It Might Not Be A Pretty Picture

by Cirocco

Briscoe and McCoy get involved when Rey Curtis is charged with his mother's murder.

3. Out on Bail

Chapter 3: Out On Bail

Disclaimer: Not mine, Dick Wolf's.  No permission, no profit, no money, yadda yadda.

Friday, October 10, 2003
3:45 pm

"Rey.  Relax," Briscoe said for the third time.  He and Curtis were in Central Park, waiting for Deborah to be brought to meet them by the nursing home.  The judge had stated that Curtis could be allowed to visit with his family twice a week 'pending an evaluation by Social Services,' and this was the first such visit.  She had also decreed that because of the nature of the crime that Curtis was charged with, these visits should be supervised.  Briscoe had qualified as a suitable chaperone in the eyes of the court.

So now he was sitting on a bench near one of the entrances to Central Park, and Curtis was leaning on a low wall.  Curtis had read a plaque, paced a bit, drummed his fingers on the wall, re-read the plaque, and basically started to drive Briscoe nuts.

"Sorry.  I feel like I'm twelve years old again, waiting for my first date."

"Twelve?  What, an early bloomer?"  Curtis smiled briefly.  "Relax.  It'll be OK."

Finally, they sighted the nursing home volunteer pushing Deborah's chair towards them.  Curtis and Briscoe approached her.  Briscoe nodded at the volunteer, who smiled and said she would be back in about four hours.

"Deborah." Curtis knelt in front of Deborah's wheelchair, looking up at her and hesitantly taking her hands in his.  "I missed you."  She smiled at him, leaned down and hugged him close, and he buried his face in her hair, breathing in deeply and closing his eyes.  When he opened them again, the first real smile Briscoe had seen since he'd come into contact with Curtis and his family again was lighting up his face.  He reached up and stroked Deborah's cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear.  "How are you doing?"

"I'm OK.  How are you?"

"OK."

Deborah smiled up at Briscoe.  "Hi Lennie."

Briscoe smiled back.  "Good to see you, Deborah."

"What time are the kids going to be here?" she asked Curtis.

"In about an hour.  Serena and Isabel are at the same home now.  Lisa's trying to get some time away from her job so she can come and take you and the kids until I'm allowed back."

Briscoe looked around.  "Well, I know I'm supposed to hang out with you and all, but three's a crowd and I'm behind on some reports.  Do you mind if I just take a seat and work on them, and you two can catch up?"  Curtis and his wife turned surprised, pleased faces towards him.  They glanced at each other and nodded.  Briscoe sat back down on a park bench, taking out a file full of reports he was supposed to have filled out or read in the last few days, while Curtis took Deborah over to a pond that was out of earshot, but within sight of Briscoe.

When Briscoe next looked up, Curtis and his wife were sitting facing each other, he at a picnic table and she in her chair in front of him.  They looked somber, talking about the case, most likely.  Deborah was speaking urgently, and Curtis' face was averted from hers.  He shook his head several times.  At one point, he reached out to touch her hand and she automatically drew back.  He contented himself with resting his hand on the side of her chair.  Briscoe went back to his reading.

"No!" Curtis' voice, raised to a shout, made Briscoe's head snap up.  Deborah was sobbing and trying to talk through her tears. Curtis was standing, arms crossed, looking away from her.  As Deborah cried, he chewed on his lip and Briscoe could see his chest rising and falling, as if he were trying to control his anger.  Then he rubbed his forehead and knelt down in front of Deborah's chair.  He tried to touch her cheek, but she jerked her face away and he pulled back, frustration and sorrow evident on his face.  Briscoe looked away again, trying to give them as much privacy as he could.

Finally the time came for the children to join them.

Olivia came first, without an escort.  She greeted Briscoe cheerfully, then spotted her parents at the picnic table near the pond and ran towards them with a happy shout.  As Briscoe followed her, Curtis picked her up and swung her around and she laughed delightedly.  She bent down to hug Deborah in her wheelchair, and then sat and told her parents, without stopping for breath, all about the place where she was staying and the people she was staying with.  Curtis and his wife, still clearly ill at ease over whatever they had been arguing about, slowly began to relax as they listened to their daughter's stories.

Next came Tania, who raced to her parents and sister with a look of happy disbelief on her face, the social worker in charge chasing behind her.  Curtis met her halfway to the pond, picked her up and held her tight, then carried her to Deborah, talking to her softly.  He placed her on Deborah's lap, where Deborah and Olivia fussed over her and she squirmed happily until a nearby dog caught her fancy.

Finally, Isabel and Serena arrived.  Isabel ran to her family with a shout of joy while Serena lagged behind, glowering at everybody.

"Hi Serena," Curtis said quietly.  She glared at him, stalked over to another picnic table, took out a book and started reading.  Deborah and Curtis traded a glance and Deborah wheeled herself over to Serena.  Curtis and Briscoe sat with the other girls, listening to Olivia's tales of her foster home and looking on as Isabel played with her delighted little sister.  Suddenly Serena's voice cut through Olivia's chatter.

"Yeah, well, how am I supposed to feel?  My grandmother's dead and my father's a suspect and we're in foster care all 'cause he can't keep it in his pants!"

"Serena!"

Curtis turned around quickly, taking in Serena's accusing glare as she stood and screamed at her mother.  Deborah was looking up at her, her expression pleading.  Olivia and Isabel had gone silent, and Curtis caught them looking at each other knowingly.  His eyes met Briscoe's, who had caught the same exchange.  He blew out his breath bitterly and turned to Deborah.

"They all know, don't they?" he asked her.  She nodded, not meeting his eyes.  He covered his eyes for a moment, then asked, "Do I even wanna know how?"

"I figured it out," Serena said.  "I'm not stupid.  And I told Isabel, 'cause I know you never would, you're a liar and a-"

"Stop it!" Curtis interrupted her.  He reached out for Isabel, who had started to cry. "You're right, I wouldn't have, because Isabel is barely nine years old!  What's the matter with you?"

