It Might Not Be A Pretty Picture

by Cirocco

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

9. Purgatory

Chapter 9: Purgatory

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

Feedback gratefully appreciated at

ciroccoj2002yahoo.com

Wednesday, December 24
9:56pm

McCoy entered St. Ignacio's Church and found it filled, candles and incense burning and a full congregation celebrating the end of Early Mass on Christmas Eve.  He stayed at the back of the church, not really following the Mass since it was in Spanish, but getting the gist of it.  It was pretty much the same pattern as Christmas Mass at his own church.  He tried to remember when was the last time he'd gone to church... was it October?  No, the leaves hadn't turned yet... oh, September, second Sunday in September, that was it.  Right after the Kwon case.  Had to stop working through Sundays.

"El Señor este con ustedes," intoned Father Morelli.

"Y con tu Espíritu," chorused the congregation.

"El Señor todopoderoso los bendiga, El Padre, y El Hijo, y El Espíritu Santo," Morelli blessed them.

"Amen," the congregation replied, crossing themselves, McCoy adding his own soft "Amen," and crossing himself as well.

"El Señor nos ha liberado del pecado. Vayan en paz," Morelli inclined his head towards them, and towards the altar.

"Demos gracias a Dios," the congregation murmured as the priests and altar servers began the procession out.

The congregation started putting on their winter wear and preparing to leave.  McCoy stayed in the church as it slowly emptied, thinking, looking at the statues and stained glass windows, the Stations of the Cross, the altar.  Looked at the people staying behind to pray, some at the pews, others at the statues of the Holy Family, some going into the confessionals.  Pretty busy for this time of night, but then, it was Christmas Eve.  Morelli would undoubtedly be extremely busy as well, but McCoy didn't plan on taking much of his time.

He lit a candle, crossed himself and said a brief prayer, as always a little surprised at himself that he, a rational and not terribly introspective or spiritual person, still found comfort and solace in the rituals of his youth.  Still believed in them to some extent.  Still occasionally prayed for guidance, as he was doing now.

Finally he made his way to Father Morelli's office and knocked.  Morelli was there with two other priests, and he looked at McCoy with initial annoyance, quickly replaced with subtle apology.

"Father, can I have a moment of your time please?" McCoy said, part of him inwardly amused at the deferent tone that still crept into his voice of its own volition in the presence of clergy, even after all these years.  Once a Catholic schoolboy, always a Catholic schoolboy.

"Yes, of course, Mr. McCoy.  Es el abogado de Reynaldo Curtis," he said to the other two priests, indicating the door.  The two priests nodded and left quickly, one of them raising his eyebrows and pointing to his watch as he left.  Morelli nodded at him and closed the door.

"Sit down, please, Mr. McCoy.  I'm sorry, I don't have much time, this is a busy night as you must imagine.  Midnight Mass starts in just a few hours."

"Yes, Father, this won't take long," McCoy said.  He reflected that the last time he'd talked to Morelli, he'd ended up absolutely convinced that Morelli had known that Estela Curtis had planned to commit suicide.  He wasn't so sure any more, but still needed to scratch the itch of curiosity.  Still needed to do what he could to help Curtis.

"Father, you know why I'm here," he began.  "You know more than you've said about Estela Curtis' death."

"And I told you that I couldn't-"

"Confirm or deny, yes, we've been over that.  You do know that Rey pled guilty this morning?"

Morelli nodded in disappointment.  "He chose to take a deal.  He chose to commit perjury in exchange for less time.  That's his choice.  Even if I knew anything, I couldn't break my commitment to Estela Curtis and to the priesthood in order to bail him out of the consequences of his actions, no matter how much I might want to.  Perjury..." Morelli shook his head, "it's a serious sin.  As bad as anything else he's done in the last few years."

McCoy narrowed his eyes at Morelli.  "You're still judging him, aren't you?  You're still punishing him for not behaving the way you think he should."  Morelli glared at him, affronted.

"He didn't perjure himself just to serve less time.  The police were going to finger Serena for the crime, and she would have been convicted."  Morelli's eyes widened in surprise.  "There's plenty of circumstantial evidence that points to her.  Rey committed perjury to save his daughter," he paused to let that sink in, then continued.  "You're the only one that can prove that they're both innocent, and you're hiding behind your collar, still judging him."  Morelli looked away from him.  "And he's not the only one who's suffering for it.  Serena, and Olivia and Isabel and Tania, will be raised by the foster care system.  Deborah will be cared for by strangers, away from her daughters, away from her husband.  You're punishing all of them."

"I'm not punishing anybody.  Confession is sacred.  I can't break that.  It's not a matter of choice or punishment."

"Like hell."  Morelli frowned at him in admonition at such poor language in a church.  McCoy locked eyes with him, putting together Morelli's reaction to Curtis' plea and his reaction to McCoy saying that Serena had been under suspicion too.  He tossed aside for the moment his own certainty of a few days ago that Serena was responsible, his own small doubts of Curtis's innocence, and went with his gut.

"She told you she was thinking of committing suicide."

Morelli frowned in irritation, but behind the irate expression McCoy caught a glimpse of guilt.  Suddenly he got a hunch and decided to follow it.  "Estela Curtis didn't just tell you she was thinking of committing suicide, she told you how," he said slowly.  Morelli flushed.  McCoy felt his heart skip a beat.

"She told you, didn't she?  She told you she was going to poison herself with Methotrexate and alcohol."

Morelli pressed his lips together.

"I cannot confirm or-"

"Get yourself another line, Father!" McCoy was suddenly furious.  "She told you that she was going to take the exact substances that were found in her system.  You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she committed suicide."  He came closer to Morelli, glaring at him.  Morelli opened his mouth to deny his accusations, then seemed to deflate.  He sat down and put his head in his hands, giving in.

"You don't understand.  She was a very simple woman.  She didn't realize it could be traced.  She was brilliant when it came to mathematics, accounting, things like that, but... Estela always had... sort of patches of innocence to her.  Rey never talked to her about his work because she just didn't understand any of the scientific aspects of it."

"Did you tell her?  Did you tell her that if she took that medication Rey would be blamed?" McCoy pressed, feeling the unreality of the situation.  A priest revealing a confession... despite the fact that he'd pushed for this, it still felt very wrong.  Once a Catholic schoolboy, always a Catholic schoolboy, he thought again.

"No," Morelli's voice was filled with regret.  "I didn't think it was necessary, I didn't think she would really do it.  I just told her it would be a sin to kill herself.  Told her that her immortal soul would be damned forever," Morelli closed his eyes in pain.  "She was worried about Rey.  Her memory problems were much more serious than she allowed him to see - she wasn't far from needing to move in with him and his family.  She knew she would become just one more problem for him to deal with, and she worried that that would break him," he shook his head in sorrow.

