It Might Not Be A Pretty Picture

by Cirocco

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

4. Starting to Climb Out

Chapter 4: Starting To Climb Out

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

Monday, October 13, 2003
5:30pm

Briscoe entered his apartment and found Curtis already there, working at the kitchen table.  Curtis looked up as he came in, called out hello and kept working.  Briscoe shed his jacket and entered the kitchen.  They had been uncomfortable around each other for the last couple of days, ever since Briscoe had told Curtis that he couldn't go home.  Curtis was feeling confined, betrayed and mistrusted, and Briscoe was fighting with his own doubts and misgivings about the whole situation.  They were trying to coexist peacefully, but there was no easy camaraderie and it didn't help that Curtis' bad mood came out in irate little asides and digs.  It was beginning to get on Briscoe's nerves.

"More work from John Jay?" he glanced at the pile of work on the kitchen table.

"From the precinct," Curtis didn't look up.

"How'd that go today?"

"OK, I guess."

"How were your coworkers?"

Curtis shrugged.  "A couple people came over to say hi, some others were pretty obvious about ignoring me.  Cop accused of murder... I guess everybody's gonna react in their own special way."

Briscoe poured himself a club soda.  "You OK with the sleep and all that?"

"Yeah, I had a nap at lunch.  I do that most of the time anyway so it wasn't anything unusual.  Besides I think I'm finally getting used to this - I've been up for five hours now and I'm still OK."

"You had a nap at lunchtime?  Didja have any lunch?"

"Ham sandwich and minestrone soup, bagel with cream cheese when I came home.  Happy?" he said, voice cool and still not looking up.

Briscoe nodded, realizing that Curtis was probably interpreting his attempts at small talk as attempts to check up on him.  He took out his notebook and got on the phone, following up some leads he'd picked up that day on a new case.  They both kept working until Briscoe decided it was time for dinner.  As he peered into the fridge, Curtis looked up from his papers.  "You want me to do the honours?"

"What?"

"I'm the one who usually cooks at my house."

"Sure.  Go nuts."

Curtis filed away his work and made their meal.  As they sat down, he commented, "It's funny, I'm used to making enough for six, and cutting up two of the portions into tiny pieces for Tania and Deborah," he smiled briefly, but his eyes were shadowed as he thought of his family, scattered around the city.  "I hate it... but right now I'd give anything to be cooking for six again."

"You will," Briscoe reassured him.  "Any idea when Social Services is gonna do their evaluations?"

"Sometime this week, they said.  They're pretty backed up," Curtis' tone warned Briscoe to back off.  Briscoe made a mental note of yet another sore spot to avoid bringing up in conversation with Curtis.

"Did you look up support groups?"

"Haven't had time yet.  Maybe tomorrow at lunch."  Another sensitive subject.  Briscoe had made Curtis promise he would join a support group, but Curtis wasn't happy with the prospect and was putting it off.  Briscoe decided not to back off this one.

"Why not tonight?"

"How?"

"I have an internet account."

"You?" Curtis looked at him, amusement on his face.  It was a nice change from resentment and distrust.  "What, you finally leaped into the Nineties and bought a computer?"

"Yeah.  It's in the bedroom.  Go take a look after dinner."

Briscoe washed the dinner dishes and tidied up while Curtis went to use the computer.  Once he was done, Briscoe entered his bedroom and approached Curtis, who was at the computer screen, looking bored.  "Any luck?"

Curtis snorted.  "I typed in 'support groups Manhattan'.  Big mistake.  I've been deleting everything that's totally irrelevant for the last 20 minutes, and I'm still left with this," he gestured at the screen.  "A guy could do support groups full-time in this city."  Briscoe looked over his shoulder.  Curtis read off the descriptions. "Parents of brain-damaged children, parents of disabled children, people in the middle of a divorce, caregivers of people with MS, parenting skills group, parents of children who are in trouble with the law, depression management, anger management, grief management, suicide prevention, the list just goes on and on and on.  There's even Spanish-language chapters for some of them.  It's like a buffet table of self-help.  I'm a little disappointed though, there's nothing here for people charged with murdering a family member.  Or people in law enforcement facing jail time.  You think I could start one?" he said facetiously.

"A pissy attitude isn't gonna help," Briscoe told him.

"Look, I'm doing this.  Don't ask me to like it," Curtis shot back.

"Which one are you gonna go to?" Briscoe ignored his tone.

"I get to pick?  Are you sure I can handle that level of responsibility?" he said sarcastically.

"Just pick one," Briscoe said, getting impatient.

"I guess I shouldn't be yanking your chain; I was afraid you'd make me go to all of them," Curtis scanned the screen and pointed.  "OK, 'Mainstay,' for caregivers of people with MS - meets every other Thursday, next meeting is this week, and it's close by.  May as well get this over with."

"I'm sure glad you're going into this with an open mind," Briscoe snapped, tired of Curtis' childish attitude.  Curtis shrugged, wrote down the contact and scheduling information, and closed down the computer.

===

Tuesday, October 14
5:45pm

"...so I'm gonna go around and talk to the neighbours, all the people Rey said knew his mother," Briscoe informed McCoy as they looked over the notes Briscoe had made with Curtis.

"You better let me handle this.  I'm his defense attorney; I have no obligation to let anybody know what I find out.  If you find any damning evidence, you'd have to tell."

"I can make up my own mind about what's damning and what isn't."

McCoy regarded him seriously.  "Lennie... this isn't a game.  This is serious.  If you find anything that the prosecution should know and you don't tell, you have no excuse.  You can't just say he's a friend of yours.  You'll be guilty of obstruction of justice."

"You can't follow all of this up by yourself.  You can't use your staff at the DA's office."