"It's not my fault she's crying!  It's your fault!" Serena screamed at him.  Isabel clung to him, crying harder, and he stroked her back gently, shielding her from Serena's angry words.

"Shhh, sweetie," he murmured to her.  "It's OK, it's OK."  He directed at Serena, "You shouldn't have said anything to her.  She's too little to understand any of this - and so are you."

"I'm too little to understand why it's OK for you to cheat and lie?" Serena flung at him.

"No, that's not what I-" he protested.

"That's exactly what you're saying-"

"NO!  It's not!  It's not right, it's not OK, I don't care what your mother says!" Deborah looked away, angry tears in her eyes.  Isabel had hunched down lower when Curtis' voice grew louder, and he forced himself to calm down before continuing.  "I don't have any excuse.  But you - you don't have to be so mad at me that you take it out on everybody else.  What are you gonna do next, try to explain it to Tania too?  If you're angry at me, take it out on me, OK?  Leave Isabel out of it!"

Serena had stopped ranting, uncertain of what to say or do as Curtis admitted to being wrong.  She looked at the rest of her family, finding only condemnation and lack of support.  Now she turned on Deborah.  "Why are you always defending him?  Why aren't you mad at him?!" she asked her mother plaintively.

"Serena..."

"The Bible says adultery is a sin.  You said we should follow the Bible.  You mean it's not a sin if you only do it on the last Friday of the month while you're stoned?"

"Serena!", "Jesus, how did you know about that?" Deborah and Curtis spoke simultaneously.

"What's stoned?"  Isabel asked, eyes wide.

"Not now, sweetie," Curtis said quickly.

"I hear plenty, it's a small apartment.  You're such a hypocrite - getting all mad at me when I was selling, and I wasn't even using any of it!  I heard-"

"Serena, stop it!" Deborah screamed.  "That's enough!"

"No, that's OK," Curtis soothed her quickly.  "Look, it was wrong, I, I shouldn't have, and you're right, adultery is a sin no matter what.  And using drugs is against the law.  I don't have any excuse," he repeated.  He paused for a second, then said simply, "I'm sorry.  I know you're mad at me, and I don't blame you.  My dad used to cheat on my mom.  I swore I'd never be like him and I never forgave him.  I know how you're feeling," he said, his voice sad and resigned.

"I hate you, that's how I'm feeling!"  Curtis looked away from her and sighed heavily.

"I forgive you, Daddy," Isabel said timidly.  Curtis smiled down at her sadly.

"Sweetheart.  Thanks," he squeezed her small form, patting her comfortingly.

"You make me sick!" Serena stormed at Isabel.  "You all make me sick!!" She got up and started to run away.

"Shit!" Curtis swore, reflexively adding, "Sorry, Isabel."  He looked at his daughter running off and gave Deborah a despairing look.  "She's doing it again.  I have to go after her."

Briscoe said, "Do you think maybe I should-"

"No, no, I have to - I have to try and talk to her."  Curtis stood up, heading in Serena's direction.  Briscoe looked at Deborah.

"Does she do this a lot?"

Deborah nodded.  "She and Rey fight all the time.  She gets so angry with him.  She's so angry at everybody."

"She's a bitch," Olivia said viciously.

"Olivia!" Deborah remonstrated.

"Well, she is.  Why did she have to come today anyway?  She wrecks everything."

"She's your sister," Deborah said wearily.  "She's as much a part of this family as any of us."

In the distance, Curtis had caught up with his daughter and was standing, arms crossed, listening as she screamed at him.  He was trying to keep a hold of his temper, but it was obvious from his body language that he was quickly running out of patience.  Finally he slammed his hand against a tree and shouted at her in rapid fire Spanish.  She screamed back in English, but was too far away for Briscoe to make sense of any of what she said.  Curtis grabbed her arm to pull her back to the family at the table.  She struggled, hitting him viciously until he grabbed both of her arms and held them fast.  He sat them both down on the ground, holding on to her while she struggled.

Briscoe and Deborah turned their attention back to the other girls, occasionally glancing at where Curtis and Serena were sitting.  For a long time, there was nothing to see, just Serena fuming and Curtis speaking to her.  Finally he seemed to reach her, because she quieted down and nodded.

They got up and rejoined the rest of the family.  She came sullenly, reluctantly, but on her own steam.  She stomped over to the other table and picked up her book again.

Curtis returned to Deborah's side and sat down.  He answered her questioning look, saying "She'll be OK.  She just needed to yell at me for a while.  I said she could just sit and read and not talk to any of us if she didn't want to."  Deborah shook her head, and Curtis spread his hands.  "What?  I can't force her to like me, Deborah.  She's her own person."

"Mommy, I need to go pee," Isabel said timidly.

While Deborah accompanied her to the nearest public restroom, Curtis asked quietly, "Olivia, I never asked you before, but how did you find out about me being with other women?"

His daughter gave a sigh that was much too old for her thirteen years.  "I was looking for some change for our school lunch plan.  Mom said there might be some in your wallet, and I found a couple condoms."  Curtis made a small sound in his throat and winced, blushing.  "I know you and Mom can't have kids any more.  I'm not dumb."

"Great.  I'm raising a detective," Curtis muttered to Briscoe.  "And Serena figured it out too?"

"No, she heard me and Mom talking about it after - after Nona died."

Curtis sighed.  Then he swallowed hard and looked down at the table.  "What about... the drugs?  Did you know about that too?" he asked, his voice so low that Briscoe could hardly hear him.

Olivia gazed compassionately at her father's face.  "Mom and Aunt Lisa were arguing about it the day Nona died, and Serena and me overheard them.  Mom told her about the drug test at your precinct.  Aunt Lisa was mad at you, but Mom wasn't.  She understood."

"Understood what?  That it's OK if I break the law?" Curtis asked bitterly.  "It's not OK.  If something's illegal, then you shouldn't do it."

"So why do you?"  Curtis shook his head wordlessly.  Olivia moved to look into his eyes, but he looked away, too ashamed to meet her gaze.  "Don't tell me I'm too little to understand, OK?  Just explain it to me."

