It Might Not Be A Pretty Picture

by Cirocco

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

6. Going to Trial

Chapter 6: Going To Trial

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

e-mail address:

ciroccoj2002yahoo.com

Thursday, November 20, 2003

6:34pm

As McCoy climbed the stairs, he heard music coming from Curtis's apartment.  Santana.  He knocked on the door.

"Yeah, come on in, it's open," Curtis' voice called out.

McCoy entered the apartment.  Curtis had been home with his three older girls since Monday, and things seemed to be going well.  Serena was at the kitchen table, doing homework.  Isabel sat on the living room floor, looking up at Curtis and Olivia.  Curtis held Olivia by one hand, his other hand on her waist, while she reached up for his shoulder.  Evidently McCoy had walked in on a dance lesson.

"Sorry, I'm a bit early," apologized McCoy.

"Yeah, yeah.  Be with you in a bit - Olivia's got a recital tomorrow at school and she's a little nervous."

"Don't mind me," McCoy sat down on the couch.

"Dad, I can't with him here," Olivia protested.

"There's gonna be a lot more people tomorrow.  Sweetness, relax.  You know the steps."

"Yeah, but I keep tripping."

"That's because you're concentrating on the steps instead of where I'm going.  Don't look down at your feet.  The steps are simple, you just need to follow your partner."  They moved a few steps, Curtis moving gracefully but Olivia stumbling into him a few times.  "Look, your partner gives you signals, whether he knows it or not.  Where he's heading, you'll feel it, on your hand and your waist.  And if his hands are anywhere else tomorrow, you know exactly where to put your knee."  They grinned at each other, and Olivia stumbled again.  "Here, you lead for a minute."  Curtis put Olivia's hand on his waist and held her shoulder.  "You decide where you wanna go, and tell me where to go."

Serena snorted.  "I wouldn't mind telling you where to go," she muttered.

Curtis and Olivia ignored her.  They moved a few steps.  "Good, good.  See?  You push at my waist, pull at my hand.  That's exactly what your partner does.  I don't have to watch your feet, I can feel where you're going."

Olivia suddenly let go of Curtis' waist and said, "Spin!"

Smiling and ducking low, he spun.  "OK, switch back.  Remember how it felt to lead." They moved a few more steps, Olivia clearly more at ease. "Good.  See, even if I'm not thinking about directing you, you can read my movements from my shoulder.  It's unspoken communication - the person who's leading does the talking, the person who's following does the listening."

"Then how come the guy always gets to lead?"

"'Cause guys made up the rules and we're not too bright," he answered her, and McCoy laughed.  "Plus we're lazy.  Your mom always said Ginger Rogers could do everything Fred Astaire could do, and she did it-"

"- backwards and in high heels," Olivia finished, smiling.

"Besides, the girl can lead a bit too, especially if her partner's gonna crash into something," he backed up, getting close to Isabel on the floor.  Olivia pulled on his shoulder and he stepped forward, grinning down at Isabel, who giggled.  "Good save."  They danced for a little while longer, Olivia gradually feeling more and more at ease and Curtis giving her a few more pointers, reminding her not to look down at their feet, spinning her around.  Finally they stopped.

"You feeling better about tomorrow?"

"Yeah..."

"You'll do fine.  You're a natural, just like your mom.  Deborah was an amazing dancer," he explained to McCoy with a smile, going into the kitchen for a glass of water.

"I remember.  You guys used to go out dancing all the time," Olivia said.

"Really?  Mommy could dance?"  Isabel asked.

"Oh yeah.  Your mom was a jock.  She ran, she taught dance and self-defense.  She could kick my butt any day, even when I was on active duty," he smiled again, then his eyes shadowed a bit as he took a drink of water, standing next to Serena at the kitchen table.

"Really?  Mommy?"  Isabel asked.

"Oh yeah," Olivia laughed.  "I remember you guys made a bet once about who would get flipped first, and she won, and you couldn't even stand up afterwards, you were laughing so hard.  You said you didn't even know what hit you."

"Yeah, she was so small, and there I am, big tough cop, flat on my a- uh, back... I wasn't even trying to hold back or anything.  She was just this force of nature." Curtis's eyes twinkled at the memory.

"I remember that," Serena said, "and you guys used to dance together in the kitchen sometimes, and go out running in Central Park.  She was pretty amazing."  Curtis nodded, eyes unfocussed, lost in the past.  "I wish she could still do all that," Serena said quietly.  Curtis looked at her warily, slightly tense as always around his second daughter, but sensing that she wasn't going to say anything hurtful right away.  She reached out and took his hand, still looking down at the table.  "I wish Mom was here," she whispered.  He put his glass down, slowly raised his hand and stroked her hair.

"Yeah," he said huskily.  "Me too."

"Think she's ever gonna come home?  Not just to visit?" she asked.

"I hope so."

"Think she's ever gonna walk again?"

Curtis closed his eyes and didn't answer for a moment.   He took a deep breath.  "No."  He opened his eyes.

"Is that how come you were with all those other women?  'Cause they could walk and Mom couldn't?"

Curtis caught his breath and stiffened.  He gazed down at Serena.  "Always have to twist the knife a bit, don't you?" he said softly.

Serena let go of his hand and picked up her pen again.  He sighed and rested his hand on her head for a moment.  "Sorry."  He left the kitchen.  "So, Jack.  What did you want to see me about?"

"I think maybe we should go somewhere else for this conversation."

Curtis looked around the apartment.  "Sure, I have to do some laundry anyway."  He picked up a couple of baskets and he and McCoy went downstairs.

===

Once they were in the laundry room, McCoy hesitated, having no idea how to say what he was about to say.  He had debated this back and forth all day long.  Indecision was not a familiar feeling to Jack McCoy.  Most of the time he took a few moments to weigh options and quickly settled upon a course of action that he stuck to, firmly convinced of its correctness, until the bitter end or until somebody convinced him otherwise.

This was different.  As a lawyer, he knew what he had to do, and although he wasn't familiar with defense he knew that his chief priority was to do everything in his power to acquit his client.  As a friend and as a parent... he had no idea what to do.  He watched Curtis sort clothing at the laundry room table for a few moments, feeling Curtis's inquiring gaze boring into his forehead.

"This is must be serious; I've never seen you speechless before," Curtis joked.  "Jack?"

"Serena knew about your mother's will."

Curtis put down a pair of pants, looking down at the table.  "What?"

"She knew.  Two of her friends said that she mentioned that her grandmother had changed her will to give all of her money to your family."  Curtis' face was devoid of any expression.  McCoy continued, "They remember it was before your mother's death because it was at a birthday party on September 14th."

"Whose party?" Curtis asked in an impassive tone of voice.

"Soledad Montos.  The two friends were Janey Suarez and Dolores Fitzhugh."  Curtis nodded, recognizing the names of the three girls.  He picked up the pants again and continued to sort laundry into piles.  McCoy looked at him.  He seemed to be taking this very calmly - until McCoy noticed that his hands were shaking.  "Rey?"

"Damn it, I just mended these three days ago," Curtis put aside a small pair of pants with a tear at the knee.  "Why are you telling me this?" his voice was still fairly calm, but McCoy heard an almost undetectable tremor.