"As it happens, I can't, but I won't be all by myself.  I contacted Jamie Ross.  She's on maternity leave right now, but she's letting me use her firm for legwork and paperwork."

"So what can I do?"

"Do what you're doing.  Be a friend," said McCoy.  He paused.  "How's he doing?"  Briscoe paused, not knowing what to say.  "That well?"

"He's... better than he was.  I think."

McCoy sensed something in Briscoe's words.  "There's something here you're not telling me."

"No, no, it's nothing," Briscoe realized as soon as he said it that McCoy was not going to be put off by a dismissal.

"If there's something I need to know as his lawyer, you aren't going to do him any favours by keeping quiet."

Briscoe thought for a minute, knowing that he'd have to say something.  He couldn't tell McCoy that he had started to wonder, a small niggling doubt but there nonetheless, whether Curtis was innocent after all.  Better to direct McCoy somewhere else.  Although, now that he thought about it, he didn't know what would hurt Curtis more, pointing suspicion at him or pointing it at his family.

"You'll notice one area that's missing here is anything about his family."

"That doesn't surprise me.  You said you worked on this with him," McCoy said.  He narrowed his eyes.  "Do you think I should be trying to find out about his family?  Do you suspect anybody?"

"No, not really.  Just covering all the bases."

"Who?"

"His sister, for one."

"Green and Colton decided his sister didn't have any motive.  None of their mother's money was going to her."

"Unless he gets convicted.  Maybe she was mad at her mother for cutting her outta the will.  She had access to the medicine and to their mother.  Maybe she did it thinking he'd be blamed because the drugs came from his house."

"OK, I'll look into it," McCoy waited for a second.  "Lennie?  Who else?"

"His daughter, Serena..."

McCoy's eyebrows went up.  "You suspect her?"

"She's an angry kid.  She's broken the law before.  And it makes some sense, Jack.  I mean, any adult would have known the medicine would be traced.  Maybe a kid wouldn't."

"What motive could she have?"

"I dunno.  He didn't answer me when I asked if any of his kids had problems with their grandmother.  Suppose Serena's mostly angry 'cause she's neglected while Rey takes care of two cripples.  Imagine how she felt when she realized soon there were gonna be three."

McCoy nodded thoughtfully.  "I'll look into it."

"The thing is... I don't know if we'll be doing Rey any favours by looking into it.  Rey may not wanna know what you find out.  If it was your daughter, would you wanna know?"

McCoy pondered that for a minute.  "No, I wouldn't."

"Yeah.  Me neither," Briscoe sighed.  "I'll look into the suicide angle.  That shouldn't be too bad.  I'll have a talk with Father Morelli.  Maybe Rey's mother said something to him."

"That should be OK.  Oh, Social Services gave me their report this afternoon.  They didn't find any evidence of child or spousal abuse so he's free to return home and take over the care of his family, with a strong recommendation to continue the medication and seek psychiatric care for his depression."

"Well, that's good," Briscoe said uncertainly.  McCoy took in his hesitation and nodded.  It confirmed what he had been thinking.

"Lennie, if you don't mind I'm going to ask Rey not go back right away.  He needs to give himself time for the medication to take effect, time to feel better and more able to cope with everything.  His sister got time off from work, and she said she'll take Serena or Tania but not both.  I talked to Social Services and the woman they have Tania with is apparently one of their best foster mothers, especially with disabled children.  I think maybe she should stay there, Deborah and the three older girls go back to the apartment with Lisa, and Rey stays with you.  What do you think?"

"Yeah, good idea.  Let's see if we can sell Rey on it.  I'll bring it up tonight." Briscoe stood up.  "I gotta go, I'm doing the chaperone thing with Rey and his family again today."

"How did that go on Friday?"  McCoy asked.  Briscoe sighed.  "That well?"

"Serena's a difficult kid, Jack," Briscoe said as he left.

===

Thursday, October 16
9:42pm

Briscoe arrived at the address Curtis had given him, a high school where the Mainstay meeting was being held.  He had offered to pick Curtis up after the meeting, at 9:30.  Briscoe entered the school, and soon spotted Curtis across the lobby.  He had his back to Briscoe, and he was leaning against a table that held the remains of a spread of coffee and doughnuts.  With him were three other men: a tall middle-aged redhead, an elderly man in a suit, and a short young black man.  They all had coffees and doughnuts, and the redhead was speaking to the small black man.  As he approached, their conversation floated over to Briscoe.

"... yeah, well, we're not monks, you know?  Now some of the guys here, they just take it extra-curricular-" Curtis made a disapproving sound, and the redhead continued, "...hey, it's reality.  Sorry if that doesn't meet with the approval of some of the saints among us," he winked at Curtis.

"No, no, it's just - been there, done that," Curtis said, shaking his head.  "Can't take the guilt."

"Right, right, so we talk about other options.  Tony, you missed this week's talk, but we get into specifics.  I mean, what's the point of being bashful, right?  A lot of us are already doing stuff that would gross most people out - injections, adult diapers, feminine hygiene, all that glamorous stuff.  So why get shy over sex tips?  Most of us went into a hell of a lot more detail with our buddies in high school if we were lucky enough to score." The other men laughed.

Briscoe reached the group.  Curtis noticed him and smiled, "Oh, hi, Lennie, this is Jason and Tony and Eric.  Jason and Eric are regulars; they've been bringing me and Tony up to speed."

"Sorry I'm late," Briscoe apologized to Curtis as he shook hands with the other men.  Curtis waved off his apology.

"Hey, Lennie, pleased ta meetcha," Jason, the redhead, shook Briscoe's hand.  "You're not late.  Meetings always go over when there's newbies.  And today we got two."

"So it went OK?" Briscoe asked Curtis.

"Yeah, yeah," Curtis looked relaxed and at ease.