"I can't.  I can't.  Damn it."  Curtis rested his forehead on his hand.  Olivia put her arm around him.  After a moment he hugged her back, resting his head on top of hers.  "Sweetie, I'm sorry.  None of you should have to deal with any of this."

"It's not your fault."

"Yeah, it is," he said heavily.

===

Finally the time came for Deborah and the children to be taken back.  As Tania was taken away screaming by a social worker, Deborah covered her mouth with her hands and tried not to cry. Curtis cleared his throat and looked down at the ground, his face blank.  Serena snorted derisively as she spotted the next social worker coming to take her, Olivia and Isabel back.

"This is great.  You're the one who got arrested, but we're the ones who get taken away and locked up."

"Yeah, well, you're 'locked up' in a house.  I was actually in jail for four days.  I'd think that would be enough to make you happy," he snapped.

"Rey," Deborah said quietly.

Curtis swore under his breath.  "Sorry."  He and Deborah hugged a teary-eyed Isabel and a determinedly cheerful Olivia, and Deborah ruffled Serena's hair.  She ducked angrily, striding away ahead of the social worker and not looking back.

As the nursing home volunteer waited, Briscoe averted his eyes from the anguish and longing in Curtis' face as he and his wife gazed at each other wordlessly.  He slowly raised his hand to take one of hers, and this time she allowed the touch.  "See you Tuesday," he told her softly.  She nodded.

"You OK?" Briscoe asked after they were left alone.

"Yeah," Curtis' voice was low, tired.

"Back to the apartment?"

Curtis stared at the ground for a minute.  "I'm gonna go out, do you mind?"

Briscoe shook his head, and Curtis walked off.  Briscoe sighed and went home.

===

Saturday, October 11
2:35am

Briscoe got up to use the washroom and noticed that the couch was still empty.  As he returned to his bedroom, the front door opened and Curtis walked in slowly.  Briscoe cleared his throat.  Curtis startled, then gestured apologetically.

"Lennie.  Shit.  'Msorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."

Briscoe frowned and moved closer.  Curtis straightened up and removed his jacket, hanging it up in the closet.  "You didn't.  You OK?" Briscoe asked.  Quick nod.  Briscoe took in Curtis' slightly disheveled state and unsteadiness.

"How much did you drink?" he decided to go with straightforward again - it seemed to work well.  Curtis sighed.

"Six or seven.  Is that OK with you?  Or did I need to clear that before I went out?" his words were slightly slurred.

"Rey... why?"

"Gee, I dunno, maybe I just wanted to go to a bar.  Is that a crime now too?  Do the conditions of my bail state that I can't go to a bar?"  Annoyed, belligerent tone.

"Considering what happened last time, I woulda thought you'd avoid going out again so soon."  Curtis swayed a little, steadying himself on the wall.  "You still drunk?"

"A little," Curtis admitted sheepishly, eyes a bit glassy.  He took in Briscoe's disapproving glare, and shrugged apologetically.  "Lennie, look, I'm sorry.  I'm not trying to give you attitude, 'm just tired."

Briscoe came closer.  There it was, mixed in with the bar smell of alcohol and cigarettes... slight smell of perfume.

"Lennie, don't.  Don't go all 'detective' on me," Curtis stepped back, slightly alarmed.

"Rey." He took in the rumpled appearance, smudge of something that looked like lipstick on Curtis' cheek, reddened eyes and the beginning of a bruise along his jaw.

Curtis backed up some more and held up his hands, giving in.  "OK, OK, I had a few drinks, picked up a girl, we went to her place, then I came back here.  I used a condom, I did not have sex in a public place and I did not do drugs.  And as an added bonus, I did not kill anybody.  Can I go to bed now, Dad, or do you wanna know what positions we were in too?"  He was quickly becoming annoyed again, alcohol making his emotions volatile and unpredictable.

Briscoe looked at him, hard.  "Were you in a fight too?"

"Nah, not a fight - more like a scuffle," he shrugged dismissively.

"How come you're doing this to yourself?"

"Hey, haven't you heard?  I'm up for murder.  I'll probably be convicted.  It's gonna be a loong time between dates.  I hope," he added.  "Unless I don't end up in protective custody.  Then I might have lotsa dates, but not the kind I want," he chuckled humourlessly.

"If you're worried about prison, getting in any kinda trouble while you're on trial isn't exactly the best way to avoid it," Briscoe said caustically.  "Are you worried?"

"Oh no, I'm really looking forward to it.  I'll either be talking to myself in solitary for years or get traded around the cellblock for cigarettes.  What's not to like about that?" Curtis replied lightly, then his expression became somber.  "Mostly I don't wanna lose my family.  Although I guess that's already happened."  He shrugged, going back to a lighter tone.  "So yeah, I went out, met a nice girl, had a nice time, I'm nice'n buzzed and not thinking about how my own daughter - she just turned eleven, by the way - accused me of not being able to 'keep it in my pants'.  Nice thing for an eleven-year old to say to her father, yeah?  Especially when it's true," he trailed off bitterly.

Briscoe kept looking at him impassively.  Curtis sat down on the couch.  "I'm also definitely not thinking about how my wife said - again - that we should get a divorce.  Said she won't contest it, I can keep the kids, that way I won't have to take care of her too.  She doesn't blame me," he chuckled, incredulous.  "Can you believe that, I'm the one who's cheating but she says it's her fault.  So many guys would kill to be in that position.  Me, it makes me wanna puke.  Or maybe that's the beers, it's hard to tell," he joked.

Briscoe winced at the pain hidden behind Curtis' casual demeanor.  Even through the numbing effects of the alcohol, this was hurting him badly.  "You haven't lost your family.  The judge said you can all be together again as soon as Social Services does an evaluation."

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen.  Come on, Lennie, I wouldn't give me my kids back if I was Social Services."

"Why not?"

"I'm clinically depressed, I'm cheating on their mother and I'm bordering on abusive.  They're better off where they are."  Grim tone, no attempt to hide it now.

"Rey-"

"Shut up," he said wearily.  He lay back on the couch.  "Look, it's late, I'm drunk, you're pissed off, can we skip the heart-to-heart and go to sleep?"