"Rey..."

"Do the police know?"

"Apparently not.  My assistant at Jamie's office asked your daughters' teachers to list their friends.  Then she went and talked to all of them.  This just came up.  The police hadn't spoken to any of them."

"Sloppy investigating on the part of the police," Curtis commented.

"Rey.  This may be important."

"So she knew.  It doesn't mean anything," he continued to sort clothing quickly.

"It might."

He shook his head dismissively.  "She's eleven years old, Jack," he finished sorting and started to put a load of darks in.

"This gives her motive-"

"Stop," Curtis shook his head, back turned to McCoy as he loaded the washing machine.

"Think about it, Rey."

"No!" he shouted, turning and slamming his hand down on the table, making McCoy jump slightly.  "It doesn't give her motive!  If anything, it could prove I had motive - where else would Serena have found out about my mother's will?  If anybody else found out they could just assume that she heard it from me, that I knew."

"Did you?" Curtis glanced at him, a haunted expression in his eyes, then looked away.

"Is there anything else?"

"I know Serena didn't get along with your mother."

"Serena doesn't get along with anybody."

"Dolores said that she was happy your mother died.  Said that at least now you'd get the money and you wouldn't have to take care of 'the old bat.'"

Curtis covered his mouth with his hand.  Then he shook his head, pressed his lips together, and asked quietly, "Anything else?"

"Does there have to be?"

"I think you better go, Jack."  McCoy raised his eyebrows at him.  "Go.  Please."

"Are you going to be OK-"

Curtis made an impatient face and started to put a load of whites into another washer.  "Damn it, it's annoying having a diagnosed mental illness, everybody thinks anything bad is gonna set me off.  I'm not gonna do anything stupid.  Just go."

===

Sunday, November 22

1:13am

Briscoe stepped into the water, trying to get the damn cat out of the pond.  But the stupid thing was green and it was making one hell of a racket.  A sound a lot like a phone, as a matter of fact-

-a phone ringing.  Briscoe's eyes opened and he came awake instantly.  The phone.  What the hell time was it?  1:13am.  Who would call at this hour?  He picked up the phone.

"Rey."

Curtis' voice was steady.  "I'm sorry, Lennie, I was really hoping I wouldn't have to call you."

"Yeah, no problem, I'm on my way."

"No, no, don't come over.  I - I'm OK, I'm not suicidal.  I just... I just don't wanna go any lower."

"Rey, let me come over.  It won't take long, there's not a lotta traffic at this hour, and then you can go to sleep and not worry you might have to wake me up again."

"No, don't-"

"OK.  Listen to me," Briscoe said patiently.  "When you're having a bad night, you ask for help 'cause you're not thinking straight and you shouldn't be making any decisions, right?  So trust me.  I am thinking straight, and I can make good decisions.  And I'm coming over."  He heard Curtis blow out his breath in frustration before capitulating.  "See you in about half an hour."

===

Curtis opened the door for Briscoe.  "You really didn't have to come over."

"Eh.  Indulge me.  I worry."

Curtis shook his head, smiling.  "I don't have cable, Lennie.  We can't watch a game."

"Oh no, you mean we might have to make conversation?"  Curtis looked away, his smile fading abruptly.

"What happened?"

"Nothing I wanna talk about," he was definitive.

"OK, how are you feeling?"

Curtis met his eyes reluctantly. "Like I'm gonna jump outta my skin if I don't do something."

"Like what?"

"I'm not suicidal.  I'm really not.  I just feel like I'd sell my soul to be able to walk outta here and find some woman to spend the night with.  Just to get the hell away from everything."

"I thought things were going good at home."

"They are, they are, it's the case that's - no, I really do not want to get into it."

Briscoe nodded.  Serena.  McCoy had told him about his visit on Thursday.  This had to be upsetting, especially now that it seemed that Curtis and Serena were finally, slowly, working out some kind of tentative peace.

"How you been sleeping?"

"Mostly OK until the last few days."

"What have you done?  To deal with it?"

"Everything.  I tried to read, buried myself in work, prayed, tried to distract myself any way I could, but..." he trailed off.  He cleared his throat.  "There's only one thing I haven't done, 'cause I'm alone with my daughters here.  I - I can't be intoxicated if there's an emergency..." Curtis cleared his throat again.  "Lennie, I know you don't approve.  I... I wouldn't ask, and I'll understand if you say no, but... I really need a break."  Curtis looked down, twisting his wedding ring nervously.

Briscoe couldn't believe he was even thinking agreeing to this, but Curtis really did look as if he was going to jump out of his skin.  He looked drawn, tired, and tense as all hell.  And Skoda had said this could be an effective short-term treatment for symptoms of depression.  He wasn't sure he agreed - hell, Skoda hadn't even been sure, but they had agreed to give it a chance and treat it as medicinal.  And it had seemed to work so far.

"How long since you've done it?"

"Twelve days."

"Would you ever do it if you were alone with your daughters?"

"No way."

"OK."  Curtis let out his breath.  He glanced at Briscoe, grateful to him for agreeing, but ashamed to need this, and got up.  He got out a joint from a top cupboard in the kitchen, then opened a window.  "Man, it's cold out there."  He lit the joint, inhaled and held his breath.  He exhaled the smoke slowly out the window, grimacing.

"What?"

"I just really, really hate the taste of it.  It tastes like dirt," he said as he poured himself a glass of water.

"How long does it usually take to take effect?"

"I dunno.  Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes?" he inhaled again.  Briscoe unexpectedly felt a bemused chuckle rise in his chest.  Curtis looked at him questioningly as he held his breath.

"Sorry, just - if anybody told me when we were first partnered that one day I'd be watching you get high, I woulda asked what they were smoking."  Curtis choked a bit and laughed, coughing.

"Yeah, well we're calling it 'medicinal' now," he said sardonically.  "Like that makes any damn difference."  They were silent as he finished off the joint, taking a sip of water after each toke.

"Feel any better?"

He shrugged.  "I don't feel any worse."

"That's good."

He closed the window and rubbed his forehead.  "What time is it?"

Briscoe checked his watch.  "Quarter past two."

Curtis massaged a kink in the back of his neck and sighed tiredly, sitting down.  They started chatting and ended up playing do-you-remember with cases from their time as partners at the 27th Precinct until Curtis said, "Man, I wish I was still good at my job.  I miss that, taking pride in my work.  You know I've been on performance probation for over a year?  Yeah, every review period I'm this close to getting canned.  I've been doing better lately, but... almost two years of screw-ups to live down.  That doesn't go away real fast."

Briscoe smiled slightly.  "You're afraid some day some young punk is gonna say to you, 'You were a good cop.  Then you fell into a depression.  You climbed out, but the jury's still out.'"

Curtis cocked his head, narrowing his eyes and giving Briscoe a small smile.  "Some young punk said something like that to you?  Did you whack him upside the head like he deserved?"

"No, I just mentioned that he was kinda tactless," Briscoe answered.  He paused.  "Guess who the young punk was."