"Hell of a session for the new guys though," Jason laughed.  "We always start a meeting with a particular topic, with a presenter, and then we just shoot the breeze.  Today's topic was 'MS and Intimacy.'  We're all supposed to share, but we let the rookies outta that one if it's their first time here." Briscoe raised his eyebrows at Curtis, who shrugged and took a bite of his doughnut.  "Yeah, your friend did pretty good.  Bit quiet, but aren't we all at first.  You'll get into it," he said to Curtis.  He turned back to Tony.  "So what you missed at the beginning was, Teresa did the 'Song of the MS Wife,' which makes you real grateful that you don't have MS if you're a guy.  Wouldn't you just love to get a penile implant?"  Squeamish grimaces all around.  "Then Chuck did the 'Song of the MS Husband,' AKA the 'Triple F and Double M.'"

"Triple F and Double M?" Briscoe repeated.

"Flirting, Frenching, Foreplay and Mutual Masturbation, with a rousing chorus of 'What a Friend We Have in KY,'" Jason rattled off.

"Molto largo," added the elderly man, Eric, with a gentle smile.

"It's no Kama Sutra, but what the hell, if you love her it'll do, right?" said Jason, elbowing Eric.  Eric chuckled and took a sip of his coffee.  Jason turned back to Tony, "Oh, and at the end of his talk he passed out a leaflet comparing different kinds of vibrators.  I've got a copy if you want one."

Curtis snickered at Briscoe's expression. "Now you see why I didn't want to talk about this with you.  Nobody needs that much detail about a friend's sex life."

"Well, 'MS and Intimacy' may be a tough topic to join on, but it sure beats 'MS Medical Breakthroughs.' That's a downer I always skip."  He answered Tony's questioning look. "It's pretty much useless unless you're Bill Gates.  Next session is 'Caregiving v. Careers.' Then after that, 'MS and Divorce.'  That's a guaranteed tear-jerker, there's always at least three or four divorces going on in the group, especially among the guys."

"You mean guys leaving their wives?" Curtis looked askance.

"It happens.  Guy gets tired of being a nurse, especially if his wife's got a really severe case.  Also, some guys really get put off by some of the stuff they have to do, you know?  I mean, the washroom stuff, dealing with periods, all that...it's not a pretty picture."

"Yeah, I am not looking forward to that.  We're not there yet, thank God... here's hoping for early menopause," said Tony.  Jason guffawed, then sobered and continued.

"It can also be hard knowing that it's just gonna keep getting worse until the day you graduate from nurse to widower.  It's not an easy decision to make.  We talk about it.  The other thing is sometimes the wife decides she doesn't wanna tie her man down to a hopeless marriage, he should live his own life, yadda yadda yadda, you know, self-sacrificing crap."  Curtis put down his coffee, frowning introspectively.  "Sorry.  Strike a nerve?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Been there, done that," Jason said grimly.  "Not a fun movie to sit through."

"You still married though?"

"I wouldn't be here otherwise.  I finally convinced her.  Took a long time, but hey, I had the will and I found a way.  There's hope," he said encouragingly.  Curtis looked thoughtful.

"Jase?  You coming?"  a young woman called out.

"Sure, yeah.  I gotta go, Marcy's giving me a drive home.  See you guys next time, nice meeting you, Rey, Tony, Lennie." Jason threw his empty coffee cup into the trash as he left, still munching on his doughnut.

"You ready to go?"  Curtis turned to Briscoe.

"Sure," Briscoe led him back to the car.

"It went OK?" he asked as they pulled out into traffic.

"Yeah," Curtis looked out his window.

"You gonna go back?"

Curtis was quiet.  "Do I have to?" he asked finally.  Briscoe sighed, disappointed, then realized that Curtis' tone had been neutral.  Maybe he just wanted to know.  And maybe Briscoe should show a little trust.

"No, you don't have to.  The deal was you'd try it, and you did.  What you do now is your own business."  Curtis glanced at him.

"You still pissed off at me about this?" Briscoe asked.

"A little," Curtis looked out his window again.

"You gonna go back?"

Long pause.  "Yeah, I think so."

"Good."

There was silence for a while.  Finally Curtis spoke, still looking away from Briscoe.  "Lennie, I know you're just trying to help.  I'm sorry I've been pissed at you, and yeah, you're right, this probably is useful.  It's just..." he swallowed.  "What I told you about, I told you in confidence.  You threw it in my face and then blackmailed me.  It's hard to take that in stride."

"You told me you wanted to commit suicide.  Whether you know it or not that's a cry for help.  What do you want me to do, just take some notes and walk away?"

"So you think putting me under house arrest is a way to answer my supposed 'cry for help'?" Curtis asked skeptically.

"You're being self-destructive.  You want me to just let you screw up any chance you have of being acquitted or getting your family back?"

Curtis was quiet.

"What would you do?" Briscoe asked him.

"I have no idea."

"Well, think about it."

===

Friday, October 17
9:32pm

A babble of mixed English and Spanish greeted Briscoe as he arrived at Curtis's apartment to take him back after a visit with his daughters.  To Briscoe's surprise, Curtis hadn't put up a fight over McCoy's recommendation regarding taking some time away from his family.  Lisa had picked the three older girls up from their foster homes on Thursday.  Deborah had elected to stay at the nursing home, ostensibly to spare Lisa from the hardship of caring for her.  Briscoe suspected her real reason was to avoid Curtis, who was going to be visiting their daughters frequently.

Curtis let him know he'd be ready to go as soon as the dinner dishes were done, and Briscoe settled into the couch while Isabel showed him a new book she'd gotten from Lisa - something about a talking tomato and a cucumber.  It seemed the visit had gone well; Curtis and his sister were smiling and relaxed, Olivia and Isabel beaming and chattering excitedly, Serena nowhere to be found.