Briscoe nodded and went back to bed.  He lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling.  Finally he got up to get a drink of water and found Curtis standing at the window, forehead to the glass, staring out at the city.  The moonlight outlined his slender form, and Briscoe could see the tension in his back and neck.  He made a sound to acknowledge that he'd heard Briscoe, but didn't turn.

"Can't sleep?"  Briscoe entered the dark living room.

"No.  Apparently even alcohol and anti-depressants are no match for good ol' Catholic guilt." Curtis' speech was still a little blurred, but clearer than before.  Once more hiding his pain behind a casual tone.  "How did you decide to get divorced?" he asked without preamble.

"Which time?  One of them I cheated on her, the other one cheated on me because I was a drunk."

"Did you still love her?"

"Which one?"

"Either one.  Did you still love her when she divorced you?"

"Yeah."

"Hurt?"

"Yeah.  For a long time."

"How come you're OK with it now?  How can you even joke about it?" His voice held disbelief.

Briscoe thought for a while.  "Time.  It took a long time to accept it, but eventually you have to.  You get used to it."

Curtis nodded, still looking out the window. "I guess so.  Hard to believe that right now.  Feels like... like barbed wire being pulled through my gut.  God, I love her so much," he whispered.  The offhand tone had disappeared.  "She said I couldn't want her the way she is now.  Like because she's sick she can't understand why I wanna touch her, make love to her, be with her. She's so damn blind," he shook his head in resignation, then looked at Briscoe, eyes shimmering with tears and voice quiet.  "I'm gonna have to, aren't I?  Accept it.  She's gone.  Even if I'm acquitted, it's over.  She's gonna leave.  She doesn't think I can take care of her and the girls, so she's gonna leave.  And I can't even tell her she's wrong, all I can tell her is I don't want her to go," his voice caught and he looked down.

Briscoe stayed rooted to the floor, not sure what to say, knowing that there probably wasn't anything he could say to make this any better.  Curtis took a deep breath and moved to the couch.  "Go to bed.  Tomorrow I'm gonna regret having said anything and I'll probably be pissed at you for letting me say it."

"OK."  Briscoe turned to go back to his bedroom.  "At least make sure you have some water and aspirin before you go to bed.  It'll help the hangover tomorrow."

===

Saturday, October 11
10:12am

The next day, Curtis was pale and unsteady at breakfast time.

"Lennie... I'm sorry about last night."

"Yeah."

"I really shouldn't be screwing around right now, should I?"

"No, you shouldn't."

"I'm sorry."

Briscoe made a dismissive sound and poured some coffee for Curtis.  "Any plans for today?"

"My boss wants me to come and talk to him about work.  I don't have any more leave days left and I don't know what he's gonna say about - about any of this."

"He seems like a pretty good guy."

"You met him?"

"Yeah, when Ed and John were doing their investigation, I went and talked to him."

"Why?  I thought you weren't involved."

"Off the record.  I was worried about you."

Curtis put his cup down and looked at him, expression unreadable.  "Why are you doing this?"

"What?"

"Any of it.  Putting me up, going to see McCoy for me... not that I'm not grateful, but why?"

Briscoe shrugged.  "Why'd you take me in after Cathy was killed?"

Curtis held his gaze, thinking.  "You don't have to pay me back for that.  We were partners then, we're not now.  We haven't even been friends in years."

"Maybe I feel bad about that.  I shoulda known things wouldn't be easy for you.  I shouldn't have drifted away.  Shouldn't have been too busy to see you needed help."

Curtis raised his cup and drank his coffee thoughtfully.  "You couldn't have known," he said at last.

"Maybe I should have asked."  Curtis shrugged, clearly wanting to end the topic.

"What else are you gonna do today?"

"Church," Curtis said shortly.

"It's Saturday."

"Confession."

Briscoe regarded him steadily.  "Confession?  Or beating yourself up?"

"Lennie, drop it please.  You don't understand."

"I understand the morning after real well.  I understand feeling disappointed in yourself.  But going to a place where you're just gonna get a guilt trip-"

"You think that's what happens in confession?"

"You tell me.  I haven't been to confession since I was a kid."

Curtis rubbed his forehead.  "I can't.  I can't explain.  I can't explain why I keep doing exactly what I know I shouldn't do, when I know exactly how I'm gonna feel the next day - and I don't mean hung over, I mean... just feeling like I'm never gonna be able to look anybody in the eye again.  Dirty."

"And confessing makes you feel better?"

"No.  If anything, I feel worse.  It's not about feeling better or getting absolution.  It's - I can't, I can't explain.  Please.  Please drop it."

===

Saturday, October 11
5:30pm

Briscoe had gone out to run errands while Curtis went to his lieutenant's house and to church.  He'd come back to the apartment to find Curtis asleep on the couch again.  He looked down at his former partner, taking in thin features that looked much younger in sleep than when he was awake.  He almost looked like the fresh-faced young detective Briscoe had been dismayed to be partnered with, back when Curtis' youthful enthusiasm, firm convictions and happily-married-man demeanor had made Briscoe feel old and jaded.

Briscoe went to get himself a glass of water, prompting Curtis to sleepily open one eye and mumble something in Spanish.

"I don't parlez Español," Briscoe said.

"No hablo Español, Lennie," Curtis corrected him automatically, slowly waking up.  "How can you live in a city with more than two million Hispanics, partnered with me for four years, and not know a word of Spanish?"

"Hey, I know enchilada, chimichanga, mi casa su casa, que sera sera..."

"Stop, stop, you're killing the language."  Curtis sat up slowly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like there's an oompah band in my head."

"Didja take two aspirin like I told you yesterday?"

"Yeah yeah, I think this is just from the meds."

"Think you can eat?"

Curtis had to think about that for a minute.  "Yeah."  He rubbed his eyes, yawning.  Briscoe busied himself in the kitchen, making spaghetti.

"What do you want me to do?" Curtis asked, standing up carefully.

"Just set the table," Briscoe said.  Soon they were sitting down to eat.

