to ask me, didn't she?"
"What? Of course not!" He tried, and failed, to play it off.
"Oh, please, Eli. You're a good liar, but you just gave yourself away," she said. His cheeks burned and he was glad this wasn't a video call. Nora sighed, almost wistfully. "I do miss that girl."
"So will you do it?" He was anxious for this to be over before Marissa could pop back out of the apartment like a Jew-in-the-Box. He held his breath, hoping Nora would let him off the hook.
"I want a salary of a hundred thousand dollars and you're going to pay my moving expenses," she said with finality. "Those are my terms."
"A hundred thousand-are you kidding?" He sputtered. "This is extortion!"
"This is fair. You want me to pack up, leave my home, my family, my job, and come work in New York City? Seventy-five thousand is a reasonable salary for an executive assistant out there. The other twenty-five is because I have to work for YOU. This is not a negotiation, Eli. Those are my terms."
"I have been nothing but bullied all day, and it's only ten thirty," he muttered. "Fine. You can have your salary and your moving expenses. I'll expect you in two weeks."
"Two weeks? I need to give Peter more notice than that," she said.
"I'll talk to Peter," he replied. "Just... come. As soon as you can."
"Fine," she replied. "And I need a place to stay. You need to arrange that."
"Fine," he echoed. "I'll work it out. I'll see you soon."
"I'll look for a draft contract soon," she said. "And let me know where I'm staying."
He hung up the phone and held it against his forehead. Why was it so difficult to talk to her? Why did he agree to that salary? And why the hell was his heart trying to escape his ribcage? Shaking it off, he pushed his hair off his forehead and headed back into the apartment, where he found Marissa and Rafael sitting in the living room chatting about his DVD collection.
"Are we ready?" Eli said, clearing his throat. They all gathered back around the breakfast counter, Marissa sitting on one of the high-top chairs and Eli and Rafael on opposite sides.
"So," Rafael said, "what sordid event from my past do we get to start with?"
"Depends whether you want to start easy or hard," Eli said. "And not all of this is from your past."
"Well, let's start with my present," Rafael replied. Eli pushed one of the smaller stacks toward Rafael. "What could possibly be-" He trailed off as he flipped through the pages, realizing what Eli was talking about.
"You warned me about this," Eli said, watching Rafael's face intently. He had to see how his candidate would handle personal attacks, and this was one of the most personal. Rafael's expression alternated between annoyance and amusement.
"Well, I can't say it surprises me," Rafael said. "Like you said, I did warn you that they'd say I'm gay."
Marissa paged through the papers that Rafael had set aside from the stack. "Some of this stuff is just dumb. Besides, who cares if he IS gay?"
"I'm in the room," Rafael said, continuing to look through the documents. Most of what they contained was not shocking - photos of him in his flamboyant courtroom attire, polling data regarding public opinion of both his sexuality and homosexuality in general. But there was also information about his hobbies and leisure activities - seeing Broadway musicals, for instance, or information on the gym he went to. And some of it truly astounded him. "They got information on the charities I give to?"
"THEY didn't - yet," Eli said, taking the paperwork from Marissa as Rafael set it down. "WE did. Look, I need you to keep something in mind while we do this. To do my job, I've had to do a pretty thorough investigation into every aspect of your life. You probably won't like me very much when we're done here."
Rafael nodded, struck by the fact that he told victims the same thing before every trial. He couldn't blame Eli - it was only going to get more personal when Buchanan got involved. But that didn't mean he had to like it.
"So what are they going to say? Because I donate to AIDS research, I'm a closet gay man living with AIDS?"
"From what I know about John Buchanan, I wouldn't put it past him," Marissa said. "Dad, have you started looking at HIM yet?"
"Next week," Eli said. "Why? Something I need to know beforehand?"
"I think you need to understand something about John Buchanan," Rafael said.
"I know he's a walking cliche in a shitty suit."
"It's worse than that," Rafael said, shaking his head. "The guy hates me on a very personal level."
"Why?"
"Because I kick his ass almost every time we're in court. Most defense attorneys are fierce, but after a trial we shake hands and go for a drink. This guy holds a grudge. He takes it personally when I rip his clients apart. So he WILL use anything he can get on me. He won't run anything resembling a clean campaign."