"Lisa, thanks for taking the girls," Curtis hugged his sister as they finished cleaning the kitchen.  She smiled at him and brushed his hair off his forehead.

"I wish I could have come down sooner, it's just bad with my boss, you know?"  He nodded.  She gave his arm a squeeze and said, "You need to cut your hair.  You can't look like a long-hair hippie during your trial."  He chuckled.  "I'll cut your hair for you, OK?"

"No thanks, I'll go to a barber.  I don't trust you with scissors."

"That was over thirty years ago, Nalo.  Boy do you hold a grudge."

"Nalo?"  Briscoe smiled.

"I couldn't say 'Reynaldo' when I was little.  It stuck.  And I don't let her near my hair because she tried that once.  It wasn't a good scene," he teased her.

"I was eleven!" Lisa protested, laughing.

Serena, who had appeared from the back of the apartment and stood glowering there for the last few minutes, broke in.  "How come Mom didn't come today?"

"Serena, I told you, your mother's gonna visit with you tomorrow," Lisa said patiently.

"Why not today?" Curtis and his sister looked at each other, and Briscoe could see Curtis' body language becoming defensive, bracing for whatever Serena was about to throw his way.

"Serena, she's coming tomorrow, OK?  She's visiting Tania tonight," Lisa said, trying to soothe her.

"'Cause you're here, isn't it?" she said to Curtis accusingly.  "She don't wanna see you."  Isabel started to whimper and Curtis reached out to her, drawing her close.  "What's she gonna do when you're home with us?  Is she still gonna stay at that place?"  No response.  "Mom's not coming home, is she?"

"Serena, I don't know," Curtis said quietly.

"Why don't she come home?"

He pressed his lips together and looked away.

"It's because of you, isn't it?  She don't love you any more."  Curtis flinched.  "Is that it?  She finally got tired of you cheating on her.  You screwed up so now we don't got a mother any more and we're stuck with you," she glared at him, disgust in her voice.  Curtis bit his lip and swallowed hard.

"Please, don't do this," Lisa pleaded with her, glancing at her brother worriedly.

"You fuck up everything!"

"Stop it!", "Serena, watch your language!" Curtis and his sister spoke at the same time.

"Why don't you even try to get her back?"

"I am trying!"

"If you're trying, then how come she's not here?"

"Serena, please..." Curtis tried to keep his voice calm, but he was quickly growing angry and upset.

"Stop it!  You're hurting him!" Olivia pleaded with her sister.

"I don't care!  He deserves it!  He drove our mom away!!"

"Shut up!" Olivia screamed at her.

"Go to hell!!"

Isabel started to cry.  Serena grabbed Curtis's arm and he shook her off.  "I hate you!  It's your fault that Mom isn't here!  It's your fault that she got MS!!  It's all your fault!!"

"Back off!!"

"Why?  You gonna hit me?  You want me to tell Social Services you hit us?  They'll take all of us away for good!  Serve you right!!"

"Serena, please, don't push me," he warned, letting go of Isabel and backing away from Serena, really angry now but trying hard to control himself.  She followed him, growing more and more strident.

"I hate you!!  I wish you were dead!!  I wish you got MS instead of Mom!  She'd take care of us, she wouldn't go around sleeping with other guys and doing drugs and getting her mom killed!!"

He backhanded her across the face.  Her head snapped to the side and she stumbled back, catching herself on the table, and Lisa screamed, "REY!!"

He drew in his breath sharply and stepped back from her.  He clenched his fists and looked down, chest heaving, then turned on his heel and left the apartment, slamming the door.  Lisa moved first, breaking the frozen tableau.  She grabbed Serena's arm and screamed at her in Spanish, shaking her.  Briscoe stepped in and pulled her back.

"Hey, hey, easy!  Get a hold of yourself!"

"How she can say things like that to her own father-"

"Look, calm yourself down and send her to her room or something.  I'm gonna go get Rey," Briscoe turned to leave the apartment.  Olivia stopped him.

"He's probably down in the boiler room.  When he loses his temper he goes for a walk or goes down there to cool down.  He'll be OK."

"Does this happen a lot?"

"With Serena?  You saw her.  She's a bitch, she's always making him lose it.  She likes it.  She knows he feels bad after."

Briscoe went down to the basement and found the boiler room.  He peered in.  Curtis sat on the floor, legs drawn up and arms clasped loosely around his knees, head back against the wall, eyes closed.

"Rey?"

Curtis sighed wearily, not bothering to open his eyes.  "Please, Lennie, I do not want to talk to you or anybody else right now, OK?  I just need some time to cool off."

"Are you gonna be OK?"

"If you mean am I gonna go out and do something 'self-destructive,' no I won't.  I promised you I wouldn't.  Now go back upstairs."

Briscoe ascended the stairs.  Lisa and Olivia were comforting Isabel, and Serena was gone, probably in her room.

"I'm gonna take him home.  Thanks for everything, Lisa."

"That kid.  I don't know how he puts up with her," Lisa said angrily.  "She's enough to drive anybody around the bend.  If she was my kid I wouldn't stop with just one slap."

Briscoe nodded, knowing Curtis probably wouldn't see it that way at all.

===

Saturday, October 18
1:12am

Curtis and Briscoe had gone back to Briscoe's apartment.  Curtis had been subdued on the way back, thinking and looking out his window.  After they got back, he had marked papers while Briscoe returned some calls and got ready for bed, and kept marking after Briscoe turned in.

Briscoe woke up in the middle of the night, lying in his bed and wondering why he was awake.  A soft sound tugged at the edge of his hearing, and he got up and stood at his door to listen.  He heard a low sobbing, and looked out into the darkness of the living room.  Curtis lay on his side on the couch, arm thrown over his face and body shaking.  Soft shuddering breaths escaped from his throat as he wept.