"How'd it go with your boss?" Briscoe asked, digging in.

"Pretty good.  He says I can go to work on Monday if I feel up to it.  He's toeing the whole innocent-until-proven-guilty, we-stand-behind-our-own line.  Said normally he's ask a cop on trial to take time off, but he knows I don't have any left."

"That's good."  There was a pause.  "How was church?"

Curtis took a mouthful of spaghetti and shook his head, indicating he really didn't want to talk about it.  Briscoe took the hint and switched topics, telling Curtis about a case he was working on.  Curtis listened for a few minutes, then suddenly put up a hand.

"No, don't."

"What?"

"It's an ongoing investigation.  You shouldn't be talking about it."

"You're a cop," Briscoe protested.

Curtis put down his fork.  "Not for long."

"You're acting like you're already convicted."  Curtis stared at him darkly.  "Come on, Rey, you're gonna be fine.  McCoy's a damn good lawyer."  Curtis stood up quickly, leaning on the table for support and lowering his head for a moment as dizziness took over.  As soon as he was able to stand on his own again, he pushed off the table.

"Don't.  Don't patronize me, OK?"  He went to the window and looked out, brooding.

"I'm not patronizing you.  You're gonna be acquitted."  Curtis didn't answer.  Briscoe could see the tension in his back, and didn't know what to do about it.  Well, at least there was one thing he could do.

"Rey."

"What?" not bothering to look back at him.

"Finish your dinner."

"Leave me alone."

"You're worse than a little kid.  You have to eat something."

"I'll eat later."

"You'll eat now.  My house, my rules."  Curtis turned to look at him.  There was a brief, silent battle of wills.  Briscoe knew he was bullying Curtis, knew that Curtis really wasn't strong enough to stand up for himself right now, but what the hell - he wasn't exactly taking care of himself right now either.  Somebody had to.  Curtis finally dropped his gaze and returned to the table, finishing off his meal in silence.  Then he cleared the table and washed up while Briscoe turned on a game.  Briscoe looked up as Curtis approached his easy chair.

"Look, I'm sorry.  I know I'm being a pain in the ass.  I'm just - I'm still edgy from last night, OK?  You know me, when I'm feeling like crap about myself I take it out on the people around me.  Lucky you."  He sighed, running a hand through his hair.  "Besides, everything tastes like metal.  Puts me off food."

Briscoe nodded, accepting the apology, and gestured at the couch.  As they watched TV, Curtis's eyes started to close again.  He yawned and frowned irately.  "This is really getting annoying.  I can't go more than a few hours without needing to sleep again."

"It'll pass."

"It better."

"You were up pretty late last night, too."

"Yeah, thanks for the reminder."

They watched the game in companionable silence, broken only by occasional comments on the skill (or lack thereof) of the players.  Curtis eventually drifted off to sleep again, and Briscoe watched till the end of the game.  As he turned off the TV, Curtis sighed and turned over on the couch.  He muttered something, then startled awake.  Briscoe watched him look around, orienting himself, then finally figure out where he was.  He sat up, still a bit dazed, then turned pale.  Briscoe said, "Lie back down," and Curtis did so, quickly.

"Nightmare?"

"I don't know," Curtis said indistinctly.  He stared up at the ceiling for a minute.  Finally, he said in a soft voice, "Lennie... what if I did kill her?"

Briscoe felt his stomach turn over.  He stared at the man on the couch.  How well did he know Curtis now?  How far could his faith in Curtis take him?  Did he even want to know?

Curtis sensed something in the silence, and turned his head.  He regarded Briscoe for a long moment.  His eyes narrowed.

"You're thinking I could have, aren't you?"  Briscoe felt like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I..."

"Even you think I coulda killed her."  He sat up slowly and faced Briscoe directly.

"What were you talking about, then?"

"Do you think I did it?" Curtis demanded.

"No."

Piercing stare.  Briscoe was reminded that Curtis used to be a Homicide detective, and a damn good one.  He was very good at knowing when somebody was telling the truth.  He hoped he was passing Curtis' test, because he wasn't so sure he would be passing his own.

"Yeah, you do.  You think there's at least the possibility." Hard voice.

"I don't know what to think.  Help me out.  What were you talking about just now?"

"I sure as hell didn't mean I actually killed her!"  He stood up, crossing his arms defensively.  "I mean I don't know what happened to her.  I... I haven't wanted to think about it, but all I can think is, maybe she did kill herself, and I wonder if I was the cause.  I can't think why else she woulda changed her will.  It doesn't make sense."

"Do you want to know?"

"Of course I want to know!  She's my mother, Lennie.  I'm charged with her murder.  I want to know what the hell happened to her."

"You think she coulda committed suicide?"

"I don't know any more," Curtis said uncertainly.

"How was she doing?"

"You mean emotionally?"

"Yeah."

Curtis thought for a moment.  He shrugged helplessly.  "I don't really know.  I assume she was upset, knowing she had Alzheimer's."

"You don't know?"

"No, I hadn't done more than look in on her once a day in weeks.  I didn't have time."

"How long ago did you find out she had Alzheimer's?"

"Three months, I think."

"Did you know she named you beneficiary?"

Curtis opened his mouth, then closed it, narrowed his eyes and said accusingly, "You're interrogating me."

Long pause.  Briscoe swallowed.  "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Is this why you got me to stay at your place, so you could figure this out for yourself?"

"No.  I'm just trying to help."

"Lennie.  I have to know.  Do you think I'm guilty?"  He sat back down and leaned towards Briscoe, eyes searching Briscoe's face.

"No."  Briscoe put as much sincerity as he could into the declaration, even though at this point he wasn't completely sure any more.  He pushed his thoughts away from any doubts.

"Green and Colton thought so.  They had enough evidence for an arrest."

"How many times did you and me arrest somebody who wasn't guilty?  How many times were we sure we had the right guy, and then find out it wasn't him?"  Curtis's expression was closed, still unwilling to trust him fully.