Eli thought about this. "Then we have two options: either we run a dirty campaign too, or-"
"No," Rafael said, shaking his head. "I'm not playing on his level. I don't care what he says about me. We're not doing that."
"Everyone always says that," Eli said. "But just wait until he starts-"
"Absolutely not. This is my campaign, Eli. I can't lower myself to his level."
Eli sighed. Running a clean campaign was almost impossible in politics, even more so in New York politics. But the look on Rafael's face told him it was better to agree for the moment and hope that the first personal attack would change Rafael's mind. However, he made sure to acquiesce without speaking in absolutes.
"Fine," Eli said. "We'll run as clean a campaign as is possible."
Rafael seemed satisfied. "So maybe we should look at what we think he'll use first and figure out how to get in front of that."
"This is it," Marissa chimed in.
Eli and Rafael both stared at her. "How do you know that?" Rafael asked.
"I've been watching you deal with this guy for a year now," she said. "The good thing about him is that it's so easy to anticipate his moves, and I can almost guarantee you that his campaign will be the same way. Dad, do you know who's running it yet?"
"Not yet. Like I said, next week."
"He's going to hire someone he can bully," she continued. "And then he'll do every predictable thing in the book. He can't take anyone telling him no. Look what happens when you do it. If I'm right, he'll throw softballs to try and lull you into a false sense of security. I bet you two paychecks he goes for the gay thing first."
"That's a softball?" Rafael tried to think of other, worse things that could be used against him. It was hard to take an inventory of all one's transgressions in only a few moments. Then he realized what one of The Big Things would be. "Of course..."
"What?" Eli sounded wary, as if he was worried he'd missed something major.
"The Alex Muñoz thing," Rafael said, realizing that this was one of the biggest problems they would have.
Eli breathed a sigh of relief. "That's definitely not a small thing," he said. "But let's deal with the big things later. Marissa is surprisingly correct; they'll throw the gay thing out first."
"Well, since no one will believe me if I just come out-"
"Maybe not the best choice of words," Marissa said.
"I can still fire you, you know," Rafael said, glaring at her.
"You could, but you won't," she replied casually, typing on her phone again.
"Anyway, how do we deal with this in advance?"
Eli tapped his finger against his lips. "I don't suppose you'd consider wearing fewer suspenders?"
"Oh, come on!" Rafael snapped. "I will not change everything about myself to appeal to homophobes."
"I was kidding!" Eli held up his hands in front of him. "Changing your wardrobe would actually work against us. It will make it look like you're just trying not to LOOK gay."
"Why," Marissa suggested, "can't we just throw the grenade back over the fence when the idiot lobs it?"
"You mean accuse HIM of being gay?" Eli asked.
"No," Rafael said, understanding. "She means accuse him of being a bigot."
"Interesting," Eli said. Then he flipped to the page in the research with the poll results. He studied them for a minute. "You know, this could work. Our polling says voters are more or less okay with you being gay. They're just not okay if you're hiding it, which you aren't, and besides, we can always dispute that with a well-orchestrated photo op or two. But I'm willing to bet they'd be far less pleased with an accusation being made as if it were necessarily a bad thing."
"So maybe we don't address the accusation at all," Marissa said. "We don't want to make it seem like being gay IS a bad thing, right?"
"But if we frame it as though it's an insult to the gay community that that suggestion is being made as a negative..." Rafael began.
"Then he blows himself up with his own bomb," Eli finished.
"Okay, good, done," Rafael said. "What's next?"
Eli jotted down a few notes on the top page of the pile and set it aside. "Do you want to deal with past or continue with the relative present?"
"Am I going to need to switch from coffee to scotch?" He got up and started a fresh pot.
"Maybe," Eli said. "I'll take some of that this time. I have a feeling this is going to take a while."
While Rafael grabbed another mug, Marissa took the opportunity. "So, who has PTSD?" Rafael almost dropped the full pot of coffee onto his chest.
"Marissa!" Eli yelled. "Good God, who raised you?"
"You know exactly who raised me," Marissa replied. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just saw a book over there and wondered if it's something we need to know about."
Rafael crossed his arms and looked away. This really wasn't his business to tell. But Eli obviously sensed from his silence that he was hiding something.
"The only way this works is if you're honest with me," Eli said, coming around to Rafael's side of the counter.
"This isn't yours to know," Rafael replied.
