As I closed the door, I could almost feel their thoughts belting me from behind that two sided mirror. Elliot stood with his arms across his chest, his face stern, looking down on me and my son, and thinking about his own family. Olivia leaned loosely on the table, looking at him, thinking: no wonder he never told us. It was a sense of intuition I could see them and hear them.

Dorian was looking up at me with his big brown eyes still blood streaked and wide.

"Hey Door." I sat down. We sat in silence, starring at each other in deadlocked silence. He had my eyes, anyone who had ever seen us both told me that. It made me think as I starred at them with the veracity of a cold hearted cop. Your eyes changed who you were, when he was younger and looked up at me with those big brown eyes, all I felt was love for him, and he knew it, could extract anything from me. Now as I looked into them, I felt hate, for him, for me, for drugs and all the people who had planted both of us in our exact situation. I looked away.

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" He tried to look confused but he wasn't fooling me.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"I could guess." He still had power, he still had spirit, I could see it in him, bubbling below the surface, getting pushed lower and lower. "Drugs." He stated.

I shook my head.

"I don't work in narcotics anymore Door. Haven't for three years." A moment of fear passed across his face, as a flashback of a dead little girl passed mine. "I work in SVU, special victims unit, sexually based offences. Your fingerprints were found at the crime scene of a raped and murdered ten year old girl." He tried to look calm as he slouched back in his chair, running his hand through his short and wiry hair.

"The daughter of Jonas Lincon." I let it sit in the air, until he finally reacted, and he did what I think anyone would have done.

"Big Linc. Do those guys in there know about Big Linc?" He pointed to the two way mirror, I could almost see them draw closer to the mirror.

I shrugged, knowing what was about to happen. I couldn't let it.

"Why don't you tell me where you were last night?" I was a cop, I could have no emotion, this was a first degree murder suspect, not my son.

He smiled. "There is a couple ladies who could tell you."

"Bullshit."

"I went to bed with one of them last night, and woke up with another this morning. But you know how that is, or you wouldn't have me, would you Dad?"

He had his chair tipped up on two legs, pushing himself lightly, displaying his track marks.

"Why don't you tell me what happened between the time when you left one and got the other." I grabbed his wrist and his chair slammed back on four legs with an echo in the small room.

"No room for bullshit, huh? You're a cop right, you get the bad guys. Am I bad guy?" Damn fucking right, I wanted to say to him.

"Yeah."

He pulled close to me. "If I am, you are. You always told me when I was younger, that you'd never lie to me. You told me everything. Why? To keep me awake at night, to scare me into submission, to keep me away from this life?" He gestured to himself. "You fucked up, you just sent me running to it."

It felt like being hit, it felt like pain. "I never kidnapped the daughter of a drug dealer, raped her, smashed her head against the wall and strangled her. I've never heard a ten year old girl crying for mercy as she's dying. You are a monster."

"How do you know? How much do you remember. How many times did you wake up struggling to remember, wondering what day it was?" Anger was bubbling in my chest, I had worked so hard to keep my life a secret.

A knock on the door. I stood up loudly, resisting the urge to knock over the table.

As I closed the door behind me, I couldn't meet their eyes.

"Fin, we just heard from the ME, there was some skin particles found in Harmony's blood. No DNA in the system, but a X match to your son." A male relative, Quentin, there could never be one without the other.

I looked up at them, and realized I was a male relative.

"Does Dorian have any brothers?" Cragen asked, although he must have remembered me answering that question not more than three hours ago.

"I don't have any other kids."

"What about your ex-wife?" I wanted to laugh in his face.

"She was never my wife. I'm pretty sure she never had any other kids, if she did Dorian wouldn't know them, she left when he was three weeks old, died when he was five. He never knew her."

"He's best friends with his cousin, Quentin, the only other male relatives are my other two nephews, but they are seven and nine."

"Quentin wasn't at the apartment when we were there." Olivia offered.

Cragen walked out into the office, and stood next to the board. "Okay, so most likely Quentin Tutuola was also there, we need to locate him, Elliot I want you to talk to Dorian, find out where Quentin might be, and also the names of his two lady friends, see if we can nail down a time. Olivia you and Elliot will go to Quentin's apartment, talk to the neighbors, find the two women. Fin can you think of anyone that Quentin might contact?"

"My mother." She knew more about everyone in the family than we ever wanted to admit.

"You and John go see her."

We headed off on our missions, John didn't speak as we trudged off to the car, but I could tell he wanted to.

"What was Dorian talking about in there? About not remembering and about women?" I wanted to jump from the car and never see anyone from SVU again. John was my partner and I hoped to God I could trust him.

"Dorian was the result of a one night stand I had, with a woman named Cherise. I was 17. I remember walking up next to her, but I don't remember anything else."

"You know you can tell me." John pushed.

I wanted to jump back to my bravado pretend nothing happened. Pretend nothing was wrong, go back to being the person who never revealed anything.

"I was just like him, or I guess he's just like me." John nodded and he knew exactly what I meant, I prayed he wouldn't dwell on it, ask for answers I couldn't know.

"You raised him by yourself, when you were 17?"

I nodded. "My mother helped, probably too much. Whenever I was working long nights, I would take him there." We pulled up to my mothers building. The front steps were I had sold drugs was still filled with black hoods with their pockets full. They yelled something at us as we walked by, probably more directed at John, the sole white man, than at me. The elevator had never worked even when I was younger. Vials cracked under our feet as we took the stairs. We passed bullet holes in the cracked plaster as we climbed seven flights up. As we emerged from the stairwell, John shot me a look. It said, you brought your kid here, when he didn't have to be? It was true, babysitters were more expensive but probably had much less consequence. I banged on the door.

"Mom, it's me."