Briscoe gathered his thoughts for a moment.  Then he said, not sure where this would take them and not sure he wanted to go there, "You put yourself through three hours of interrogation from Ed and John because you wanted to help them figure out what happened.  Maybe they didn't ask the right questions 'cause they just wanted to trip you up and make you confess."  Curtis was staring at him, hard, and Briscoe hoped he wouldn't get spooked.  "I'm a detective too, you know.  And so were you.  You wanna help me try and figure this out?"

"You mean work this case together?  Investigate my own mother's murder?"  Curtis seemed grimly amused.  "I am way too close to this to be objective.  Besides, didn't you read Skoda's conclusions about my 'state of mind'?  According to him, I'm not even competent to have committed the crime.  I'm definitely not competent to figure it out.  My biggest defense is I'm too screwed up to have done this," his mouth twisted in self-disgust.  "Besides, you'd have to tell Green and Colton whatever you found out."

"First off, you're not incompetent.  Second... look, you hafta trust somebody.  Otherwise you're on your own.  As for me telling Ed and Colton..." Briscoe took a deep breath.  "You know I never had a problem bending the rules to do the right thing.  You're the one who threw fits over perjury and all that, I didn't.  I'm a good cop, but I just don't have the kinda rigid moral code you do."

"Did," Curtis corrected him bitterly.

"Did, fine.  What I'm trying to say is, I don't mind keeping things from my fellow officers.  You can call it obstruction of justice... I call it being fair.  I asked Ed to look into other possibilities.  I don't know how hard he tried, I don't know if he was trying so hard not to give you special treatment 'cause you're a cop that... I don't know.  But I don't mind digging around and not telling him what I find."  Curtis was still uncertain, but looking more convinced.  At least the defensive body language was thawing a bit.  Briscoe continued.  "And remember, Jack doesn't have a problem bending the rules either, not even when he's prosecuting.  You can trust him too."

Curtis thought it over.  At last, he nodded, not sure about the whole idea but at least not rejecting it outright.  Briscoe let out his breath.

"OK, lemme get my notebook and let's move to the kitchen table.  I'm gonna be repeating a lot, 'cause I didn't actually see the whole interrogation and I mostly stayed away from your case, pretty much from the beginning."  They moved to the table and he got his notebook ready.  "Ready?"  Curtis nodded.  "Before we start, I need to know: did you lie to Ed and John about anything?"

"No."

"Rey, please, you gotta be straight with me on this," Briscoe searched his face for any hint of deception, trying to convey that he would understand if Curtis had lied to the other detectives.

"I didn't!"

"If you lie to me, I can't help you," he reminded Curtis.

"Lennie, I swear to God, I did not lie to them."

They worked for a while, Briscoe asking all the regular questions, trying to treat this like a regular case.  Curtis seemed to shed some of his depression as he attempted to answer as fully as possible, anticipating some questions and expanding areas that might be useful.  It almost felt like the old days, working together to solve a case, Briscoe taking notes and Curtis leaning forward, elbows on the table, involved and alert.  After going through an exhaustive inventory of Estela Curtis' life and contacts, Briscoe took a deep breath.

"OK.  We've covered your mother's church, social groups, work and life history.  One angle we haven't done.  I know it's gonna be hard to be objective about this, but try.  Can you think of anybody in your family who coulda done this?  Your brother or sister?"

Curtis bristled a bit.  "No, of course not.  My brother wasn't even in the state."

"What was their relationship with your mother like?"

"Better than mine.  In the last few years, I really haven't had time to talk to her much.  They both did."

"What about anybody else in your family?  Deborah?"

Curtis looked at him incredulously.  "Deborah?"

"This is an investigation, remember?  I'm just covering all the bases."

"No.  She can't even get down the stairs without help."

"What about your kids?"

"My kids?  Are you nuts?  My oldest is thirteen."

"You've seen kids commit crimes before.  Your eleven-year old was dealing drugs."

Curtis's expression hardened.  "Murder is a little different from drug dealing."

"Any problems between any of your kids and your mother?"

Curtis hesitated for a split second before shaking his head, saying, "Lennie, this is pointless.  My kids couldn't have done anything like this.  Not even Serena."

"I never woulda believed my daughter could commit a crime either.  But she did.  We don't always know our kids as well as we think we do."

"Your daughter was an adult.  And you didn't live with her.  You hadn't lived with her in a long time."

"Did you know Serena was dealing?"

Curtis pressed his lips together and looked away.

"Did you even suspect?" he pressed.

"No," Curtis admitted.  "But this is different," he added quickly, "And there's nothing more to say about it."

"Rey-"

"I said that's enough.  Lay off my family," the expression on Curtis' face warned Briscoe to stop.

"OK.  Let's work the suicide angle.  Did you have any idea how your mother was feeling?"

"No.  I... I would've known if she was thinking of killing herself though, wouldn't I?"

"You think she knew how you were feeling?"

Curtis blinked, taken aback a bit, and thought for a moment.  "No."

"You hadn't told your own wife or mother."  Briscoe paused.  "You think either one of them suspected?"

"I - I don't know.  I can't answer that.  I don't think so," he trailed off.  His face darkened.  "How come you're asking me this?"

"Just because you didn't see signs that your mother was gonna kill herself, that doesn't mean they weren't there."

"I know that."

"Why did you want to kill yourself?"

"I - I just wanted out.  I couldn't think of any other way.  I just... I couldn't..." suddenly Curtis sat back in his chair, jarring the table slightly.  Briscoe looked up.  "Why the hell are you making me talk about this?  Why are you dragging up how I felt?"

"I want you to think about your own thoughts of suicide.  Then see if you noticed anything like that with your mother's state of mind."

"I... I can't," Curtis' voice was becoming agitated.  This was starting to hit too close to areas he didn't want to get near.

"Why not?"

Curtis' temper snapped and he leaned forward again, into Briscoe's space.  "You wanna know how I felt?  I hated everything about my life!  I hated myself for being weak!  For cheating on my wife, for hurting my children!  I hated myself for needing to escape my life, for not being happy with what I had!  For - for hating my own wife and children, wishing they were dead sometimes just so I could get some sleep!  And none of this has anything to do with my mother's death!"