"Yeah, I figured," Curtis nodded with a half-smile, "I don't remember saying it, but it sure sounds like me.  You still remember?"

"It made an impression."

"You shoulda washed my mouth out with soap," he shook his head ruefully.  "Arrogant self-righteous little son-of-a-bitch.  What the hell did I know.  How'd you put up with me?"

"You had your moments."

"Another reason I don't have a service weapon any more.  I'd probably shoot anybody who said that to me."

"No you wouldn't.  You'd just take his comment for what it is: snap judgment by somebody who doesn't really know you.  And maybe you deserve it, but maybe the guy who's saying it might not deal with the hand God dealt you as well as you did."

"And maybe some day he'll be staring up at me from the bottom of a depression or a bottle too, huh?" Curtis smiled sadly, staring down at the floor.

"Maybe."

"So tell me, is revenge sweet?"  Briscoe looked at him.  The tone was light, but he could tell the question was only half-joking.

"No.  No, it sure as hell isn't."  Curtis looked up at him, startled by his vehement tone of voice, and took in Briscoe's compassionate expression.

"Thanks," he closed his eyes.  "Pride goeth before the fall, huh Lennie?"  Briscoe gripped his arm in sympathy.  Curtis' brow creased and he swallowed hard, then took a few deep, shaking breaths and nodded, indicating he was OK.

"What are you gonna do if you get fired?" Briscoe asked gently.

"Actually, it wouldn't be so bad, 'cept for what's left of my ego.  No, really, when they did the drug test at my precinct, I looked at what would happen and it wasn't that bad, financially.  Part of why we're so broke is I earn way too much to qualify for most government assistance."

"Yeah?"

"Believe me, we've tried.  We fall through every bureaucratic crack you can think of.  On welfare, we'd qualify.  And I wouldn't have to pay for babysitting any more.  Can't you just see me as a stay-at-home welfare dad?" he laughed bitterly.

Briscoe felt a pang of sorrow, imagining the Curtis family on welfare: even more grinding poverty, food stamps, soup kitchens, subsidized housing, social workers looking over Curtis' shoulder forever... it wasn't a pretty picture.

He shook off the image and brought them back to idle chitchat, marking time until morning.  He ended up telling Curtis about the latest sports events on TV, which Curtis had been missing since he'd come back home.  In the middle of Briscoe recounting one particularly stupid play, Curtis leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed deeply, clearly off in a chemical haze and no longer really following the conversation.  Briscoe paused for a moment.

"So, what's it like?"

"What?" Curtis opened his eyes slowly, gaze dulled by the marijuana.

"Pot."

He half-smiled quizzically.  "You've never done it?  Weren't you around in the sixties?"

"It wasn't put into the water supply.  Not everybody did it.  I'm sure Jack did, but I didn't.  I was into booze even then."

Curtis leaned his head back again, thinking about it.  "It makes you feel a lot less tense.  Everything's a bit blurred, softer - feelings too.  Time gets a bit fuzzy too - one minute you're thinking of having a snack, then next thing you know half an hour's gone by.  Speaking of snacks, you want something to eat?"  He suddenly stood up and went to the kitchen.  Briscoe shook his head bemusedly.  Curtis picked up a peach and started eating it with evident pleasure, concentrating on the task.  He looked back at Briscoe.

"It's also... you ever been on a painkiller like Fiorenal or something?  You still feel pain, but you really don't give a damn about it.  Pot does the same thing - for me, anyway.  I'm still upset about this thing with Serena, but... I don't really care right now, you know?"

"So this is about Serena."

"Jack said... he thinks that maybe..." Curtis trailed off.  "Doesn't matter.  If she did anything, it's my fault."

"How do you figure?"

"She's an angry kid.  And she got that way because of me, from me either neglecting her or riding her case too much for stuff I shoulda been more patient with.  She got way that from me and Deborah not keeping our marriage together, because of me," he spoke in a detached manner as he sat back down, as if none of this really mattered all that much.

"You don't know that.  You and Deborah coulda had a picture-perfect marriage and she coulda been in perfect health and Serena might still be the way she is."

Curtis smiled at him humourlessly, shaking his head.  "Sure.  You tell yourself that.  Is that what you said to yourself about Cathy?"  Briscoe shut his eyes in unexpected pain, and Curtis swore under his breath.  "Christ Lennie, I'm sorry.  I can't believe I said that," he covered his eyes.  "I am so sorry.  That was totally... shit, I'm still tactless."

"You're not yourself right now," Briscoe said with difficulty.  Amazing how viscerally this could still tear at him, even after five years.

"That's no excuse.  No way I should say something like that to you," he shook his head in disbelief.  "I'm sorry, Lennie."  Briscoe nodded, accepting his apology.  Curtis thought for a moment.  "You know, when Cathy died I remember thinking I couldn't even imagine what it must be like.  If one of my kids died... god, I... I can't imagine it.  That would break me.  I really admired you for not falling off the wagon.  Me and LT were so sure you were gonna start drinking again."

"I probably would've, if you and Deborah hadn't taken me in."

"That actually helped?"

"Yeah.  That surprise you?"

"Well, sure.  We didn't really do anything."

Briscoe shook his head.  "Yeah, you did.  You got me through it."

"Papa!" a voice screamed from the girls' bedroom.

Curtis sat up, startled.  "Oh my god." He blinked rapidly and stood up unsteadily.  "Oh god, Isabel's having a nightmare and I'm high as a kite," he shook his head, fighting off the intoxication.

"Papa?"

Curtis quickly moved to the bedroom, reaching the door to the girls' room just as Olivia opened it.  "Papa, Isabel tuvo una-"

"I know, I know," Curtis went past her into the bedroom.

"Uncle Lennie?  What are you doing here?"

"Talking over your Daddy's case, sweetheart."  Olivia looked into the bedroom, where Briscoe could hear Isabel's voice being answered by Curtis.  He heard Curtis' low voice murmuring, then the little girl's sleepy voice answer back and finally silence.

"Is she OK?" Olivia asked as Curtis exited the bedroom.

"Yeah, yeah, go back to bed, honey."

"Are you OK, Daddy?"  Olivia peered up at him.  Curtis tensed slightly, but smiled at Olivia reassuringly and patted her arm.

"Go back to sleep, Olivia.  Everything's fine."  Olivia regarded him closely, frowning slightly.  Then she nodded guardedly and gave him a quick kiss, and went back into the bedroom.

Curtis collapsed back onto the couch a bit shakily.  "Oh man.  I don't care how depressed I get, I am never, ever gonna do this again.  Being high in front of the kids-" he shuddered.  "I feel like I'm gonna throw up."

"You'll have to find another way to cope."

"Like what?" Curtis asked, a bit despairingly.

"Pool?"

Curtis chuckled.  "At three in the morning?  Here?"  He put his head in his hands.  "OK.  OK.  I can do this.  I'll just tough it out."

"Just don't try to tough it out alone."

Curtis nodded.  He looked off into space for a while and abruptly said, "I don't wanna know about Serena and what she may or may not have done.  And I don't want Deborah to even have to think about it either.  She's been through way too much already.  I'm gonna tell Jack to forget about it."