"She knew everything that was going on in his life, and it broke her heart.  She knew that he and Deborah fought all the time, he was about to lose his job, his family had no money left, he was losing his temper with the girls on a daily basis... she knew about Serena's troubles, she even knew that he was breaking his marriage vows and taking drugs.  She was so upset about it... she loved him, and she didn't know how to help him.  She was afraid he might hurt the girls or Deborah, or even commit suicide."

"What did you tell her?"  McCoy prodded gently, afraid that at any moment Morelli might clam up.

"I told her he would never think of doing anything like that.  I told her that God never gives us more than we can bear, that he was strong enough to take care of all of them if he just prayed and followed God's teachings."

McCoy drew in his breath.  Oh, god.  "What did she say?"

"She apologized for her sinful thoughts.  Made an Act of Contrition.  She didn't bring it up again," he covered his eyes.

"When did she confess this to you?"

"About a week before she died.  She came in for confession the day she died too, early in the afternoon," he put his head in his hands.  "I should have known," he whispered.

McCoy looked at Morelli speculatively.  "You have to come forward," he said firmly.

"No.  I can't."

"You've already told me-"

"Because you already knew.  If you reveal what you guessed or what I told you, it wouldn't stand up in court, it would be uncorroborated hearsay."

McCoy raised his eyebrows.

"I looked it up.  Without my testimony, you can't use any of this.  And I won't testify," Morelli gathered himself, a mask of priestly distance erasing the very human sorrow and guilt he'd shown in the last few minutes.  "This discussion is over.  Now if you don't mind, I have to get ready for Midnight Mass."

===

Sunday, December 28
10:45am

"Oh my god," breathed Olivia, echoing what the rest of them were thinking.  As the guards escorted the chain of tan-clad inmates into the Sing Sing family visiting area, they could see a large white bandage wrapped around Curtis' left forearm and a dark bruise along his cheekbone.  He grimaced at them ruefully and said, "I'm OK, I'm OK."  He waited while the guard unlocked him from the chain and uncuffed his hands.  As soon as the guard was done with him and moved on to the next inmate, he held out his arms and the girls rushed to hug him.  He bit back an involuntary "Ow!" as Isabel squeezed him tight, then squeezed her back. "Hey, I'm OK.  Sorry I didn't get a chance to warn you before you came to visit, but I don't have phone privileges yet.  I got hurt yesterday, that's all.  Nothing to worry about."

"What happened?" asked Lisa.

"Nothing, nothing.  Segregation's full right now, so I'm in the General Population for a bit till a space opens up in Seg.  I met up with a guy I put away.  He let me know what he thought of me," he smiled ruefully, rubbing his wrists absently where the cuffs had chafed them.

"Oh my god," Olivia repeated.

"It's nothing, I'm fine.  Couple stitches, that's all," he said dismissively, smiling at her and ruffling her hair.

"Rey-" Deborah began.

"I'm fine, OK?" he repeated, his eyes warning her not to ask any more.  She stared at him, hard, and dropped it.

"So how is everybody?" he pulled Tania onto his lap, being careful of his bandage, and gave her a kiss and a squeeze.  She squealed and hugged him back, laughing.  The other girls slowly started to come out of their shock at seeing him hurt, and started to tell him about their Christmas.  He listened, seeming happy in their presence and eager to hear all about what they had been doing in the last few days.  The adults traded worried glances but followed his lead, since he obviously didn't want to discuss what had happened the day before.

As visiting hours neared a close, Curtis pulled McCoy aside.  "Jack, can you stay after they're gone?" he asked in a low voice.  "I need to talk to you in private.  The guard said lawyers can stay a few minutes extra while he does paperwork."

"Sure, no problem," McCoy replied.  "We came in two separate cars.  I was planning on staying to discuss some things with you anyway."

"Are you going to tell him what happened yesterday?" Deborah asked, overhearing them.  Curtis hesitated for a moment, then nodded.  "Then I'm staying," Deborah said firmly, brooking no argument.

"Deborah, there's no need.  You already know what happened, this is just putting it into legalese," he said lightly.

"Then there's no reason I shouldn't stay, right?"

"You can't though - he said only lawyers."

"Then we'll send the girls out a few minutes early, I'll stay until visiting hours are actually over, then Jack can take me back to the others and come back for whatever it was he was going to talk to you about."  Curtis blew out his breath in annoyance, giving in.  They started to get the girls ready to go, and Curtis embraced them all, promising to call as soon as he got phone privileges and reassuring them that he was fine.  Lisa and Briscoe left, taking the girls with them and leaving McCoy and Deborah behind.

"All right, what really happened?" Deborah demanded as soon as the girls had left.

"Deborah, please.  You don't need to be here for this.  Let it go, OK?" he pleaded.

"No.  How can you say that?"

He met her gaze, frustrated with his inability to get her to back off.  "Because it was my own fault and I don't want you worrying about me.  I won't get hurt like this again.  OK?  Please."

"What happened?  What do you mean, it was your own fault?"

"I wouldn't have been hurt if I had done what I was supposed to do.  It won't happen again, I won't be in Gen Pop for long and while I'm there I won't get into this kind of situation again."

"What happened?  What were you supposed to do?" Deborah was growing increasingly agitated.  McCoy suddenly had a sinking feeling that he knew what had happened and put his hand on her arm, trying to calm her and get her to drop the subject.

Curtis took a deep breath.  Then he set his jaw, turned to face Deborah squarely, and took her hands in both of his.  He looked at her steadily for a few moments, then said quietly, "Deborah.  I'm an ex-cop in prison.  You need me to connect the dots for you?"

Deborah stared at him in growing dread.  "What were you supposed to do?" she whispered.

"An inmate I put away a few years ago recognized me, grabbed me, put a shiv, a blade, to my throat and said 'suck me off.'" Deborah gasped but Curtis continued without pausing for breath.  "I fought him.  He wound up with a couple bruises, I got stitches and spent the night in the infirmary.  End of story."

"Oh my god," she covered her mouth with her hands.

"It won't happen again."

"What do you mean, it won't happen again!  You could be killed!"

"Not if I cooperate, no," he held her gaze.  Her eyes widened.

"How can you say that?" she whispered.

"I can defend myself against one unarmed person, but a man with a knife or more than one person will eventually win or kill me.  I can't take that chance."  He took a deep breath.  "Look, I'm not saying this is no big deal, because it is.  But you used to work at a sexual assault crisis centre.  Victims, women and men, they go through hell but they live.  I'm not saying I'm not scared.  The thought of somebody using me like that," his voice roughened and he stopped.  He swallowed and closed his eyes, then steadied himself and continued. "Even as close as I came yesterday, I've been shaking all day.  But the thought of the girls not having a father at all, never being with you again, dying here?  That scares me more.  I'd rather survive it and live to be with you again than die trying to prevent it.  Alive is better."

Deborah stared at him, too horrified for words or tears.  Then she looked at McCoy, his grim expression confirming what her husband had just said, and made a sound like a sob in her throat, closing her eyes.