Briscoe stood, not knowing what to do.  He didn't know if Curtis needed privacy, a safe place where he could lick his wounds and hide until he was ready to face other people, or if he was hurting and alone, desperate for human contact but not able to reach out.

He thought about the last time Curtis had broken down and how uncomfortable he had been afterwards, how embarrassed about losing control in front of him.  He decided to go back to bed.  As he stepped back, he stumbled on a laundry basket that had been left at the bedroom door.  He heard Curtis draw in his breath, startled.

"Lennie?" his voice was husky, raw.

"Yeah," Briscoe mentally kicked himself for his clumsiness.  "Sorry.  I was just going back to bed."

"How long have you been out there?"

Briscoe hesitated.  "Not long.  I didn't know if you needed privacy or company."

A low chuckle, ending with a sob, escaped from Curtis.  "I don't either.  Probably privacy," he said, and drew in a shuddering breath.

"Anything I can do?"

"Make the trial go away, bring Deborah back and get Serena to stop hating me.  Other than that, no, I can't think of a thing," he wiped at his eyes.  "I'm OK, just feeling sorry for myself," he said self-deprecatingly.

Briscoe stepped into the living room and sat on the coffee table in front of the couch.  He took in Curtis' tear-stained face, tired features lined with self-blame.  "Rey... you know, it's OK to feel sorry for yourself once in a while." Curtis didn't respond.  "Your life ain't exactly a bed of roses right now, there's no shame in being discouraged by that."  Briscoe paused, not sure how to express himself.  "But it looks to me like you're making things harder on yourself.  You're just seeing your failures.  You're not focusing much on the things you're doing right."

"Like what?" Curtis said disparagingly.  "What the hell am I doing right?  You saw what happened today."

"You slapped her.  Maybe a little too hard, but it's not against the law.  You never used to be anti-corporal punishment."

Curtis gave him an impatient look.  "I never used to be against a parent physically disciplining their child.  There's a big difference between a spanking and slapping your child across the face so hard you almost knock them down just because they said a few nasty words," he sighed heavily.  "Especially when... when what I wanna do is smack her face against the wall or shove her down the stairs just to shut her up."

"You didn't do either of those things.  I'm not excusing what you did, but... I was thinking at the time that it was kinda remarkable nobody's killed her yet.  I don't think I could put up with the stuff she says to you.  She's... she's not an easy kid."

"She's had a tough time.  She's just a kid.  It hasn't been easy for her, Deborah being sick and Tania taking up so much of my time.  She just... it's how she reacts to stress, that's all.  I shouldn't let it get to me."

"And here you are, defending her.  After all the crap she's done and said, you're still seeing it from her point of view.  You're still trying to do right by her."

"Yeah, trying.  Not succeeding," Curtis said bitterly.

"But don't you think you oughtta give yourself some credit?  Not that you should just accept losing it with her, but... can't you see you're not a complete failure as a parent?"

Curtis was quiet for a few moments.  He sighed.  "No, actually, I can't.  The failures are a lot easier to see than the successes, if there are any."  He turned onto his back.  "Lennie, I think I just need to be alone right now."

"OK," Briscoe nodded and stood up.  "Lemme know if you need anything, OK?"

"I will."

"Oh, Jack called.  He said he wants you to go to his place tomorrow afternoon to talk over the case."

"OK.  Thanks.  Good night."

===

Saturday, October 18
8:49pm

Briscoe had gone to pick up Curtis after his meeting with McCoy, only to find that Curtis had left McCoy's apartment almost two hours ago.  He got a sinking feeling in his stomach.  He'd made Curtis promise he wouldn't go out for a week, and that week was up.  Briscoe suspected he was likely to get himself in trouble again, especially since he'd been unusually quiet and pensive after yesterday's visit with his family and his blow-up at Serena.  He cursed himself for not having laid down the law again and coerced Curtis into another week-long promise.  So now, against McCoy's better judgment, he and McCoy were looking for Curtis on the off chance that he might be at one of two bars he'd mentioned, Rosita's and Rosario's.

Briscoe and McCoy entered Rosita's.  They both felt somewhat conspicuous, as the bar was pretty obviously Hispanic and they were pretty obviously not, and overdressed to boot in suits and jackets.  The music pounded and a hubbub of voices, Spanish and English mixed, added to the noise.  They looked around for Curtis.  Nope.  Well, never mind, this had been a long shot anyway.

Then Briscoe spotted him, across the room, near the bar, listening to a giggling young blonde.  He had hung his jacket on the bar stool and was downing a beer, the young woman pulling on his arm to lead him to the dance floor.  Laughing, he finished off the beer and followed her, stopping when she turned and draped herself around his neck.  They started to move to the music, slowly at first and then rapidly finding the beat, dancing expertly to the quick rhythm.  She smiled up at him in delight, and he leaned and said something into her ear, smiling appreciatively at her graceful movements.

Briscoe tapped McCoy's shoulder and pointed across the bar.  McCoy nodded and they began to make their way through the crowd.  As they maneuvered through the swaying, spinning couples on the floor, other patrons blocked their view so that their images of Curtis and the woman were fragmented.  McCoy saw the woman leaning close and Curtis bending forward to hear something she whispered in his ear, then raising his eyebrows in amused surprise.  His eyes raked up and down her body and he grinned, spun her around and pulled her back in, a bit closer than before.

Their movements became more sensual and she ran one hand up his arm, coming to rest in his hair.  She leaned his head to one side and ran her lips up the side of his neck.  He dropped his head back, closing his eyes in pleasure, and from across the dance floor McCoy could see him gasp and miss a step as she nibbled her way up to a spot behind his ear.  Suddenly he wound his fingers in her hair and pulled her mouth in for a kiss, then ran his hands down her back and settled her more closely along his body, legs intertwined and still moving in time with the music.  They continued to dance together until Curtis pulled the woman away from the dance floor, and they stumbled towards the shadows on the side.  Briscoe swore as he lost sight of the couple.