"How do you know?  Maybe she knew how stressed out you were-" Briscoe persisted doggedly.

"The hell with you!  Leave me alone!"  Suddenly Curtis stood up and shoved the table aside.  Papers and coffee cups flew as the table upended and landed with a resounding crash, and Briscoe narrowly missed being hit by the debris.  Curtis gripped the back of his chair, gritting his teeth through the inevitable moment of dizziness, then raised his head and fixed Briscoe with a furious glare, fists clenched, chest heaving.

"You son of a bitch!  Back off!  I don't want to deal with this, I don't want to think about it, I don't want to dredge it all up!"  He shoved at Briscoe's chair, and it tipped back.  Briscoe got up quickly before he could be spilled out of it.  All of a sudden he was sick of walking on eggshells around Curtis.

"You agreed to do this, we're gonna do it.  You don't get to walk away when it gets uncomfortable!"

"You know what?  Take your interrogation and shove it.  You don't have me under arrest, you can't make me keep talking.  I'm out on bail, remember?"

"You want me to put you under arrest?  Is that the only way you're gonna stay and deal?"

"Oh gimme a break - you're gonna arrest me for what?"

"For one thing you just trashed my kitchen-"

"Nice, Lennie, very nice.  You gonna use your handcuffs too, read me my rights?"

"-and for another you just came damn close to assaulting a police officer.  You want I should push you a little more till you really lose it?  It's not that hard!  Even when we were partners, it didn't take much - one guy calling you a spic, another guy cheating on his wife when it hit just a little too close to home-"

"Back off!" Curtis turned his back on Briscoe and stalked out of the kitchen.

"Why, you gonna take a swing at me?" Briscoe followed him into the living room.  "That wouldn't do a lot for your credibility during your trial.  'No, Your Honour, I didn't kill my mother, and oh that cop I punched, that was just my old buddy who I was staying with while I was out on bail!'"

"Go to hell!"

"Or do you want to be convicted?"

Silence.  Curtis looked away, jaw working with anger, arms crossed and body trembling with the effort to keep himself under control.

Briscoe's eyebrows went up.  "You do, don't you?  At least part of you wants to be convicted so you can go to jail and get killed there - then it'll be suicide, but it won't really be your fault."

"Shut up!"

"Rey!  I'm trying to help you!"

"Maybe I don't want your help!  Maybe I don't deserve your help!!"  He turned to leave the apartment and Briscoe grabbed his shoulder.  Before he knew what was happening, Curtis had slammed him into the wall, hard, and had him in a bruising chokehold.

"Don't TOUCH me!!" Curtis shouted, dark eyes glittering with fury.  His voice became dangerously soft and menacing.  "You lay a hand on me again and I swear to God I'll kill you."

Briscoe held very still, unable to breathe.  He remembered his partner's violent temper, and how quickly it could ignite.  In the old days, he probably would have shoved him back and taken his chances... but back then he was younger and Curtis wasn't so out of control.

Suddenly the dangerous light in Curtis's eyes went out and he let Briscoe go.

"Oh my god," he stepped back, looking shocked and shaken.  "I... Lennie.  I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Briscoe rasped, rubbing his throat.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah, yeah.  It's OK, I shouldn't have provoked you."

"Provoked me?  What, by trying to help me?"

"By pushing you.  You told me to back off and I shoulda listened.  I know you."

Curtis backed into the kitchen, sat down and put his head in his hands.  After a moment, Briscoe picked up the chair that Curtis had knocked over and sat himself directly in front of Curtis.  He mirrored Curtis' posture, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, in his personal space but otherwise trying to be non-threatening.

"Rey... I need to know.  Have you ever lost your temper with your kids like you did just now with me?"

Curtis looked up at him warily.

"As a cop, I need to know.  And as a parent, I know you'll tell me the truth because you want what's best for your daughters."  He paused, then looked down, giving Curtis a modicum of privacy by not looking directly at him.  "Have you been abusive to them?  More than a spanking or a slap?"

Curtis bowed his head.  He took a deep breath.  "As a cop, I know I haven't.  As a parent... yeah, I have.  I've definitely been emotionally abusive.  It's not much comfort knowing that Child Services is too overworked with kids who are actually beaten up to take the time to bother with mine."

Briscoe nodded.  Still looking at the floor, he asked quietly, "What about Deborah?  Have you ever hit her?"

"No."  Curtis paused for a long time.  "You don't know how many times I've wanted to," he confessed.  "We fight so much..." he trailed off, frowning, thinking about his wife and their problems.

Briscoe nodded, looking up from the floor.  He regarded Curtis' bowed head and clasped hands for a long time.  "You need help," he finally said gently.

"I'm getting help, remember?  I'm on anti-depressants."

"How's that going?  How do you feel?"

"So far I feel like hell.  I have a headache all the time, I can't even get up without getting dizzy, I need to sleep... plus it's damn expensive.  I can't afford this on top of everything else."

"You hafta give it a chance.  It's supposed to take a few weeks, it's only been five days."

Curtis made a disgusted face.  "I know, I know, but... I hate it," he said vehemently.  He looked at Briscoe.  "I take those pills and every time I do I feel like I'm too weak to deal with my own problems.  I feel so damn powerless.  And I feel like, like I've been walking around in a fog for years, just too tired to really feel anything most of the time, and now, now that I don't have that much to do and I'm getting more sleep, it's like the fog is lifting and I'm left feeling so damn angry all the time!"

"You need to get help with this," Briscoe repeated.

"I told you, I can't afford a shrink.  Can you get that through your head?  We have no money.  None.  I can't afford to pay someone to help me 'explore my feelings' and all that crap."

"What about a support group?"

"Oh for god's sake," Curtis snapped irritably, looking away.

"I know it's not your thing, but you gotta do what you can.  Swallow your pride - it's not gonna do much for you now," Briscoe said bluntly.

"Pride," Curtis shook his head bitterly.  "What pride.  I don't even know myself any more.  I'm not the person I used to be, and I'm not proud of the person I've become."  He rubbed his forehead.  Then he looked up at Briscoe and asked him quietly, "Lennie, even if I get through this trial, even if I get control of my life and myself again... how am I ever gonna get back what I had?  How am I ever gonna get back my self-respect?"