"Deborah?" Curtis said softly.  She hugged herself and shook her head, unable to speak.  He crossed his arms, mouth set in a grim line and eyes downcast.  Finally she looked at him and reached for his hand.  He gripped her back, hard, and met her eyes.  She slowly reached out and stroked his cheek, and he closed his eyes and sighed.  She drew him close.

"What can I do?  I feel so helpless."

"You feel helpless?" he said bitterly.  She winced.

"What can I do?"  He shook his head, and they held each other in silence for a few more minutes until the guard called out that visiting hours were over.  The other families had started to leave the area, and most of the other inmates lined up and were quickly frisked, cuffed and led away.  Curtis and one other inmate were staying behind, the other man obviously also with his lawyer.  Curtis and Deborah let each other go reluctantly and McCoy started to wheel her out of the visiting area.

"I'll be right back," he told Curtis.  Another visitor, an elderly black woman, looked over at them.

"She just going to the parking lot?" she asked McCoy.

"Yes."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll take her, that's where I'm going too," she said cheerfully, smiling at Deborah.  She waved at the inmate she'd been visiting as he was led out of the room, and took hold of Deborah's chair.  "First time here, honey?" she asked as they left the visiting area.

===

Curtis watched Deborah leave, then turned to McCoy.  "Jack.  Please, get me into Seg.  I can't stay in Gen Pop."

"I'm trying-"

"Try harder, OK?"  Curtis finally let his casual attitude drop, and there was stark fear in his eyes as he continued. "I don't know if I can survive Gen Pop.  Never mind that there's a bunch of guys that want me on their dance card, which is scaring the hell outta me, I think one of them will probably kill me.  Besides... I know it's the only way I have a hope in hell of surviving in here, but I'm not sure I can cooperate.  I - I panicked yesterday."

"You better tell me what happened."  Jack took out a notebook, realizing that he wasn't going to get a chance to talk to Curtis about Father Morelli.

"Yeah, OK."  Curtis leaned back in his chair and gathered his thoughts.  "I went to the cafeteria at lunch time.  We were being moved back to our cells when another inmate spotted me."

"Name?"

"Gonzalez.  Rico Gonzalez.  We were passing by some stairs, there weren't any guards around.  He shoved me outta the line-up and against the wall, under the stairs, with my face to the wall.  Before I even knew what was going on, he had his shiv out."

"What was the shiv made of?"

"Sharpened and serrated piece of hard plastic, white.  He held it to my throat, grabbed my hair, pulled my head back.  He told me he remembered me, that I put him away."

"Did you remember him?"

"Barely.  Long time ago.  He told me if I fought him I would wanna die before he was done with me.  He was holding my head in place, right arm over my chest, shiv right up against my artery, left side of my throat."  Curtis mimed the movements, eyes focused inwardly as he tried to recount the relevant details as if it was a crime scene - which it was.

"I could feel it almost cutting me.  He had his hip up against me, too, pushing me against the wall.  He - uh, he ran his other hand over me, over my chest and groin.  Told me not to move, and he undid his pants.  I think there were maybe three, four other guys under the stairs too, on lookout and cheering him on.  He told me to turn around slowly.  I did, and he - uh, he held the blade tighter and uh, put his, his tongue in my mouth," he grimaced in disgust and swallowed, looking a bit sick.

"Then he told me to kneel, and I did.  He was holding himself with one hand and the shiv in his other hand, up against my neck.  He said 'suck me off', and he tilted my chin up with the point of the shiv so I had to look up at his face, and he had this look, like, like he knew I couldn't do a damn thing about what he was about to do to me, and, and... I panicked."

Curtis took a deep, shaking breath.  His eyes met McCoy's and McCoy could see that he was still in the grip of what had happened, eyes slightly unfocussed.   "I could feel the blade," he put a hand up to his neck where the knife had pressed against him, "but I pulled his pants down to trip him, and pushed off his legs and got up as fast as I could, and he fell back on the floor.  He was yelling, and he slashed at me with the shiv.  I tried to get out from under the stairs, but another inmate grabbed me and threw me back at him, and Gonzalez slashed again, and that's when he cut my arm."  Curtis rubbed his arm absentmindedly, wincing as he pulled the stitches.

He shook his head and continued, "I, I don't remember much after that 'cause it all happened pretty fast.  I know I got in a couple punches but then he pushed me down to the floor, on my stomach, and then he was on top of me and he was holding the shiv to my throat and, and undoing my pants, and then the guards were there.  They pulled him off me.  The other inmates were gone.  There was blood everywhere.  If, if the guards hadn't come by when they did..." Curtis blinked rapidly.  His breath had become shallow as he recounted the story and McCoy wrote it down at a furious pace.

"Jack, I really can't stay in Gen Pop, OK?"

"OK, OK," McCoy soothed.  "I'll go straight to the Warden's office as soon as we're done here.  If they don't have room for you in Segregation, maybe they can keep you in the infirmary or something.  We'll get you out."

"OK."

"How are you feeling?"  Curtis shrugged, looking away, 'I'm fine' on the tip of his tongue.  McCoy sighed and looked at him, eyebrows raised, and Curtis closed his eyes in resignation, knowing he couldn't pretend with McCoy.

"Scared.  I keep - I keep having, like, flashbacks or something.  I keep telling myself nothing actually happened, nothing that bad, anyway - just a scuffle, I've been in worse fights.  But it - it scared the hell outta me.  I, I thought I was gonna pass out, I kinda hoped I would, when he - I - I can still feel him undoing my pants-" he stopped abruptly and sat back, shaking his head and indicating he really didn't want to talk about it.

"Did they take notes on your injuries?"

"I'm not sure.  Prison hospital, I don't know how closely they record anything.  This probably happens every day."

"OK.  We'll keep our own notes.  What does the cut look like?"

"Starts from the top of my arm near my elbow and kinda curves down to the underside, about halfway to my wrist," Curtis traced the cut through the bandage.  McCoy quickly drew a rough sketch of the cut and showed it to Curtis, who nodded.  "I musta twisted my arm when he cut, I don't remember too clearly."

"How many stitches did you get?"

"Twelve."

"And you have a bruise on your cheek.  Anything else?"

"My ribs..."

"Let's take a look."  Curtis hesitated.  McCoy suddenly realized that probably wasn't a terribly sensitive request considering what had happened.  "You don't have to.  Just tell me."

Curtis shrugged.  He untucked his uniform shirt and lifted it away from his side.  The side of his body was covered with bruises, one of them looking like a handprint.  McCoy winced, wrote a few brief notes and made another quick sketch.

"All righty, boys, time to go," the guard said cheerfully to Curtis and the other inmate in the visiting area.  "Gotta close up," he approached Curtis, beckoning the other inmate to come closer.  Curtis stood and both men held still while the guard frisked them perfunctorily, then cuffed them again.