When they finally made it to the other side of the dance floor, Curtis and the mystery woman had disappeared.  Other couples were involved in the shadows, and Briscoe felt distinctly uncomfortable.  This looked like a make-out area.

McCoy jabbed his shoulder and pointed.  Through the thick crowd Briscoe caught glimpses of Curtis leaning up against a wall, the blonde woman busily undoing his belt as they kissed passionately.  One of his hands was tangled in her hair and the other was sliding up under her shirt between their bodies as they moved together, still in time to the music from the dance floor.

She slipped a hand down the front of his jeans and he jumped, startled, then slid his hand out of her shirt, grabbed the hand that had gone into his pants and pulled it out.  He held onto her hand, still locked in an embrace, then broke the kiss and said something into her ear, shaking his head.  She giggled and nodded, then went back to the side of his neck and started to work her way down his chest.  He threw his head back, tossing his hair out of his eyes and staring up at the ceiling lights with unseeing eyes, panting as she slowly went down lower, then he closed his eyes and groaned, and with visible effort pulled her back up before she got lower than his stomach.

He claimed her mouth, then whispered into her ear again, shaking his head more vehemently.  She giggled again and teasingly slipped her hand back into his jeans.  He leaned his head against hers for a few moments, brow furrowing and chewing his lip as he warred between the pleasure of what was happening and the knowledge that it shouldn't be happening here.

Finally he grabbed at her hand again, crushing her to him, then pushed himself off the wall and moved them so that she was up against the wall.  He locked his mouth to hers again, then leaned her head back and began placing soft bites along her neck.  He quickly undid the top buttons of her shirt, then clenched his hand and stopped, pulling her shirt closed again.  He moved so that their legs were intertwined once again.  She gritted her teeth and hissed with pleasure, eyes closed, holding him close and moving her entire body against his urgently.  He slipped his hand back under her shirt again and she turned them so that he was standing once again with his back to the wall, breathing hard and looking down in between their bodies as she reached down again - and then Briscoe and McCoy finally reached their side.

Briscoe didn't hesitate, reaching out and tapping Curtis' shoulder.  He looked up.  Even in the dark of the bar, Briscoe could see that Curtis' skin was flushed, brow beaded with sweat, pupils fully dilated and eyes glazed with strong arousal.  It took him a moment to recognize Briscoe and McCoy.  When he did, his eyes widened and he caught his breath.  The woman, who hadn't noticed Briscoe or McCoy, pulled his hips against hers again and he gasped.

Curtis quickly grabbed both of her hands and held them, shaking them slightly to get the woman to open her eyes and look at him.  She did, making an inquiring noise.  Curtis cleared his throat and said something into her ear.  She lowered her hands, chest heaving and quite clearly irritated at the interruption, but quieted her movements and just leaned up against him, giving Briscoe and McCoy a quick, annoyed glance before settling her face into the side of Curtis' neck.

"What - what do you want?"  Curtis asked breathlessly.

"What the hell are you doing here?"  Briscoe asked.

Curtis blinked at him.  "Is this a trick question?" he asked.  Briscoe blew out his breath and McCoy looked away, annoyed.  "What the hell does it look like I'm doing?!"

"Rey, get outta here."

"What, now?!"

"You're gonna feel like crap tomorrow.  You know you are.  You're in the middle of a - case," Briscoe said, reluctant to say 'trial' just in case Curtis really didn't feel like leaving his new acquaintance, "and you can't afford to get into trouble."

"I will deal with how I feel tomorrow, when it's tomorrow.  Right now, leave me the hell alone."  Curtis caught his breath again and shivered as his lady friend, deciding the conversation was taking too long, chose that moment to bite at the side of his neck.  His pupils dilated again and he unconsciously leaned his head to the side, giving her better access, then pulled away from her gently.  "Lennie, this really, really isn't a good time, OK?" he said, voice husky and unsteady.

McCoy leaned in.  "This isn't going to do wonders for your credibility during the trial, Rey," he pointed out.  He narrowed his eyes, taking in Curtis's appearance.  "Are you high?"

"Don't ask, don't tell," Curtis said in a hard voice.  "I'm a grown man and I know what I'm doing.  Nobody appointed either one of you to be my conscience, and I fulfilled my promise to you," he nodded at Briscoe, "yesterday.  Now get the fuck outta here!"

McCoy pulled Briscoe's sleeve.  "Come on."  Briscoe shook his head in disappointment at his friend's behaviour, and backed up out of Rosita's.

As they stood in the rainy street, McCoy dug his hands into his pockets.  "I told you this was a bad idea."

"I know.  I just hate to see him do this to himself.  I know how he's gonna feel tomorrow."

"That's his choice," McCoy pointed out.  "You're not his keeper."

"You haven't been there the day after."

"You of all people should know that there's nothing you can do to get another person to stop self-destructive behaviour if they don't want to stop.  And what he's doing isn't even self-destructive to most people."

"It is to him."

"He's just going to a bar and getting laid," McCoy protested.

"He's cheating on his wife.  That means a hell of a lot to him.  He's doing drugs.  That also bothers him.  A lot."

"Not right now, it doesn't.  You're not his father.  You can't control him, and you shouldn't try."

Briscoe nodded, acknowledging the truth in McCoy's words.  "Fine.  Let's go."  As they turned to leave, the door behind them slammed open and Curtis came out, looking flushed and still breathing hard.  McCoy raised his eyebrows.