"You really don't want to know?  What about being suspicious of her - don't you wanna find out the truth, if the truth is she didn't do anything?"

Curtis brushed his hair off his forehead, clearly torn.  He bit his lip and dismissed the topic.  "OK.  I can't think about this any more.  You wanna play cards?"

They played for some time, Curtis's attention wandering more and more easily until Briscoe finally put down the cards.  "You can't play poker stoned.  You can't bluff worth a damn."

Curtis snickered.  "Well, I'm being distracted by the fact that you're taking forever to pick up the cards.  And you're yellow."

"Ah jeez," Briscoe muttered in disgust.

"Sorry man, you are," he got a fit of the giggles.

"Go to bed," Briscoe said, amused in spite of himself.  Curtis was normally such a serious person, that it was kind of funny to see him like this.

"Yeah, OK.  Good idea."

"Think you can sleep?"

"Oh yeah," Curtis gave a small laugh.  "Right now I can hardly stay awake."

"Good.  You need anything, I'll be right out here.  Don't worry about waking me up."

"Thanks, Lennie."

"Don't mention it."

===

Friday, November 28
5:30pm

"Yeah, come on in," Curtis' voice called out.  McCoy entered the apartment.  Isabel was sitting on a chair and Curtis was standing behind her, combing out her long hair.

"Ow!"

"Hi, Jack - stay still, Isabel.  You've got a nasty tangle here," he pulled carefully.  The little girl scowled at him.  "OK, it's out," he continued combing.  "What's up?" he asked McCoy.

"I brought you some paperwork to look at.  It can wait till you're done though."

"When's Uncle Lennie coming?" Isabel asked.

"Lennie's coming here tonight?" McCoy asked.

"Yeah, he's bringing my sister in from the station, he should be here any minute.  She's staying with me for the weekend, 'cause Tania's coming home."

"It's gonna be nice having the baby back, huh Daddy?" Isabel asked happily.

"Yeah," Curtis agreed, although he looked a little worried.  He finished combing her hair out. "OK, done.  How many?"

"Twelve."

"No way.  Six."

"Nine?"

"Deal," he started to braid a small section at the back of her head.  There was a knock at the door.

"Come on in! - no, Isabel, don't get up," he tugged at her hair and she sat back down.  Briscoe and Lisa walked in.

"Hey Aunt Lisa!  Daddy's braiding my hair for the party at Cindy's tomorrow 'cause she said we had ta have ringlets and I said I can't 'cause my hair's all straight but she said-"

"Sweetie, sweetie, stop bouncing.  Let Aunt Lisa get settled first, then tell her all about Cindy's party."  Lisa smiled at Isabel and went to put her suitcase in the closet.  Curtis finished the first braid, and Isabel handed him an elastic.  He tied it off and started work on the next braid as Isabel excitedly told Lisa all about tomorrow's party.

Lisa smiled at Isabel's chatter and teased her brother.  "How come in our family us girls got the straight-as-a-board hair, and you boys got the beautiful curls?"

Curtis chuckled.  "Want 'em?  Take 'em.  They're a pain in the a- uh, neck."

"Yeah, sure.  And totally wasted on a guy.  I bet you're gonna chop it all off."

"Like you said, can't look like a long-haired hippie during the trial.  Going to the barber tomorrow."

"Yeah, and lose the ghetto-mouth for the trial too, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"What's she mean, ghetto-mouth?" Isabel asked.

"Juries are more likely to convict somebody they see as a possible criminal.  If you're dark and speak English with a Spanish accent, like it's your second language, they're more likely to think you might kill somebody.  Speak proper English, and they're more likely to think you couldn't even think of it."

"But you speak English good.  You speak it all the time, it's not your second language."

"No, but I sound a bit like maybe it is, 'cause that's how people talk in our neighbourhood and I've picked it up," he told her lightly.

"You mean they might convict you just 'cause you're Spanish?" she asked indignantly.

"Sweetie, it's all about my character.  When there's not enough solid evidence, it comes down to whether the jury likes the defendant or not, and some jurors can be racist."  He tied off a braid, and started working on another one.

"That's one reason why I get to help choose the jury," McCoy explained to her, "to try to make sure none of them are racist."

"Serena and Olivia told me they're waiting downstairs for Deborah," Lisa commented casually, "How's it going with you two?" Curtis shrugged, not looking at her.  Lisa changed the subject.  "So what time does Tania get here?"

"About 45 minutes," Curtis tied off another braid.

"You staying for dinner too, Jack?" Briscoe asked.

"No, although it looks like it's going to be a full house anyway.  I just came to give Rey some paperwork."

"Yeah, I'm almost done here.  It is gonna be pretty crowded, isn't it?  The kids wanted to make a big deal out of Tania coming home though, so..."

"Daddy!" Olivia appeared at the door.  "The social worker's helping Mom up the stairs."

"OK, be right there.  All done," Curtis said to Isabel, who sat up and shook her head, delighted.

"Thanks, Daddy," she skipped downstairs with Lisa to greet her mother.  Curtis put the comb down and moved to the door, noticing as he did so that Briscoe and McCoy were both looking at him with identical thoughtful expressions.

"What?"

Briscoe hesitated for a moment, not sure what to say.  "Oh, I was just thinking... I never even got the Daddy thing right.  You're doing the Daddy and the Mommy thing.  I never woulda known how to braid my kids' hair."

"Didn't you learn how to make ropes out of long grass in Scouts?  Same thing."

"Yeah, maybe.  My daughters never woulda asked though, even if I'd been living with them."  He paused.  "I... I guess I'm impressed, that's all."

"Yeah.  So am I," McCoy agreed, surprising himself.  Curtis looked a little puzzled, not sure what the big deal was, as he left the apartment.  Briscoe and McCoy were silent for a moment, thinking about what they'd missed with their own daughters, both wondering for the first time if maybe they had something to envy Curtis for after all.  Then Lisa and the girls came trooping back in and the apartment became a busy hive of activity again.

Curtis entered the apartment a few minutes later, carrying Deborah and settling her into her chair, thanking the social worker for carrying it up.  Deborah looked pale and exhausted, and she greeted Briscoe and McCoy weakly as Curtis wheeled her into her bedroom.

"Deborah always tries to go up and down the stairs once a day, it's part of her therapy, but it really wipes her out.  She's probably gonna lie down for a while," he explained to Briscoe and McCoy as he came out of the bedroom.

Lisa clapped her hands and said brightly, "Well, it's about half an hour before Tania gets here... what say you girls come and help me pick up some ice cream?"  Delighted shrieks greeted this offer, and Curtis looked at his sister with affectionate exasperation.  "I'm their auntie, I'm allowed to spoil them."  There was a chorus of giggles and excited chatter as the three girls got their jackets and boots on, and a sense akin to the profound stillness after a storm as they exited the small apartment.

"OK, this seems like a good time," McCoy said, taking out the notice he'd received that day.  Curtis came to look at it.  "This is not good news," McCoy warned him

"When is it ever?"

McCoy handed Curtis the piece of paper.  Curtis read it and blanched, then sat down heavily.