"I'll go right to the Warden, Rey," McCoy assured him.

"Back to home sweet home, boys," the guard said, indicating that they should proceed ahead of him.  Curtis briefly closed his eyes and took a quick breath, abruptly remembering that he was going back to the cellblock and bracing himself.  McCoy watched as his posture and expression changed, as he became outwardly indistinguishable from the other hard-faced criminals he'd seen enter the visiting area, shuttering himself behind a tough expressionless façade for his own protection.  They left the visiting area with a jangle of cuffs and chains.  The door clanged shut behind them.

===

Sunday, December 28
6:45pm

"What the hell happened to him?"  Briscoe demanded as soon as he walked into McCoy's apartment.  McCoy didn't bother trying to evade him.

"Close the door," he said as he dug out the notes he'd made. He looked at them for a moment, then motioned Briscoe to sit and handed them to him.  Briscoe started to read and swore.

"Son of a bitch."

"Yeah."

"Rico Gonzalez.  I remember him.  Rey's in big trouble."

"He's in trouble anyway.  The Warden's not doing anything to protect him.  I couldn't get him to agree to put Rey in Seg, even after what happened.  He said Rey would just have to wait until a space opened up.  I got the feeling he doesn't like ex-cops."

"Maybe he can pick a fight, get thrown in the Hole.  We gotta get him outta Gen Pop."

"We have to get him out of there, period."

"How?  He pleaded guilty."

"Under duress."

"The only way you'll get that overturned is show he lied.  The only way to do that is get Father Morelli to testify.  And he won't."

"He will if we push him hard enough."

"What if Rey doesn't want you to?"

"I don't give a damn any more.  I'm not going to sit by and let him get killed for his moral scruples."  Briscoe cocked his head at him.  McCoy continued.  "If he's willing to commit perjury for his daughter and disregard that part of his faith, then I'm going to assume that he'd be willing to disregard the part of his faith that says that confession is sacred in order to save his life."

"Why don't you ask him?"

"Because if he says no, then my hands are tied."

===

Sunday, December 28
8:32pm

McCoy cornered Father Morelli as he left the evening service.

"Mr. McCoy, please leave me alone.  I am not going to break the seal of confession," he went into his office and started to close the door.  McCoy put his hand out, preventing the door from closing, and entered Morelli's office.  Morelli frowned in irritation.

"You have to.  You can't just sit by and let Rey stay in prison.  His life is in danger there and your testimony would-"

"My testimony is protected by privilege."

"Is that privilege more important than Rey's life?"

"It's... it's a matter of faith, Mr. McCoy.  I have faith that the Church's rules are just and that they must be followed even when it might be easier to break them."

"The Church doesn't ask for blind obedience, Father.  There may be rules but there's also room for common sense, compassion, and conscience.  Ultimately, you can't abdicate the dictates of your conscience just because of the rules.  Your conscience, not the rules, has be the ultimate guide to your actions.  At least, that's what the Jesuits taught me."

Morelli looked at him in surprise.  "If the Jesuits taught you then you must know that confession is sacred."

McCoy blew out his breath, more frustrated than he could remember being in a long time.  "Father, I'm not a particularly devout Catholic.  But I am a Catholic.  I went back to the faith seven years ago, when a friend of mine was killed in a car accident.  I found comfort in the Church and I found my faith again, for what it's worth."  He paused to gather his thoughts.

"This... this doesn't have anything to do with faith, with protecting something that's sacred.  Estela would have wanted you to speak up, you know she would have."  Morelli looked away impatiently.  "Not speaking up when you know she would have wanted you to, just because she's not here to explicitly tell you to... that's following the letter instead of the spirit of the law on the confidentiality of confession."

"You make your living dealing with the letter of the law," Morelli pointed out.

"You aren't supposed to," McCoy retorted.  "What you're doing... you celebrated the birth of Christ three days ago.  It's supposed to be a time to reflect on His life and His message of love and compassion, with our families and loved ones.  Rey Curtis spent Christmas in prison, for a crime he didn't commit.  His family 'celebrated' without him.  Next Christmas they'll be in foster homes around the city and Rey will very likely be dead.  What does that have to do with faith?  What does that have to do with the message Christ taught?"

Morelli stared at him.  "Yes, dead.  Cops in prison, Father - it's not a pretty picture."  Morelli looked away from him, clearly disturbed.  McCoy narrowed his eyes and leaned forward.

"Yesterday an inmate called Rico Gonzalez, whom Rey arrested a few years ago, tried to force Rey to perform oral sex on him."  Morelli blanched and sat down at his desk heavily.  "Rey resisted, and the inmate knifed him and tried to rape him.  The only reason he didn't succeed was that the guards came and pulled him off of Rey.  Rey got twelve stitches on his arm, bruised ribs...  here, have my notes," he threw a copy of his notes onto Morelli's desk.  "Merry Christmas.  Would you like me to bring you the pictures and the results of the rape kit when Gonzalez does succeed?"  Morelli stood up and backed away from him, shaking his head in denial and refusing to look at McCoy's notes.  McCoy followed him, pressing on mercilessly.

"You know what a rape kit is, Father?  They'll take scrapings from under Rey's fingernails, see if he was able to scratch any skin off his attackers trying to defend himself.  They'll try to find any of his attackers' head or pubic hair on his body.  They'll violate him again for the sake of justice by taking semen samples from his mouth and rectum to match them to however many inmates assaulted him," Morelli's face was horrified as McCoy continued forcefully, wanting to make sure Morelli understood exactly what was going to happen.  Giving him a clear mental image of the consequences of his silence.

"They'll take pictures of all of his injuries.  And if he survives, and that's a big if, they'll test him for AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases.  And get a detailed statement of what was done to him.  Rey will relive it while they do all of that, and again at trial, and probably every day for the rest of his life.  And I'll make sure you get copies of everything.  I'll make sure you're there at trial while he recounts it."

"Stop it!  That won't happen!"

McCoy stepped back slightly, giving Morelli a humourless smile.  "It might not.  Rey knows that if he resists he'll probably be killed.  He knows his best chance of survival is to cooperate, consent to his own rape, trade sex for safety.  Which I suppose is a form of prostitution.  So if he can bring himself to do it, that's what he'll do, to save his own life.  He'll be just as traumatized, but he'll live.  Will that make you feel better about leaving him to rot in there, knowing you could set him free?  Is that what you think Estela would have wanted you to do?"

Morelli stared at him, horrified.

"Dead, or a prison whore, Father," McCoy said brutally.  "It's a hell of a choice.  It's not a question of whether it will happen or not, it's only a question of how soon."

"Can't you get him transferred into protective custody?" Morelli asked desperately.

"I'm doing everything I can to get him transferred, but I can't make the Warden care!  And apparently I can't make you care either!  For all I know Rey is being beaten or knifed or raped or killed right now and you won't do a damn thing to stop it!  How is that God's will?  How is that what Estela Curtis would want for her son?" McCoy paused.