"Why the hell did you come here tonight?" Curtis demanded, tucking his shirt in and zipping up his jacket.

"I was worried about you," Briscoe said quietly.  "Sorry, it's really none of our business.  Jack didn't think this was a good idea, and he was right.  Go back to your uh, friend."

Curtis shook his head.  "You guys are like Jiminy Cricket.  I can't go back in there now.  Besides, that girl would probably belt me if I did - she was about as happy to see me go as I was to leave."  He set off, then looked back at Briscoe and McCoy as they stood next to the bar.  "Are you coming or what?"

===

Some time later, they found themselves at the bar at a pool hall.

"So this is where you people go to have fun.  It's hard to tell," Curtis remarked.  Briscoe smiled.  It was an old joke from the days when they were partners, when Curtis had said he didn't understand why white men would go to a place with bad music, no dancing, and no women to enjoy themselves.

"Ed says the same thing," Briscoe commented.  Curtis looked away.

"Rey?"

"What?"

"You got a problem with Ed?"

"He arrested me, Lennie.  He took me away from my kids in handcuffs.  I know he was just doing his job, but it's a little hard not to take that personally."

"Sorry."

Curtis tried to lighten the mood.  "Besides, I feel a bit like Mike Logan did when he worked that case at our precinct, remember?  He said something like meeting ex-partners is like meeting ex-wives, which makes mentioning the current partner a bit like mentioning the current wife in front of the ex."

Briscoe and McCoy laughed.  "Yeah, that's a no-no," commented McCoy.

"I wouldn't know."  Curtis took a sip of his beer.  "Although I just might find out," he said bitterly.

McCoy raised his eyebrows at Briscoe.  "Deborah wants a divorce," he explained.  McCoy looked at Curtis.

"That's rough, Rey," he paused.  "She's not thinking of doing that right now-"

"No, no, she'll wait until after.  She wants me to be able to just take care of the kids without having to take care of her too.  That'll be a little tough if I'm in prison, which is where I'll be if she divorces me right in the middle of the trial," he spoke casually, not inviting any comments.  McCoy nodded.

"This place looks really familiar," Briscoe commented.

"I was just thinking that," McCoy agreed.  Suddenly they both realized which place they were thinking of, and as their eyes met they nodded.

"What?  Am I missing something?" Curtis looked from one to the other.

"No, it's just... it's not where we were, but it's a dead ringer for the bar we ended up at the day Mickey Scott was executed," Briscoe said quietly.  The three men were silent for a few minutes, thinking about that day.

"I never told you... I went to your apartment that day.  After I slept with that girl, the grad student."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah.  I needed to talk to somebody.  Then after Claire died, it just really didn't seem like the time to bring anything else up."

"Everybody was in the wrong place at the wrong time that day, from the beginning," Briscoe said bitterly.  McCoy took a sip of his Scotch, nodding.

"You still miss her, yeah?" Curtis asked McCoy.  McCoy looked at him in surprise.  Curtis regarded him steadily.  McCoy supposed there was no reason Curtis wouldn't have known about his involvement with Claire Kincaid, since Briscoe obviously had.

"It's been a long time," he finally replied.

"Do you?"

"Sometimes," he admitted.  "Not as much any more.  It's been seven years.  The first few weren't easy."

"Time heals and all that?" Curtis said bitterly, looking down into his glass.

"Something like that," McCoy downed his Scotch.

Curtis sighed and finished off the beer.  "Something like that," he repeated.  The bartender came and took their glasses, raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner.  McCoy and Curtis nodded.  Briscoe looked at them askance.

"I'm not gonna have to take care of both of you, am I?"

Curtis shook his head.  "This is my third.  I'll stop at four."

"You look like you've had more."

"Not alcohol, no," Curtis replied evenly.  Briscoe narrowed his eyes.  "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," Curtis said lightly.

"Where'd you get it?"

Curtis chuckled.  "Come on, Detective, it's everywhere, especially at Rosita's.  Don't tell me you didn't notice the smell in there."

"OK, then, why?"

"You oughtta know.  Makes you forget, not have to think, not have to feel.  It's a nice break."

"I hate to sound like a public service announcement, but drugs aren't a solution."

"No, but when there is no solution they sure take away the problem for a little while," he said with false cheer.

"And they make it worse the next day."

"It's not the next day yet.  Right now I'm fine."  Briscoe scowled at Curtis, who rolled his eyes and said, "Fine, I'll 'Just Say No' next time.  Oh wait, I already did say No once tonight.  And what a great decision that was, I coulda been with whatever-her-name-was right now and instead, here I am, the only spic in a Mick pool hall, getting preached at by Mr. Twelve Steps."

"Yeah, and you coulda been saying Hail Mary's all day tomorrow and feeling like a piece of crap for breaking your own rules again," Briscoe pointed out.

"Not my rules.  God's."

"Whatever."

"Gimme a break, OK?  Thanks for bringing me outta there and all that, but right now I am not in a good mood.  Trying to 'will' away a hard-on does that to me."

Briscoe choked on his soda water and spluttered.  McCoy smirked and downed more of his Scotch.  Curtis looked at them sourly.  "Oh good, now my sexual frustration is amusing to you.  Thanks a lot.  You don't know how hard it was to walk away from that girl.  Pardon the pun."  Briscoe laughed, glad that Curtis could at least joke about it.

"No thanks necessary," McCoy said expansively.  "Just being called Jiminy Cricket is thanks enough for me."  Curtis snickered.  When he spoke again, his voice was again deceptively casual.

"So Mr. Lawyer, how's divorce go?  What can I expect?"

"I'm criminal, not family law.  All I know is how mine was."

Briscoe and McCoy spent the next little while regaling Curtis with stories of their divorces, toned down because Curtis was not yet at a stage where he could poke fun at the subject the way they could.