"What is it?"  Briscoe asked.  Curtis tossed him the piece of paper without meeting his eyes.

"I've been charged with Public Lewdness."

"Crap," Briscoe muttered as he read the charge.

"Yeah."

"That son of a bitch Colton," Briscoe muttered, "Can they do that?" he asked McCoy, "It's a misdemeanor, it was weeks ago - don't they have to catch you in the act for it to count?"

"They both confessed to it," McCoy said quietly.

Curtis dropped his head in his hand and sighed deeply.  "Shit."

"Rey?  What is it?"  Deborah wheeled herself into the living room.  He looked at her and winced, shook his head and glanced up at the ceiling, not knowing what to say.

"What is it?"

"Deborah, don't worry about it.  It's just a minor thing," Briscoe said dismissively.

Deborah stared at Curtis, hard.  He flinched under her gaze, and covered his eyes for a moment.  Then he breathed in deeply, opened his eyes and said, "Can you guys leave us alone for a few minutes?"

"Rey, don't," Briscoe protested.  Curtis gave him a warning glare.  He grabbed Curtis's arm and pulled him into the kitchen.  "Are you nuts?" he hissed.  "There is no reason for Deborah to know about this, and you are just gonna hurt her if you tell her.  Remember what happened the last time you had an attack of unnecessary honesty?  She left you."

Curtis pulled his arm away.  "Yeah, well, we'll save a lotta time and energy this time, 'cause she's already left me.  And she knows something happened, something bad.  She's just gonna wonder what it is, and it's gonna come up at the trial anyway."  The last part was true.  Briscoe gave in, jerking his head to indicate to McCoy to join him in the kitchen, and Curtis and his wife were left alone in the living room.

Deborah slowly wheeled herself closer to the couch.  Curtis swallowed hard, rubbed his eyes, and glanced at Deborah nervously.  Then he took a deep breath, looked down and quickly spoke a few sentences.  She stared at him in shock briefly as he looked down, bracing for her anger.  She covered her mouth with her hand, then asked him a question, which he answered with a quick nod.  She rubbed her face and shook her head ruefully, then looked at his bowed head and gently brushed the hair off his forehead.  He raised his head, startled.  He asked her a question and she shook her head sadly and patted his arm, then motioned to McCoy and Briscoe to come back into the living room.

"So, this isn't good," she commented.

"No, it's not," McCoy said.  "It'll be brought up at trial, along with everything else, to cut down Rey's character.  This is mudslinging.  It's not even something that should be noteworthy - it happens in bars all the time - but they're going to use it for all it's worth.  I'll try to suppress it, of course, but this judge..."

"And there's a big fine.  We're living month to month as it is," Curtis added.

"So we'll apply for Medicaid again, Rey.  It's not the end of the world.  You made a mistake, it was stupid and you'll pay for it.  But we'll be OK."  Curtis looked at her, a little bewildered by how well she was taking this.  She patted his arm comfortingly.  "Relax."  He kept looking at her quizzically.  "Would you rather I yelled at you?"

"I - I guess not, but... I'd sure understand," he said with a small laugh.  She shook her head at him affectionately.

===

After McCoy left and Tania arrived, Curtis and Lisa served a simple meal, hamburgers and fries.  The girls were in a festive mood, happy to have their sister back home, and Briscoe found himself enjoying the meal.  For once, it seemed all the underlying tensions within the family had been set aside.  Once dinner was eaten and the girls had gone outside to play in the first snow of the season with Lisa, Deborah went to lie down and Briscoe and Curtis cleaned up.

"How you feeling about the trial?" Briscoe asked as he brought in the last of the dishes.

Curtis put them in the sink.  "I can't believe it starts in ten days.  I keep going back and forth between wishing it was over so I can get on with my life and hoping it gets drawn out as long as possible, you know?  I mean... all Jack needs to do is make the jurors see that it's all circumstantial, plant enough doubt in their minds... but... what if they don't buy it?  I mean, when I was a detective, this much evidence woulda convinced me.  Guy has no money, life's falling apart, mom's about to add to that, and then she just conveniently dies and leaves him everything?  Dies from a drug that he has?  As a cop, I woulda been sold."

Briscoe nodded, knowing he would have been too.

"The only thing that's not explained is the alcohol, how I got her to drink that night.  But that's easy to explain if you think I'm lying when I say she didn't normally drink.  And if you don't believe me about killing her, it's easy to not believe me about her drinking."

"Yeah."

Curtis washed a couple of plates.  "Do you remember, back when we were partners, we had a case with a quadriplegic kid?  Michael Sutter.  It was after Deborah was diagnosed."

"I remember, yeah."

"Remember we found that the kid was a huge burden on his family - the whole family was falling apart, and he died from hemlock poisoning, and the father had access to hemlock.  Pretty much the same situation as me, motive and access to the murder weapon, but no actual connection or confession.  We all thought he was guilty.  He probably woulda been convicted.  And now I'm pretty much where he was then."

Briscoe nodded, thinking about the case.  What he'd never forgotten was that Curtis had conducted an interrogation that had left Briscoe feeling depressed as hell for his partner's sake, and the guy still hadn't confessed.  Because, as it later turned out, he wasn't guilty.

"I remember interrogating him," Curtis said, his eyes distant, the dishes forgotten for the moment.  "I really thought this guy was guilty, and I was supposed to be the 'good cop'... so I thought, what the hell, I can show this guy I know where he's coming from, disabled family member and all that."  Briscoe nodded, remembering that he'd been the bad cop and had said things to the man that he now regretted.  Just doing his job, but...

"I really thought I could do it without being affected by it, but by the time you arrested him, I was a wreck.  Took me a long time to get it together.  For as long as we were working that case, I just... I kept thinking, my God, what am I gonna do if Deborah's like that kid, years from now?  What if her mind goes?  MS does that sometimes.  I mean, she was already losing so much that used to be so important to her, she was already in pain.  I kept thinking, what would I do if I was where Joe Sutter is now?  If my family was going to hell the way his is?" Curtis scrubbed at a pot for a moment, thinking.

"I believe in the sanctity of life, Lennie, I believe only God can decide when a human being is gonna die.  But to this day I don't know if I could really let Deborah suffer on and on like that.  I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do the day I see she might be better off dead.  Every day I pray she never gets there, but... God hasn't been answering too many of my prayers lately.  And I don't know what I woulda done if my mother had gotten to that point with her Alzheimer's."  He finished washing the dishes and drained the sink.  "And if I was on that jury, I'd convict me."

===

Monday, December 8

9:30am

Briscoe had stopped by court for the first day of Curtis' trial and chatted briefly with Curtis and McCoy before court opened.  Seeing Curtis in a business suit, hair cut conservatively short again, and outwardly only mildly nervous, it was easy for Briscoe to get a sense of déjà vu.  This could be just another regular court date - he and Curtis testifying for one of McCoy's cases.  It kept hitting Briscoe as an unpleasant shock whenever he was reminded that this wasn't any other case.  McCoy wasn't trying to convict.  And Curtis wasn't just here to testify - he was here to defend himself from a charge of murder.  If they lost, it wasn't just going to be a waste of their time and the taxpayer's money.  Curtis would lose everything he'd worked so hard to get back and more.