"And what the hell does it have to do with faith?"

===

Monday, December 29
3:45pm

Curtis frowned in puzzlement as he was brought into the interview room and saw Father Morelli with McCoy and Briscoe.  Morelli glanced at his bandaged forearm surreptitiously while the guard uncuffed him.  Curtis sat down at the table, looking at Morelli.  Morelli got to the point quickly.

"Rey, this morning I gave a statement to Judge Greico.  I... I broke the seal of confession and told her what your mother confessed to me before she died."

Curtis's eyes widened in astonishment, and he looked at McCoy and Briscoe.  "What?!"

"Your mother confessed to me that she was thinking of committing suicide," Curtis covered his mouth with his hand, staring at Morelli in dismay.  "She also told me how she was going to do it.  She knew about Methotrexate and alcohol.  She heard you explain to your sister that Deborah couldn't drink because she was on Methotrexate."

Curtis closed his eyes, trying to digest the priest's words.  Then he opened them and looked at Morelli.  "Father... confession is sacred.  How could you break that?"

"I had to.  I couldn't let you serve time for a crime you didn't commit."

"But-"

"Confession is sacred, Rey, but so is life.  And your life is in danger here," Morelli said.  "I couldn't stay silent if my silence could kill you.  And I know your mother would have wanted me to speak up."

Curtis looked at McCoy, his expression hard.  "Did you tell him he had to come forward?  Did you tell him what happened Saturday?"

McCoy met his gaze, unflinching.  "Yes," Curtis shook his head, anger and betrayal in his eyes.  "And I would do it again.  It's done now.  Judge Greico said she'll need a few days to make a decision."

Curtis sat back, conflicting emotions warring over his features, processing what had happened.  Morelli cleared his throat.

"Rey, I didn't just make the statement to get you out of here.  I did it because it's my fault you're in here in the first place.  Your mother... she didn't want to be yet another burden for you.  She didn't know how else to help you, she was in despair seeing what your life had become, and what had happened to you.  And that's my fault."

Curtis looked at him blankly.  "I failed you.  That prosecutor was right, Rey.  I... I was angry with you.  I blamed you for your problems, and I made them worse," he confessed shamefacedly.

"How do you figure that?" Curtis asked.

"When I first came to the parish, you and Deborah were everything that a good decent Christian couple was supposed to be.  You both volunteered at the Church, your marriage was sound, you became loving parents... I guess I just couldn't stand the fact that all of that had changed.  I... I resented you.  I blamed you.  And I let you down.  If I had shown up later, when things were already going badly for you, I would have recognized that you were doing your best, that you needed help.  As it was, the changes happened so slowly that I... I guess I never got used to it," he paused.

"The prosecutor was right, Rey.  I wanted to punish you for your failings.  I was disappointed in you so I condemned you.  You didn't fail the Church, Rey.  The Church failed you.  Or rather, I failed you.  I'm sorry."

Curtis stared at him, confused.  "What, do you want my forgiveness?  Father, you're not responsible for my actions.  I'm not a child.  And you're my priest, you're not my social worker."

"You're a member of my parish.  I made myself responsible for you.  I expected you to come to me for help.  And when you did, I didn't help you, I damned you.  I praised your guilt over your failures, and I didn't temper it with pride in your accomplishments or your perseverance.  I never pointed out the good in what you were trying to do.  Holding your family together, staying with your wife, even having Tania... I didn't even recognize that you were depressed, that you were no longer able to make good decisions, that you couldn't even ask for help any more because I had convinced you that you didn't deserve it."

Curtis gazed at him, still not sure what to think about all of this.  Morelli looked down in sorrow.  "I'm sorry, Rey.  For all the times you confessed to me and I condemned you, made you feel guilty... I was more a sinner than you were."

"You were just pointing out what I already knew, Father.  You told me I'd failed because it was true.  You don't need to apologize for that, you don't need my forgiveness."

"If I had bothered to look beyond the text of the Scriptures and read their message of compassion and understanding of human limitations, maybe you wouldn't have failed so much.  Maybe I could have helped, maybe I could have prevented some of your troubles... and if I had dealt with how your mother felt instead of just telling her that suicide was a sin, she would still be alive and her soul wouldn't be lost," he looked broken, guilt-ridden.  Curtis frowned at him and shook his head.

"Father, I'm sorry, but I don't agree with your position on suicide.  I don't believe my mother is in Hell.  I believe God's compassionate and forgiving enough to understand the despair that can lead someone to take their own life."

"It's a mortal sin.  It's throwing away the greatest gift that God gave you."

"That's your opinion, Father, not mine," he looked at his hands for a moment, then back up at Morelli.  "I... I thought about killing myself too," he admitted.  Morelli looked at him, face paling.  "I almost did, several times.  I didn't stop myself because I was afraid of going to Hell, I stopped myself because I didn't want to put my family through surviving my suicide," he paused and looked at Morelli earnestly.  "You might feel my mother's soul is on your conscience, but it's not on mine.  Her death is," he added, "but I'm not worried about her soul."

Morelli shook his head, disagreeing silently.  Curtis smiled slightly.

"I can quote catechism too, Father.  I looked it up.  The catechism says 'we should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken their own lives.'  God can forgive them too." He paused.  "I've prayed for my mother.  I knew it was possible she'd committed suicide.  I trust that she's with God."

Morelli nodded thoughtfully, not agreeing, but not arguing either.  He cleared his throat and changed the subject.  "Rey, I want to help you now, if you'll let me.  I've given my statement to the judge.  She has to think about it, but Mr. McCoy says that she'll probably acquit you."  McCoy nodded in agreement.

"Let the Church help you, Rey.  You've done enough for the Church.  We have respite care, take advantage of it.  I know Millie's been going to your house every few days informally, but we can set it up as a permanent arrangement, we can send somebody to help out three evenings a week.  We can get somebody to take Tania when she's sick, so you don't have to miss so many days of work.  We can give you some of the Church's money to help you out financially.  And if you feel like that's too much, then work off the debt by volunteering at the soup kitchen, like you used to, on Saturday evenings."

Curtis smiled slightly and said, "Come on, Father.  You want us to come so we can work off the debt, or so we can take advantage of the free meal that comes with volunteering?"

"You and your family were never too proud to join the meal at the soup kitchen when you didn't need it.  What's different now?"  Curtis thought for a moment, and nodded, acquiescing.

"What's going to happen to you now that you've revealed a confession?" he asked.

"I - I don't know.  I have to talk to my superiors, let them know... I don't know what will happen."

Curtis nodded, and there was silence.

"Rey, do you forgive me?"

"Yes," Curtis said simply.  "You're a good priest, Father.  You might not think so right now, but I do.  You care about your parishioners, you do your best for us.  So you're not perfect... you're only human.  I'll speak on your behalf if you want, if your superiors want to hear from any of your parishioners."  Morelli looked at him in gratitude.  There was another pause.