Briscoe sighed as he remembered asking himself the same question so many years ago.  Curtis looked like he had felt back then: beaten down, broken.  He shook his head.  "You won't.  Not the way it was before."  Curtis breathed in shakily, holding his gaze, and Briscoe continued gently, "The things you've done that you're not proud of... they're with you forever.  You just learn to live with them.  You learn to be proud of yourself for climbing out of where you are right now.  And you will."  Curtis looked away.  "So you won't be the same hotshot you were.  Personally I think a little humility's good for the soul."

Curtis' brow furrowed as he took in Briscoe's words.  He nodded doubtfully.  "Yeah, I guess so."  He took a deep breath and sat up, putting a bit of physical distance between them.  Briscoe sat back too, and Curtis changed the subject.  "I've been thinking, I should go back to my place.  I'm over the first few days of meds and I haven't fainted or had a heart attack or anything.  And... I'm no good to be around anybody right now.  I'm too angry.  I don't want to take it out on you again."

Briscoe frowned.  He paused for a minute to consider his words, then said, "I think you need to stay here."

Curtis looked at him in surprise.  "What, you don't like your furniture?  You want me to break the rest of your stuff?  Wanna see if I actually kill you next time you piss me off?"

"I don't want you going home alone."

"Why not?"

"You'll be alone.  That worries me."

Comprehension dawned on Curtis' face.  "What, you think I'm gonna kill myself if I leave? You're throwing that in my face?"

"Yeah.  I am," Briscoe said evenly.

"I won't," Curtis promised.

"You don't have to keep talking.  But don't leave.  If you leave, I can tell you pretty much from personal experience what you're gonna do.  You're gonna make things worse for yourself.  You're gonna get yourself into a situation where you're gonna get hurt.  You're gonna pick a fight at a bar, or do hard drugs, not just pot, or step in front of a train, or something else stupid and self-destructive.  I can't let you do that."

Curtis shook his head slowly, a trapped look growing in his eyes.  "No.  Don't.  Please, don't do this."

"You walk outta here and I will have you arrested for assaulting a police officer."

Curtis stared at him, betrayal written across his face.  "Lennie, please.  I... I've been to jail already.  Don't make me - don't," his voice started to sound desperate.  "I'm feeling trapped already, don't, don't make it worse.  Please," he begged.

Briscoe sighed, hating himself for what he was doing but not knowing what else to do.  "I have to.  I trust you that you didn't kill your mother and you never hit Deborah or seriously hurt your kids.  But I don't trust you not to hurt yourself."

Curtis closed his eyes and covered his mouth with his hand, his breathing harsh.

"I need you to agree to a few things," Briscoe finally broke the silence.

"What?" Curtis' voice was muffled by his hand.

"First, you let me and McCoy look around without interfering.  That means we'll be talking to your sister, your priest, and who knows who else.  Things are gonna come up that aren't gonna be pretty.  Trust us to handle it."

"Fine."

"Second, I know you can't afford a shrink but please, join a support group.  Partner, you have to," he said as Curtis made an impatient gesture.  "You're too angry.  You're too out of control.  I can't help you.  At least give it a try, for your kids' sake."

Curtis nodded dumbly, too upset to fight any more.  Briscoe breathed a sigh of relief.

"Third.  Promise me you won't do anything stupid while you're here.  No going to bars, no picking up strangers, no drinking, no drugs, no hurting yourself.  Not for one week.  At the end of the week we'll talk about it again."

Curtis looked up at him, dark eyes resentful but resigned.  "OK."

"OK.  It's late.  Let's clean up and call it a night."

They worked in silence, gathering up the papers and sweeping up the remains of the coffee and coffee cups.  When they were done, Curtis stood back and asked, "Anything else, Warden?"  Briscoe shot him an irate look.

"No, that's it."

"Fine."  Curtis went to his briefcase and got out a stack of papers, setting up in the kitchen.

"What's that?"

"Work.  I told you I was taking in work from John Jay college, marking their first-year criminology class.  Can I do this, or do you think that's gonna send me over the edge too?" he asked sarcastically.  Briscoe blew out his breath.

"I forgot how much of a pain in the ass you are when you're having a hissy fit."

"So let me go home and you won't have to put up with my hissy fits."

"Give it a rest," Briscoe said tiredly.  "Enjoy your marking.  I'm going to bed."

===

Briscoe went into the bedroom and picked up the phone to call McCoy.  He dialed the number, then hung up.  He didn't want to think about what had happened and the doubts he was having, but realized he had to.

Briscoe went to his bedroom door and looked out into the kitchen, absently rubbing his throat where Curtis had held him in a chokehold.  Curtis sat at the table, absorbed in the stack of papers.  Briscoe sighed heavily as he observed Curtis, knowing he was going to have to do some serious soul-searching.  Knowing that it wasn't just a question of helping out a friend any more; he now had doubts about Curtis's innocence, his family's role in what had happened, and his own role as a friend and as a law enforcement officer.

What if Curtis was actually guilty?  What if it was guilt, not depression, that made it look like he wasn't fighting all that hard to clear his name?  And what would he do if he found more evidence pointing to Curtis?  Would he really hide it from the prosecution, trusting that it was all just a coincidence?

And what if one of Curtis' children committed the crime?  The more he thought about it, the more likely that seemed, and it wasn't going to be a pretty picture if he found evidence linking any of them to the crime.  Curtis hadn't answered when he asked if any of them had a problem with their grandmother.  Estela Curtis had been killed by easily traceable medication, but would a child know that it could be traced?  Or would a child like Serena just assume that her grandmother would die and that would be the end of the story?  And if that was the case, would Curtis want to know?

Briscoe suddenly wished he'd never offered to get involved.  This was a nightmare.  He felt like praying for guidance, for divine help to make all of this turn out OK in the end.  He went to his bed and sat down, leaned back against the headboard and realized it was going to be a long, sleepless night.