"Everything is mine to know," Eli said. He put a hand on Rafael's shoulder. "If it affects the campaign, it's only going to hurt worse when it's used against you. It's better if I know so that we can deal with facts, because I assure you, the facts will be less painful than whatever Buchanan decides to twist them into."
"Mr. Barba?" Rafael looked at Marissa, who had an apologetic look on her face. "I really didn't mean to be rude. But you know the thing you said you always say to victims before you take the case to trial? The one thing you hide is going to be the one thing the defense will use."
Rafael's throat began to close. How could he be expected to talk about the constant guilt, anxiety, and nightmares he still felt over William Lewis? Moreover, how could they expect him to talk about the way it had affected Olivia? But he knew they were right. Buchanan would use it. And Eli needed to deal with it before he could make it worse than it already was.
"I bought that book," Rafael said, "as a way to help my friend cope with a personal tragedy. She was brutalized by someone, and I didn't know how else to help."
"That friend wouldn't happen to be Olivia Benson, would it?" Eli asked. Rafael's eyes flickered with anger.
"How- why- if you already knew then why are you asking me to go through it?"
"To keep you honest," Eli said. "I have an entire history of the SVU cases you've prosecuted, since those will be the ones Buchanan focuses on the most. Lewis got a lot of press." Rafael sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. His one major failure had been hard enough to deal with at the time, but now he knew he would have to relive it over and over. "It's in the oppo research anyway, so we should deal with it now. What happened?"
"He was a psychopath and I totally fucked up," Rafael said. "What more do you need to know?"
"Well, for starters," Eli said, "what made that case so different?"
Rafael honestly didn't know how to respond, though not for lack of trying. He had just never come up with a satisfying answer. "It doesn't matter," he said. "My fuck-up cost my friend more pain than she ever should have had to deal with. So I bought that book to try and help. I couldn't help her in court, so it seemed like the only other thing to do."
"Okay, for starters, don't ever say you couldn't help someone in court," Eli said. "It will sound bad, no matter how true it might or might not be."
"For what it's worth," Marissa said, "I don't think you fucked up that badly. From what I read, that guy slipped through a lot of fingers."
"Your opinion isn't the voting public's," Eli said dismissively. "We're going to have to answer questions about how you let him walk, after which he assaulted a police officer."
"You think I don't know what he did?" Rafael spat. "You think I don't realize that I was the reason Olivia had to go through all of that?"
Looking at Rafael's face, Eli felt a twinge of pity and guilt. "I know you do," he said softly. "But we have to address it with the public." Rafael knew he must have looked close to murder because Eli suddenly changed subjects. "What about tabling that one for a while?"
"Good idea," Rafael replied, through gritted teeth. "What other bullshit do you have for me?"
Eli stepped back to the other side of the counter. "I told you that you wouldn't like me very much when we were done," Eli said. "Do we feel like dealing with Muñoz?"
"Do we have a choice?"
"Oh, God," Marissa muttered.
"There really isn't that much to tell," Rafael said.
"There's always something to tell," Eli replied, pulling yet another, thicker stack of paper from the piles. "What happened there?"
Rafael shrugged, sipping his lukewarm coffee. "Like I said, there isn't much to tell that wasn't already written about. He was my best friend. He decided to run for mayor, and then pulled an Anthony Weiner. I had nothing to do with it. The feds got him for sending child pornography and committing a crime across state lines. He's upstate now."
"But you were associated," Eli replied. "How closely?"
"I didn't want to believe it," Rafael said. "He was, as I said, my oldest friend. But when I realized what he was doing, I had to turn him in, and it killed me to do it."
"He tried to claim you were corrupt, just trying to take him down so that you could further your own career."
"Bullshit," Marissa said. "How many times did you have to ask him to run before he said yes?"
"Well, the three of us in this room know it's bullshit," Eli said. "But the public seems to think you still had some nefarious motive." He pulled another poll result from the stack. "I think we can overcome it. But we'll need to do some major PR, and we may need to go upstate and try to get Muñoz to cooperate, issue some kind of statement from prison."
"He won't do it," Rafael said flatly.
"What about the wife?" Eli flipped through the pages. "Yelina?"
"Forget it," Rafael said. "There's no way. But Eddie... Eddie might."
"Eddie? Who's Eddie?"
"He's another friend. Alex had him delivering money to the girls to keep them quiet. He almost went down with Alex, but the feds offered him a deal in exchange for turning on Alex. He might be willing to back me up."