"Father, would you hear my confession?" Curtis asked him, his voice low, twisting his wedding ring.

Morelli stared at him.  "Rey, are you sure-"

"I forgive you.  You have to work out your own conscience between yourself and God, and work things out with your superiors, but I forgive you," he said.  He took a deep breath.  "I've committed perjury.  It's a serious sin and it's weighed on my conscience since I did it.  Will you hear my confession?"

Morelli hesitated for a moment, then looked at McCoy and Briscoe.  He raised his eyebrows at them, indicating that they should move away, and they moved to the other side of the small room, giving Curtis and Morelli as much privacy as they could.  Morelli nodded to Curtis, who knelt before him and crossed himself, bowing his head.

"Padre, perdoname, pues he pecado," he said softly.

As Curtis and Morelli went through his confession, McCoy and Briscoe talked in low voices about what they were going to do next.  Judge Greico had said she needed to take some time, possibly as long as a week, to ponder the legal ramifications of Morelli's testimony.  The Warden had categorically refused to get Curtis out of Gen Pop until a space opened up in Seg.  McCoy was starting to think that the only way he could get a transfer would be to intervene in an official capacity.  Maybe he could get Arthur Branch to speak to the Warden in his capacity as District Attorney, and remind him that one of his legal responsibilities included securing, as far as possible, the safety of the men incarcerated at Sing Sing.  And that he was failing grievously in that responsibility with regards to Prisoner #65B713, Rey Curtis.

===

Tuesday, December 30
9:45am

McCoy, Ross and Briscoe had started to work on Curtis's appeal, just in case Judge Greico didn't consider Morelli's testimony sufficient to overturn the verdict.  They had also started working on a formal complaint to the Department of Corrections regarding the fact that Curtis had been put into the General Population and left there in spite of an attack.  Briscoe was there mainly to help sort documents, get coffee and do miscellaneous grunt work, and because he couldn't stand to feel like he wasn't doing anything.  The phone rang and McCoy picked it up.

"Yes?" he paused.  "Yes, speaking... Yes, I'm his lawyer... Mhm... What?!" McCoy's eyes widened and he sat down heavily. "Where is he now? ... All right, I'm coming in.  I'll need to meet with the Warden immediately after I see Mr. Curtis - ... make it possible!  I'll have the District Attorney give you a call, I'm coming in my official capacity as Executive Assistant District Attorney... Thank you," he hung up and met Briscoe's eyes, feeling sick.

"Jack?" Ross asked, alarmed.

"Rey slit his wrists last night."

===

As they drove to Sing Sing, Deborah was silent, looking out the window.  Ross and Briscoe had stayed behind, working on getting in to see Judge Greico and talking to Arthur Branch about making a case against the Department of Corrections.  McCoy's mind was racing, and it kept coming back to Rico Gonzalez.  He had a sinking feeling that what had happened had to do with Gonzalez, and he cursed himself for not having been able to convince the Warden to keep Curtis in the infirmary or somehow make a space in Seg.

He couldn't believe he and Briscoe had been able to help Curtis come out of a major depression, that Briscoe had stayed up with him night after night, that he had been so close to getting Curtis acquitted, only to have everything go to hell because somehow, somebody got wind of their investigation of Serena.

And he couldn't believe that he'd convinced a priest to break the seal of confession and it still hadn't helped Curtis one damn bit, because the judge wanted to take her sweet time about the priest's testimony and the Warden had it in for ex-cops and a con with a grudge had set his sights on the man who'd arrested him.

===

Tuesday, December 30
2:32pm

McCoy barely suppressed a gasp.  Curtis lay in an infirmary bed, asleep, with an IV running into his left hand, his right hand cuffed to the bedrail.  His wrists were bandaged now as well as his forearm, and some blood had recently seeped through the forearm bandage, bright red against the blue of the hospital gown and the white of the bandages and sheets.  His face was deathly pale and unshaven, his lips dry and cracked.  Even in sleep, he looked restless.  As they approached he opened his eyes, looking at McCoy dully, eyes glassy, then he saw Deborah and gave her a wan smile.

"Hi hon," he said, voice weak.  He tried to move his hand towards her but winced as he tugged the IV line.  McCoy pushed Deborah up to the bed and she took Curtis' hand carefully.  He smiled sleepily and squeezed her fingers softly.  "Watcha doin' here?" his words were heavily slurred.

"We were told that you tried to commit suicide," McCoy said.

"Mm," Curtis nodded weakly.  He blinked groggily, trying to wake himself up.  "C'n anybody hear us?"  McCoy looked around.  There was nobody within earshot.  He shook his head.  "That's what I told 'em, but I jus' did it to get in here.  Head guard in my cellblock reeally hates ex-cops.  He been turnin' a blind eye ta everythin'," he trailed off, losing his train of thought.

"What happened yesterday?" McCoy prompted him.

Curtis blinked again and brought himself back with difficulty. "Gonzalez.  Tried ta fuck me again," Deborah caught her breath as McCoy nodded grimly.  "A guard showed up, but I knew he was gonna get me sooner 'r later an' maybe kill me if I fought him again, so I cut m' wrists so th' guards would havta bring me inta th'nfirm'ry," he paused, out of breath.  "Don' tell anybody it wan't a real attempt though, or I'm back t' th' cellblock fightin' off Gonzalez.  I don' wanna be that guy's girlfrien', I don' think he's much inta romance," he snickered.

"Where did you get the blade?"

"Oh, there's a guy in here use' ta be a cop too, in Baltimore.  I worked with 'im a few years back.  He's done it a few times - cuttin' himself.  Gave me 'is shiv.  Nice guy," he commented.

"How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm feelin' nooo pain," he breathed, "They got me drugged t' th' gills with painkillers, an' sedatives, an' aall kindsa shit.  I'm higher'n a kite.  You look like a fuckin' leprechaun from here," he told McCoy, giggling softly.  "They ha' me in five-point restraints till th' drugs kicked in.  Tha' hurt.  Man, that was a lotta blood though.  An' it wan't easy ta do it, either - had ta really brace myself," he paused for breath.  "He said I should get real drunk 'fore doin' it, make it easier, but I din' have time."  Deborah looked at McCoy in horror.

Curtis closed his eyes.  "Kinda ironic, innit?  After aall the times I thoughta slittin' m' wrists ta end my life, when I fin'ly do it, it's ta save it."  Deborah made a small involuntary sound and he looked at her, then realized what he had said.  He grimaced and closed his eyes.  "Ooh.  Shit.  You weren' s'posed ta ever, ever fin' out 'bout that," he shook his head with regret.  "Please, please don' be mad at me.  I wanted ta tell you, I jus' din' know how," he paused for breath.  "Please, don' be mad at me right now, 'kay?  Yell at me later."