And he was doing so well at home.  Briscoe had come by every two or three days, and found the family noisy and busy, but overall, functional.  Curtis still had a huge amount of work to do, but he was letting the older girls pick up more of the housework and he still had help from one of the parishioners from his church twice a week, as well as some respite care for Tania from the city.  It seemed to make a big difference.  Curtis and Serena still fought frequently, but at least now there were breaks in the hostility and the fights weren't as heart-wrenching.  And Briscoe had been back to Curtis' place late at night only twice in the last two weeks.

"All rise.  Criminal Court Part 45.  The Honourable Evelyn Greico presiding."

After the official business was conducted, Silcox made his opening statement.

"This is a simple case.  There is the defendant, Reynaldo Curtis.  He's charged with killing his mother, Estela Curtis.  Why?  Because he had the means, motive, and opportunity.  Three things that police look for in a suspect.  The means?  Estela Curtis died from a drug overdose, from a drug prescribed to Mr. Curtis' wife.  Motives?  Two.  The first: she had just changed her will and her life insurance policy and named him sole benefactor, and his family desperately needed the money.  The second:  she had Alzheimer's, and Mr. Curtis was already overburdened taking care of too many people to take on the care of an Alzheimer's patient as well.  Opportunity?  On the night of his mother's death, his whereabouts are unaccounted for, for three hours.  Plenty of time for him to kill her."  Silcox stood in front of the jury.

"Now, this week you're going to hear from a number of people who like Rey Curtis very much.  And they'll tell you all about how hard his life has been, and it is a sad story.  His wife has Multiple Sclerosis, his youngest daughter is brain damaged, he has three other young children, his family has no money, and he has been clinically depressed for a long time.  And nobody's going to ask you to not feel compassion for this man.  But while you feel compassion for him, don't forget that we're here because he has been charged with murder.  The taking of a human life.  That's not forgivable no matter how much compassion we feel for the murderer.  Because ultimately, our greatest compassion must go to his victim."  Silcox gazed at the jury for a moment, then sat down.

McCoy looked at Silcox pensively for a moment, then stood and approached the jury.  "Mr. Silcox is right, this is a simple case.  Simple, because there is absolutely nothing to tie my client to his mother's death except circumstantial evidence.  Yes, she died of a drug that was prescribed for his wife.  But Estela Curtis had access to it too.  Yes, Mr. Curtis' whereabouts are unaccounted for that night, for three hours.  But there is not one shred of evidence that he was anywhere near his mother's place during that time, and plenty of evidence that he was in no condition to commit a crime that night.  In fact, there's no real evidence that any crime was committed.  For all anybody knows, Estela Curtis' death could have been suicide.  And to convict my client of murder, you have to have just a little bit more than just means, motive and opportunity.  You have to have solid evidence."

===

Monday, December 8

6:45pm

Briscoe called McCoy later that night.  "How'd it go?"

"Pretty good.  Silcox is good, but he's hardly inspired.  Judge Greico is a prosecutor's dream in pre-trial.  She hasn't let me suppress a single thing except the Public Lewdness charge."

"That's something, isn't it?"

"Well, it helps that the jury doesn't know Rey's already pled guilty to a crime, even if it is a misdemeanor.  That would probably bias them a fair bit.  But Rita Johannes takes the stand this week and she'll probably testify about everything that happened that night anyway."

"Too bad."

"At least now that we're at trial I'm on more even footing.  Greico's a prosecutor's judge at pre-trial, but she's fair at trial."

"How's Rey?"

"Mostly OK."

"Mostly?"

"Well, the whole trial is about his character.  It's not going to be easy for Rey to sit through."

"I'd probably go back to the bottle if I had to sit through a trial about my character," Briscoe commented dryly.

"This week is slated for the prosecution - their forensic and police witnesses, the bartender at Rosario's, Rita Johannes, then their character witnesses.  We won't be up until at least the middle of next week.  I'd like to meet with you and Rey on Saturday, to talk about whether we'd like you to take the stand or not."

===

Wednesday, December 10

11:45pm

"Mr. Curtis?"  Curtis turned around, surprised to find Rita Johannes hesitantly facing him in the hallway outside the courtroom.  She fiddled with her bracelets, looking very nervous.

"Ms. Johannes," Curtis greeted her uncertainly.  McCoy looked from one to the other, reflecting that the last time they were in each other's presence they were probably a hell of a lot less formal than this, as well as heavily intoxicated.  You couldn't tell from looking at them - they looked as proper as young parents at a Sunday school play.

"It's OK?  Can I talk to him now?" she asked McCoy.  He glanced at Curtis, who was visibly uncomfortable.  Curtis shrugged, acquiescing.

"Your testimony's done.  There's no legal reason you can't," McCoy said.  He raised his eyebrows at Curtis, seeing if Curtis wanted him to stay.  Curtis nodded.

"Mr. Curtis, I'm real sorry about what I said."

"That's OK.  You just told the truth," he said quietly.

"I woulda said you left later, but my roomie, she got home right after you left.  She woulda said I was lying."

"That's OK, I couldn't ask you to perjure yourself."

"And I didn't know you was a cop neither when I gave you the weed.  I asked and you said you wasn't," she reminded him.

"Did I?"

"You don't remember that night real good, yeah?"

"No.  I'm sorry, I don't." he said apologetically.

"That's OK.  Your mom died, I guess you woulda forgot anything else," she said kindly.

"Yeah."

"Plus you was pretty wasted."

"I remember that part," he said ruefully.  "And it helps, you saying that in court.  Helps to show I wasn't in any shape to commit a crime that night."

"Yeah, no way you coulda done anything that night after you left," she laughed.  She sobered and regarded him seriously.  "You was real sweet though.  Real gentleman, not like some assholes I take home.  They just wanna get off, they don't care nothin' about the girl, you know?"

"Uh..." Curtis was fiddling with his wedding band, clearly uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation and probably wishing he'd asked McCoy to leave.  She noticed and smiled at him gently.

"Anyway.  I just wanted to say sorry too, for telling that cop about the bar thing.  He scared me."

"Yeah.  That's OK.  He's a scary guy," he smiled at her reassuringly.

"He wanted me to say you asked and you paid me, like I was some whore.  But I didn't."

"Thanks."

"I ain't a whore."

"No."  There was an awkward pause.

"They didn't charge me," she said suddenly.  "For goin' down on you at the bar, I mean."

"That's good."

"How come they charge you and not me?  I told them it was my idea."

"Just to try to make me look bad during the trial.  Don't worry about it."

"I'm real sorry.  I didn't mean to make trouble for you."

Curtis shrugged.  "I could've said no.  It's not your fault."

"I'm real sorry, Mr. Curtis.  Hey, that your wife?"  Curtis looked behind him and saw Briscoe pushing Deborah's wheelchair out of the courtroom.  He nodded.  "OK, I better go.  You're a real nice guy, Mr. Curtis.  She's a lucky lady."  She tossed her hair back, then walked off with a final smile at him.  Curtis watched her leave, chewing his lip pensively, then turned without a word and went to join his wife.