"Not great, but something to keep in our back pocket. I might need to strategize with the team on this one, though. It's a bit hairy."
"By the way, what kind of team do we have working on this?"
"I've got two researchers, a strategist, a finance expert, a couple interns to do grunt work, a graphic designer for your campaign materials - by the way, we're going to be coming up with a slogan next time we meet - Marissa, me, and my assistant Nora who will be coming out in the next two weeks and staying with Marissa."
"Excuse me?" Marissa said. "Not that I mind, because I love Nora, but were you planning to ask me?"
"You said I had to get her out here and you didn't care what I had to do to make it happen." Marissa opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"You'd better be glad I got a two-bedroom that I AirBnB out," she replied, defeated.
"So," Rafael said, "what's next?" This is getting a little easier, at least, he thought.
Eli knew this next one might earn him a punch in the face. "Your father."
Rafael's face froze and Marissa's softened a bit. "Do you want me to leave, Mr. Barba?"
"I... what about him?" Rafael asked, totally ignoring Marissa.
Eli cleared his throat nervously. Even he hated to bring this kind of thing up. "The researchers found this. From 1996. No charges filed, but this police report..." Rafael knew exactly what Eli was talking about. He had seen it coming, which is why he'd talked to his mother before fully committing. Still, he hated to think about it. He remembered the day exactly, as if it were last week. His breath came quicker and he struggled to maintain control of it.
Eli looked at Rafael, who appeared to be holding back his emotions. Then he looked at Marissa. She shook her head. While Eli's first instinct was to push his candidate harder during times like this - God knows it wasn't going to get easier - he also knew when someone was ready to shut down. Alicia taught him that sometimes it was better not to push, especially at first. Otherwise you ran the risk of your candidate getting burned out before the campaign even started. So he gathered up the remaining stacks of paper and started putting them back into the box.
"We can pick this back up in a couple days," he said. Rafael's head snapped up, and he realized just then that he had been clenching his fists tightly against his sides. Marissa lifted the box off of the counter, and gave Rafael a small smile.
"See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Rafael said absently. Eli and Marissa looked at each other uneasily, and were on their way out when Rafael said, "Eli?"
Eli turned and came back to the kitchen while Marissa headed for the elevator. "Yes?"
"That police report... you've read it?" Eli nodded. "How likely do you think it is to come out?"
Eli's brow furrowed. "If my researchers found it, Buchanan's will, too." Rafael hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck.
"We need to get in front of it. It might be the biggest issue."
At this, Eli gave an encouraging smile. "Let me worry about that. Keep your conviction rate up. That's what you can do for me."
"So no pressure or anything," Rafael said, brightening a bit.
"You haven't seen pressure until you've done debate prep," Eli said. "I'll call you tomorrow."
As Rafael shut the apartment door, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He didn't feel like answering calls, but when he saw the caller ID, he realized he had to take it. "Hello?"
"Hey, Barba, it's Joe." Rafael genuinely liked Joe Thomas, a young prosecutor who handled mostly misdemeanors. Joe worked almost as hard as Rafael did, often coming in hours before almost anyone else in the office, and they would occasionally go for coffee runs together when their assistants hadn't come in yet.
"Hey, Joe. What can I do for you on a Sunday afternoon?"
"Yeah, listen, I'm sorry to bother you on a weekend, but my wife went into labor this morning-"
"Well, I think your first call should have been the hospital," Rafael joked.
"Funny," Joe replied.
"I usually am. Seriously, though, congratulations. Has the baby come yet?"
"Not yet, we're taking a short rece-I mean break. Man, I think my wife has a point when she tells me to stop bringing work home."
"So what do you need from me?"
"Listen, I was supposed to have an arraignment tomorrow morning... it's a DUI, no injuries, easily pleaded out, but someone has to be there to do it, and I-"
"Say no more. What time?"
"Nine. Thanks, Barba. I really appreciate this."
"No problem," Rafael said. "Give Annie a stiff handshake from me."
Joe laughed. "I will."
As they hung up, Rafael smiled. Ordinarily, arraignment court was drudgery. But today, he was happy for the change of pace. There were no victims, no horrors, and opposing counsel was usually an easily-intimidated first-year lawyer. He would be in and out in fifteen minutes, tops.