She gripped his hand more tightly in both of hers, face pale, tears in her eyes.  "I'm not mad at you, Rey."  She looked up at McCoy.  "Did you know?"

McCoy nodded.  "Lennie and I both knew," he told her quietly.  "That's why we brought Skoda to see him when he was out on bail, because he was suicidal."  Deborah covered her mouth, trembling.

Curtis opened his eyes, searching her face for anger and finding only love and anguished compassion.  "'Msorry, hon," he gazed at her sadly, dazed eyes filling with tears.  She reached through the bars on the side of the bed and stroked his cheek.  "Sure wish you could stan' up right now an' hold me," he commented weakly.  He tried to move his right hand and winced in pain as the cuff cut into his wrist, even through the bandages.  "Can't even touch your face," he shook his head in frustration.

"Rey... my god..." she choked.

"Better me than S'rena though.  She OK?"

"Yeah, she's OK."

"OK.  Then it's worth it," he closed his eyes and sighed.  "I miss you though.  I wish... I wish you could hol' me.  I wish we'd a been closer th' las' coupla years."  Deborah sobbed once and he opened his eyes and gave her a weak smile.  "Don' cry hon.  M'okay while you're here."

"You're going to be in the infirmary for a few days.  You're on suicide watch, so none of the inmates can get to you.  I'm sure the judge will make her ruling soon," McCoy tried to reassure him, but quickly realized Curtis couldn't really follow what he was saying.  Curtis gripped Deborah's hand tighter and tried to focus his eyes on her.

"Deb'ra.  Don' go, 'kay?  Don' leave me again," he pleaded with her.  He seemed very disoriented, having a lot of trouble staying grounded.

"I'm right here.  Jack's here.  You're in the infirmary.  You're safe."

"'Msafe if you're here," he drifted off briefly, then his forehead creased and he opened his eyes.  He sought McCoy's face.  "Jack, get me inta Seg, please.  I can't... I can't... I can't let Gonzalez..." his eyes were pleading and his breathing became erratic, "I thought I could, I thought, it's better'n bein' killed... but I can't, he, he jus'," he drew in a deep, shaking breath, "I try an' do what he says 'cause I don' wanna get hurt, but ev'ry time, it's like I snap an' I can't stop tryin' to fight 'im off ... every time I even think of 'im touchin' me - oh-" he broke off, suddenly turning green.  "Gonna throw up-"

McCoy quickly moved forward and grabbed a plastic bowl that had been left next to the bed, probably specifically for this purpose.  He pushed Deborah's wheelchair out of the way, grabbed Curtis' shoulder and pulled him onto his side just in time to get the bowl in place.  He held Curtis' shoulder and the bowl as he heaved, and signaled to an orderly who brought a wet cloth to put on his forehead and helped McCoy steady him.  When it seemed he was finally done, McCoy let him lie back down.  The orderly wiped his face and checked that the IV and bandages were still in place, and Curtis hissed in pain.  The orderly gave McCoy a cup of water with a straw for Curtis and picked up the bowl.

"That's the cop Gonzalez is after, huh?" asked the orderly in a low voice.  McCoy looked at him, only then realizing that he was also an inmate.  "Yeah, if Gonzalez was after me I'd off myself too.  He's vicious.  Poor bastard," he shook his head and left, taking the bowl with him.

McCoy held the straw to Curtis' mouth.  "Have some water, Rey."

Curtis sipped some of the water, then moved his head back and forth on the pillow, too disoriented to really understand what was going on.  He whispered, "Deb'ra?" and McCoy brought Deborah back to his bedside.  Deborah grasped Curtis' hand again.

"Deborah, por favor, ayudame," Curtis whispered.

"Aqui estoy," Deborah said soothingly, then started speaking to him softly in Spanish, reaching through the rails on the side of the bed and stroking his forehead.  He closed his eyes and listened to her, occasionally smiling slightly at her words.  McCoy left them alone and paced around for a while, thinking about what he needed to say to the Warden to secure Curtis' transfer to Seg while they waited for Judge Greico to make up her mind.

Half an hour later, he approached the bedside again.  "We're going to have to go soon, Rey.  Visiting hours are almost over."

"Don' go," he said to Deborah.  She gripped his hand more tightly, shaking her head helplessly.  He sighed.  "How come I keep losin' you, Deb'ra?"  Deborah frowned at him quizzically.  "I do.  You lef' when I slep' with tha' student, an' then, then when you got MS you pretty much left again, an' then when I got arrested, and now I jus' got you back an' you gotta go again.  How come you keep leavin'?" he murmured, and his eyes closed with weariness.  "Hate losin' you.  It's like I lose part of me.  Walk aroun' like I got no soul when you're not there."  Deborah gripped his hand in both of hers, misery etched across her face.

"OK, visiting hour's over boys and girls.  Come on, out you go," said a guard loudly.

"Noo..." Curtis breathed out, holding Deborah's hand more tightly.  He focused his eyes on the guard with difficulty.  "Please, jus' letter stay a li'l bit longer, 'kay?" he asked.

"Get the hell outta here," the guard told Deborah rudely.

"C'mon, man, I won' mouth off atcha any more, jus' let 'er stay, please..." Curtis begged, his voice like a lost little boy's.  The guard grabbed Deborah's wheelchair and pulled her back.  "Hey!  Don't!!  Ow!" Curtis flinched as his IV was pulled, and let go of Deborah's hand.  "C'mon, man, let 'er stay, she's all I got, please..."

"Happy New Year, pal," the guard sneered at him as he pushed Deborah away.  Curtis' dazed eyes filled with longing as they followed Deborah's chair, then he gave a sob and closed them, exhausted from his injuries, the medication and the visit.

Deborah was silent as they left the infirmary.  McCoy looked at her worriedly, and put his hand on her shoulder.  "Deborah?"

"He's right.  I do keep leaving him.  He's been more faithful than I ever have.  I've never cheated on him... but I've left him so many times.  And he'd never leave me.  He never has," she swallowed.  "And now that I'd give anything to stay with him, I don't have a choice," she looked down into her lap.  "Jack, if he stays there much longer, he's going to die in there, and he's going to die alone and in pain," she said quietly.

===

Wednesday, December 31
3:35pm

"Rey."

Curtis opened his eyes, much clearer than the day before but clouded with pain this time instead of sedatives.  He looked at Briscoe and McCoy.

"The judge made her ruling.  She set aside the verdict," McCoy informed him.

"What's that mean?"

"You're free to go," Briscoe said gently.

"I'm free to go?"

"Yeah," Briscoe nodded.

"There gonna be another trial?"

"No," McCoy smiled.  "You've been declared not guilty.  Silcox says he won't appeal."

"What about Serena?"

"No charges are being laid against her.  Your mother's death has been ruled a suicide."

Curtis closed his eyes.  "It's over?"

"Yeah.  It's over," Briscoe told him.