===

Saturday, December 13

9:15am

Briscoe knocked on Curtis' door.  Normally there was a hubbub of activity in the morning, but today the apartment seemed quiet.  Briscoe suppressed a grimace of irritation - damn, he'd been working last night and he'd forgotten this was Saturday and normal people often slept in.  Then again, now that Tania was back it didn't seem likely that Curtis would be allowed to sleep in, since the little girl was erratic in her sleeping patterns and needed supervision from the moment she woke up until she fell asleep again.  The door opened.

"Isabel?  Where's your Daddy?"

"I dunno.  I just woke up and he ain't here."

Briscoe felt his heart sink.  Curtis had been doing well despite the trial, and as far as Briscoe knew, he hadn't gone out or done anything else untoward in weeks.  And as far as Briscoe knew, he was still trying to convince Deborah to leave the nursing home and rejoin the family.  Could he be reacting that badly to the trial?  Could he have gone out last night?  Could he have left the girls all alone?

"Is your aunt staying here?"

"No."

"Any grownup with you girls?"

"Yeah, Mommy came to visit last night and she said she was gonna stay till after breakfast today.  But I dunno where Daddy is, he wasn't on the couch."

Briscoe nodded, relieved.  "He probably went out for milk or something," he followed Isabel into the silent apartment.

"Maybe Mommy knows," Isabel went to the back of the apartment and opened the door to her mother's room.  She stopped short.

"Oh.  He's in here."

Briscoe's eyebrows went up and he looked into the bedroom.  Curtis and his wife were deeply asleep, he on his back and she on her side.  Her head rested on his shoulder and her right arm was draped across his bare chest, his own right arm holding her close.  Briscoe felt his mouth drop open.  At that moment the other bedroom door opened and Serena came out.  "Isabel?  Somebody at the door?" She rubbed her eyes blurrily.  Isabel pointed to Briscoe.

"Hi Uncle Lennie," Serena said, in the closest approach to a civil tone that Briscoe had heard from her yet.  Maybe she needed to be fully awake for her caustic nature to emerge.  Olivia appeared behind her, yawning and pulling a robe on over her nightgown.  She stepped past Serena, glanced at the other open bedroom door and went to pull it closed, turning to say hello to Briscoe.  Then she did a double take and looked into the bedroom.

"Daddy's sleeping in Mommy's bed," Isabel informed Serena.  Serena frowned at her and looked into the bedroom, then traded a startled glance with Olivia.  Curtis, unaware of the stir he was causing, sighed deeply in his sleep, turned towards Deborah and caressed her shoulder with his free hand.  She murmured and snuggled closer to him so that they were embraced tightly, heads close together.  Briscoe was struck by how peaceful and childlike they both looked in sleep, faces content and free of the strain and weariness both so often wore during the day.  It also occurred to him that they were all intruding on a very private scene.  Tania suddenly wailed in the other bedroom.

"Shit.  Go get her.  Keep her quiet," Serena hissed at Olivia as she closed the bedroom door quietly.  Olivia quickly entered the girls' bedroom and picked up Tania, whispering soothingly to her.  From Deborah's bedroom, they heard Curtis' sleepy voice saying something to Deborah, and the sound of him sitting up in bed.

Serena called out quickly, "It's OK, Dad, we got her.  Go back to sleep."

"Serena?"

"Esta bien, Papa.  Estamos todas despiertas, no se preocupe por Tania.  Duermase."

"Gracias," Curtis' voice came back after a brief hesitation.  They heard the sound of the bed creaking as he lay back down, and Deborah's voice asking him something.  He answered and there was a pause, then a low laugh from Deborah answered by another from Curtis.

As of one mind, everybody moved into the living room and away from the bedroom door.  Serena and Olivia looked at each other in amazement as Olivia cuddled the baby.

"Uh... does anybody want breakfast?" she asked.  "Uncle Lennie, how come you're here?"

"You know, it doesn't seem that important any more," he said.

"Yeah, no kidding," Olivia shook her head.  She smiled uncertainly and looked at Serena, who shook her head in wonder and started to get herself breakfast.

"I'll get going - you let your dad know I was here, OK?  Tell him to give me a call when he gets up.  We're supposed to meet with Jack today."

"Oh, you don't hafta leave, Uncle Lennie.  He never really goes back to sleep after he's awake, plus he got a ton of stuff to do today.  He'll probably be up in a half hour, tops."

The girls busied themselves getting dressed and getting breakfast and Olivia changed the baby.  Briscoe chatted with Olivia and Isabel, and nobody mentioned the fact that Curtis and Deborah had apparently spent the night together.

About twenty minutes later, Curtis came out of the bedroom, barefoot, in faded jeans, pulling on a shirt and yawning.  He stopped short at the sight of Briscoe in his living room.  "Lennie?" he rubbed his eyes and yawned again.  "What are you doing here?"

"I uh... I thought you'd be awake, sorry, I just wanted to talk to you about me testifying before we met up with Jack."

"Oh," Curtis went into the kitchen to make himself coffee.  His daughters' eyes followed him, Olivia and Serena glancing at each other surreptitiously but not saying anything.  Isabel, sensing something was going on, looked from her father to her sisters to Briscoe.

"How come you were sleeping in Mommy's bed?" she asked.  Serena swatted her on the shoulder quickly and Isabel gave her a puzzled scowl.  Curtis, a bit embarrassed, cleared his throat.

"It is my bed too, Isabel," he pointed out.

 "Yeah but you never sleep there when Mommy's home," Isabel said, innocently curious.

Olivia grabbed her arm.  "Here, play with Tania for a while.  I'm gonna go make breakfast for Mom and Dad."  She leaned closer to Isabel and whispered something.  Isabel gave her father a puzzled glance and moved to take Tania.

"Daddy, how come you wasn't - weren't on the couch?" she persisted, as he entered the living room again.

Serena made an impatient sound.  "He don't have to explain himself to you," she said rudely.  Curtis looked at her, one eyebrow raised.  She looked at him and said, "Sorry, but you don't."  Curtis traded a glance with Briscoe, amused at the sight of Serena coming to his defense.

"It's OK, Serena."  He turned back to Isabel.  "Believe it or not, married people do sometimes sleep in the same bed," he said to her gently and took a sip of his coffee.

"Then how come you never used to?  Not since I was really little, anyway."

"Because Mommy was sick and we thought it would be better for her to have a bed to herself.  We just decided it would be nice for me to sleep there too last night.  It's no big deal," he told the room at large, looking down into his coffee cup.

"Is Mom coming back to stay?"  Serena blurted.  Curtis shrugged.

"I hope so.  You'll have to ask her," he said.  He quickly corrected himself.  "Actually, don't.  Don't put pressure on her, OK?"

"But I thought..."

"I know.  I hope so, Serena, but one night doesn't erase years of problems.  It's not that simple.  You know your mom and I have a lot of things to work out.  Now, can we talk about something else please?" he asked her gently.  She frowned at him and he relented briefly.  "Serena, I'm sorry but some stuff is just between me and your mom.  I know you're curious and I know you want her back as much as I do.  I'd like to tell you everything is gonna be OK, but I don't wanna give you false hope.  I'm just trying to be up front with you."