"Did you get an annulment?"  Curtis asked McCoy.

"No, no reason to.  Neither one of us wanted to remarry, not in the Catholic church anyway."

"I hope Deborah doesn't want one.  I don't think I could do that, say that none of it was real, that our kids are illegitimate."

"You might want to, if you met somebody else and wanted to get remarried."

"I can't imagine that."

"Stranger things have happened."

Curtis looked thoughtful as he swirled the last of his beer in the glass.

"What?"  Briscoe prodded him.

"You - you've had more than one serious - I've only ever," he stopped, shaking his head and tongue-tied.  "I've slept with lots of women.  I've only ever wanted to marry one, I've only ever been in love with one.  I can't imagine anybody else."

McCoy smiled indulgently.  "You're young."

"Not that young.  We've been together almost fifteen years.  Before her, I had some casual girlfriends, but then she, she was - she was everything.  She still is," he added softly.  "I'm still in love with her.  I can't even imagine sitting here years from now, saying her name and not feeling that.  You know, just saying 'my first wife, Deborah'.  Or even 'my ex-wife, Deborah' - agh!" he broke off in frustration as tears welled up and his throat closed off. "Shit!" he swiped at his eyes angrily as Briscoe and McCoy looked away politely.  "God, how does anybody get through this without going nuts," he muttered.  He swallowed a few times until he had himself under control, then slid off the barstool.  "Anybody up for pool?"

"Always," Briscoe got up too.

"Great.  I love a preordained outcome."  Curtis picked up a cue.

"What do you mean?"  McCoy followed them to a table.

"You've never played pool against him?" Curtis asked.  "Are you in for a treat.  He's a pool shark, Jack.  Fun to watch, as long as you realize you don't have a chance in hell of winning."

McCoy smiled a predatory smile.  "Next game, darts then," he said.

Briscoe set up the pool table.  "Nah, I heard about you.  No way I'm playing darts with you."

"Hey, I'm the one who's gonna get my ass kicked at two different games.  So shut up and play pool, Lennie, and when you lose at darts, take it like a man," Curtis chalked up his cue.

===

That night, getting ready for bed, McCoy thought about Curtis and his case.  His meeting with Curtis that day had been productive; they had gone over some possible approaches for Curtis' defense, and McCoy had informed Curtis of what had come up during his investigation.  Not that there was much to share; almost none of the leads McCoy had been following up had come up with anything.  Nobody seemed to have any problems with or hold any grudges against Estela Curtis.  The woman had worked until the day she died, had been a good member of her church and a good neighbour, mostly keeping to herself but friendly and likeable enough when she did venture out.

Likewise, Curtis' sister Lisa seemed a kind, decent woman.  She'd had opportunity and means, but no real motive to kill her mother.  She hadn't known about the changes in her mother's will or insurance policy, but didn't seem to resent them.  She lived in Albany and her husband was an alcoholic, which was why she and Curtis had not considered her as a possible candidate to take their mother in when her Alzheimer's got serious.  The neighbours suspected that Lisa's husband was abusive, as did Curtis, but Curtis said that his sister had always denied any abuse.  There were no hospital or police records, no proof of abuse.  McCoy had tried to see if Lisa's husband could have committed the crime, but he had been at work at a gas station that night, in Albany.

The only real lead he'd found, he hadn't shared with Curtis.  Two neighbours and a teacher claimed that Serena Curtis had had a terrible relationship with her grandmother.  That she yelled at her grandmother, had pushed her a few times, spoke badly of her at school, and had deliberately broken some of her belongings.

McCoy sighed and got into bed.  He was going to keep digging, but didn't know what to do with what he found.  Would Curtis want him to follow this up?  What would he want if Serena were his own daughter?

McCoy turned over in bed, thinking about the case.  Unless he found something significant while digging around, it looked like this trial was going to be about Curtis' character, since there was only circumstantial evidence against him.  This was not good.  The prosecution would have no trouble showing that Curtis' character wasn't the best at the time of the murder, and it would be up to McCoy to convince the jury that the man they would look at every day of the trial was a good, decent, upstanding citizen who might have made a few mistakes but could not have killed his mother.

McCoy had observed Curtis' manner and appearance that afternoon and at the pool hall.  Taking into account that he was under the influence of marijuana and alcohol at the pool hall, McCoy still saw an improvement over his state a couple of weeks ago.  The time away from his family seemed to be doing him good.  The overwhelming exhaustion and sadness seemed to be lifting.  He was able to see humour in situations, make jokes, and had walked away from a bar and a one-night stand.  His emotions were still pretty close to the surface, but McCoy considered that an improvement over his previous state, so beaten down and exhausted that he hardly reacted to anything.  He just hoped that when Curtis returned home, things wouldn't deteriorate again, and that his problems with Deborah wouldn't derail him.  He needed Curtis steady during the trial.

He and Briscoe were going to have to keep him steady.  He was going to have to stay away from bars, alcohol, drugs, one-night stands, and anything that might not look good during the trial or send him into a downward spiral of guilt and depression.  McCoy sighed, wondering how the hell he and Briscoe were going to get a man who needed some kind of escape from a fairly difficult existence to try new coping mechanisms.

McCoy realized he now felt new respect for defense attorneys.  As a prosecutor, he never really had to worry about his witnesses' private lives.  If a witness didn't look like they would be credible to the jury, he just didn't call them up.  As a defense attorney, he didn't have a choice, he had to bring Curtis into the courtroom, had to defend his character.  He'd never really thought about that part of a defense attorney's job before.  This was part of why he was a prosecutor, because he didn't like feeling responsible for another person's behaviour.  And because he didn't like being responsible for another person's fate.

Firmly commanding himself to stop worrying about the case, McCoy finally fell asleep.