Curtis lay on the bed, unmoving, just breathing deeply.  "Where's Deborah?" he finally asked.

"She's waiting for you at home.  We need to get some paperwork done here, get the infirmary to give you some prescriptions for the pain and for that forearm cut - it looks like it got a bit infected.  Then they'll give you back your personal effects and release you," McCoy explained.

"She gonna be there when I get home?"

"Yeah.  So will your kids," Briscoe added.

"She gonna stay this time?"

Briscoe felt his throat tighten.  McCoy nodded.  "I think that's a fair bet," he reassured him, his own voice unexpectedly rough.

===

Wednesday, December 31
11:52pm

As they pulled up to Curtis' building, they spotted a small crowd of people standing outside in the clear, freezing night.  McCoy looked at Briscoe, puzzled, and Briscoe checked his watch.  "Oh.  It's almost midnight."  They got out, and Briscoe woke Curtis and helped him out of the car.  They saw Curtis's older daughters come running out of the building.  Serena reached him first.

"Daddy!"  She hugged him, and he staggered a little under her embrace. The other two girls reached him a second later, and he knelt down to hug them all, stifling a cry of pain as they jostled his injuries.  He looked up and saw Deborah holding Tania on her lap and being wheeled over by Lisa.  He stood up and the older girls let him approach their mother.

"Rey.  Thank god," she reached for him and they embraced briefly, as Tania struggled between them and squealed at the sight of Curtis.  Lisa reached down and plucked her from Deborah's lap, squeezing her small form.  Curtis gave Tania a kiss and ruffled her hair as his sister held her, the cuts on his arms preventing him from lifting her.

"Let's get inside," Briscoe suggested, knowing that Curtis wasn't in any condition to stay outside for long.  The family started to troop into the building.  As they moved in, McCoy heard the crowd outside begin to chant,

"10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 Feliz Año Nuevo!  Happy New Year!"

"What happened to your wrist, Daddy?" asked Isabel.  Curtis glanced at her briefly, and met Deborah's eyes.  He shook his head dismissively.

"Nothing, sweetie.  I'll tell you some other day.  Let's just get inside."

"Hey, Dad, there's firecrackers out there!  Wanna see?" Serena asked.

"Not really, Serena, I'm a little tired."

"Yeah, they look kinda dinky," she said, turning her back on the festivities and following the rest of the family up the stairs.  "We had Chinese takeout for dinner!  We saved you leftovers - shrimp and noodles."

"My favourites!" he said and winked at her tiredly.  Briscoe helped Deborah out of her chair and he and Lisa started to help her up the stairs.

"How did you know what your mother ate for dinner the day she died, Rey?" McCoy asked as the procession slowly neared Curtis' floor.

"You mean fish and vegetable stew?" Lisa said over her shoulder as she and Briscoe supported Deborah.  Briscoe looked back at McCoy with an 'I-told-you-so' smile.  Curtis gave them both a tired grin.

"Come on, you were both raised pre-Vatican Two, yeah?  It was a Friday."

"No red meat on Friday," remembered Briscoe, nodding.

"And she always had the same thing?  Every week?" asked McCoy.

"No, once in a blue moon she had fish and rice.  I gambled that she hadn't that night."

"Did you really think that would fool me?"

"Hey, you let me plead, didn't you?"

"And the will?  Did you really know?"

"No, I didn't know," Curtis reached his floor, almost as weary as Deborah as she collapsed into her chair.  "Didn't even suspect.  Serena knew because my mother yelled it at her during a fight."

As everybody entered the apartment and removed their jackets, McCoy tripped over a toy that had been left near the couch and automatically grabbed at Curtis' shoulder to steady himself.  Curtis instantly whipped around and threw him against the wall violently, backing away from him quickly, stopping when he reached the couch.  McCoy staggered against the wall, winded, as a frozen silence fell across the room.  Curtis stared at McCoy in shock.

"Christ, Jack.  I'm sorry.  Shit," he covered his eyes.  "I didn't mean to, I, I thought-" his hand and voice shook.  The girls stared at their father, eyes wide.

"Lleva a las niñas a su pieza," Deborah said to Lisa in an undertone.  "Rey.  Sit down," she tugged at his hand, pulling him down.

"I'm sorry.  I'm sorry", whispered Curtis, hiding his face in his hands, elbows on his knees.  A spot of blood appeared on his forearm bandage and started to grow - he'd probably ripped a stitch open with that throw.

"My fault, sorry," McCoy said weakly as Briscoe supported him, wondering if anything was broken or merely bruised.  What the hell was he thinking, grabbing onto a man who'd been fighting off some vicious con's advances for the last week.  Served him right.

"It's OK," murmured Deborah, levering herself onto the couch next to Curtis with great effort.  She pulled Curtis back and drew his head to her shoulder, holding him close.  He buried his face against her neck, holding on to her tightly, and breathed in deeply, trembling.  Olivia drew closer.  Deborah glared at Lisa, "Take them into the bedroom or take them outside," she hissed.

Lisa shook her head and approached, putting her hand on her brother's bowed head and stroking his hair as the girls gathered around him, Olivia, Isabel and Tania on the floor and Serena on the couch next to him, leaning against him.  Curtis didn't look at any of them as he held on to Deborah, breath still harsh.  Then Serena said softly, "It's OK Daddy.  It's over.  You're safe now, you're home."  Suddenly his body started to shake with deep racking sobs as Deborah held him tight.

"Is Daddy crying?" Isabel asked quietly.

Lisa nodded, her own eyes brimming over.  "Daddy's gone through a lot, sweetie.  He'll be OK.  He'll just need some time."

McCoy and Briscoe glanced at each other and quietly left the apartment, leaving Curtis and his family to deal with his homecoming in private.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" McCoy asked.  Briscoe looked back.

"Yeah.  His family's with him.  He'll be OK," he said, and he closed the door.

===

Author's Notes: Spanish-English translations:

"El Señor este con ustedes."
"The Lord be with you."

"Y con tu Espíritu."
"And with your Spirit."

"El Señor todopoderoso los bendiga, El Padre, y El Hijo, y El Espíritu Santo."
"The Almighty Lord bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

"El Señor nos ha liberado del pecado. Vayan en paz"
"The Lord has freed us from sin.  Go in peace."

"Demos gracias a Dios."
"Let us give thanks to God."

"Es el abogado de Reynaldo Curtis"
"This is Reynaldo Curtis' lawyer"

"Padre, perdoname, pues he pecado," he said softly.
"Father, forgive me, for I have sinned."

"Deborah, por favor, ayudame," Curtis whispered.
"Deborah, please help me."

"Aqui estoy," Deborah said soothingly
"I'm here."

"Feliz Año Nuevo!!  Happy New Year!!"
Instant translation courtesy of NYC's bilingualism.

"Lleva a las niñas a su pieza,"
"Take the girls to their room."