"OK."  He looked at her, not wanting to shut her down, not knowing what to do to keep the fragile peace between them.

"Thanks for taking the baby so we could sleep in a bit this morning.  That really meant a lot to me."  She looked up and regarded him seriously.  He smiled at her tentatively.  "We OK?"  She nodded.

Deborah's voice called out from the bedroom and Curtis put his cup down and went to get her.  A few minutes later he wheeled her into the living room.

"Hi Lennie," she said sleepily.  Curtis had told Briscoe once that Deborah was one of those people who are never really conscious until they've had a strong coffee.

Curtis brought her a cup of coffee from the kitchen, and she smiled her thanks.  He started to move back to the kitchen.  She touched his hand, he looked back at her questioningly, and their eyes met.  They shared a hesitant smile and she tugged on his hand.  He stepped closer to her wheelchair and she tilted her head up, pulling him slightly until he drew closer, bent down to her level and rested his forehead against hers.  They looked down at their clasped hands and she gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek before releasing him.  He drew in his breath involuntarily and smiled shyly back at her, then squeezed her hand and straightened up, going back to the kitchen to get their breakfasts.  The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds, but the three older girls had stood stock-still and openmouthed.  Briscoe stifled a smile at their expressions.

After breakfast, Curtis gathered up his things.  "OK, Olivia, you're in charge of Tania, I'm gonna be out for about an hour with Jack and Lennie and then do my pickup and delivery at John Jay.  Deborah, should I call the home, have them send out the van for you?" he asked casually, not looking in her direction, putting his papers in his briefcase.

"Um, I was thinking of asking the social worker to bring my meds here, for the weekend... would that be OK?" she answered in the same casual tone.

"Yeah, that would be fine," Curtis replied, snapping his briefcase together.  Serena picked up a paper he'd missed and brought it to him.

"Way to go, Dad," she said, sotto voce.  Curtis looked up at her, a bit startled, and met her smile.  He flashed her a grin that lit up his dark features and reached out to chuck her under the chin.

"It's just for the weekend, Serena.  Don't pressure her," he reminded her in a low voice as he stood up.

"I won't, I won't," she smiled back.

===

"So... I take it there's a chance Deborah might move back in?" Briscoe probed gently once they were on their way to meet McCoy.  Curtis cleared his throat and glanced at him.

"Yeah, I think so.  I hope so."

"Things going well?"

"Uh... yeah," he said as a shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Briscoe couldn't resist.  "You're blushing."

"I am not," Curtis' smile widened despite himself.

"Then you got a pretty good sunburn going.  In December."

"Lennie, this is a little too sensitive for me, OK?  Back off," Curtis warned him, still grinning.

"OK, OK," Briscoe relented.  He smiled as he looked for a parking spot.  "I didn't mean to intrude this morning - I just thought you'd already be awake.  You usually are by that time."

Curtis shrugged good-naturedly and looked out the window.  "I know.  I don't mind.  I do wonder though, what it would be like to have a love life that isn't on display for all my friends and family to talk about," he mused.

"I'm just happy for you, Rey.  Your girls are too."

"Yeah.  Me too," he nodded as he looked out the window.  He cleared his throat.  "I'm trying not to raise my hopes though."

"A little hope is not a bad thing."

"It can be," he said quietly.

===

"Want me to get you guys coffee and doughnuts while Jack fills you in?" Curtis asked.  The other two nodded and McCoy unobtrusively passed him a five to cover the expense.  He and Briscoe had become adept at not making a big deal out of the fact that whenever they ate out, they made sure Curtis didn't pick up the tab.

Curtis went to get their coffees and McCoy looked at Briscoe with amused curiosity.  "What's he looking so chipper about?"

"Oh, he had a date last night..." McCoy's eyebrows went down in disapproval, and Briscoe finished, chuckling, "... with his wife."  McCoy's eyebrows climbed back up.

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not.  I went to his place this morning and they were sleeping in the same room.  Shocked the hell out of his daughters."

"I bet.  No wonder he's in such a good mood.  But I thought his wife's MS-"

"Hey, I didn't get a play-by-play on what they did last night, and I don't wanna know," Briscoe cut McCoy off, holding up his hands.  "It's none of our business.  Poor guy has little enough privacy as it is."  McCoy nodded in agreement.

Curtis returned with their coffee and doughnuts, and passed McCoy's change back to him.  He sat down and bit into his doughnut hungrily, then looked from Briscoe to McCoy.  "Wha?" he mumbled suspiciously, mouth full.

"Nothing, nothing.  Lennie, here's my notes so far."

Curtis swallowed and turned to Briscoe.  "OK, has the gossip train made the morning run already?"  Briscoe smiled sheepishly.  "What are you, in junior high?"

"Sorry, Jack just wanted to know why you were in such a good mood."

"Is it that noticeable?" he asked McCoy, a little embarrassed.

"Yeah, it is," McCoy smiled back at him.

Curtis took a sip of his coffee and nodded.  "Fine, fine.  Now that everybody knows I spent the night with my wife, let's talk about Lennie's testimony."

They started to go over all the pros and cons of calling Briscoe in as a witness.  On the one hand, he might make a good character witness in many respects.  On the other hand, he had been there for many of Curtis' low points and if questioned, some of those low points could come out.  In addition, if he took the stand Briscoe's character could be called into question as well, and his own record was less than spotless.

As they talked, McCoy observed Curtis' manner as he had been doing since he'd taken on the case.  He realized that he now had no qualms about putting Curtis on the stand, any more than he had when they had worked together.  The only concern now was whether it would make sense for him to take the stand, considering the kind of cross-examination he would open himself up to.

Briscoe also observed Curtis, reflecting that he hadn't seen Curtis in this good a mood in a long time.  He looked years younger, at peace somehow, and every so often he would get a faraway look in his eyes and smile slightly for no particular reason.  Love's a funny thing, thought Briscoe.  When it's going badly it can rip you apart like nothing else; when it comes back, you can be in the middle of a murder trial and still look like a little kid at Christmastime. He just hoped that the trial went well, so that Curtis wouldn't have to reconcile with Deborah just in time to be taken away from her.

===

Author's Notes: Once again, while the Spanish in the story is grammatically correct, it's probably not the actual dialect that Rey and his family would use.  I'm Chilean, raised in Canada, and I believe the character of Rey Curtis is supposed to be half-Peruvian Quechua Indian and half-Caucasian, raised in the States, like the actor who plays him.  And Deborah's a Pequot.  So some of the vocabulary and syntax used in his family might be a little different.

For those obsessive enough to need to know (like Kalio:), here are the Spanish-English translations:

"Papa, Isabel tuvo una-"
"Dad, Isabel had a-"

"Esta bien, Papa.  Estamos todas despiertas, no se preocupe por Tania.  Duermase."
"It's OK, Dad.  We're all awake, don't worry about Tania.  Go to sleep."

"Gracias," Curtis' voice came back after a brief hesitation.
"Thanks," just in case it wasn't blindingly obvious.