A/N: I'm not making any promises, but I'm in a bit of a flow and would really love to finish this off. Thanks to anyone still reading and to the wonderful Amilyn for the review, I have spent many an hour chatting about this story and SVU in general with her.

CASSIDY

I make no attempt to communicate with Barba before I show up at his office not long before one in the afternoon, preferring instead to ask Carmen what time he has scheduled to leave. I know its cowardly, and I expect some pushback, but she doesn't ask any questions. I suppose I am one of his investigators, it probably doesn't seem that unusual…she just tells me he has cleared his schedule after 12:30pm. So I don't know what to expect when she announces me and leads me into his office. I'm a little later than I had intended and I dread finding him scowling at me, pointedly looking at his watch, his coat over his arm, some quip about my inability to even get here on time.

Screw-up Cassidy just cannot get anything right.

I'm surprised to find him in full work mode, shirt sleeves rolled up, jacket abandoned, but a clean desk.

Despite being such a meticulous man, Barba's workspace is always a little 'busy'. He spreads out, seemingly referencing multiple sources and files at all times, if the open books and files permanently surrounding him are to be believed. So today when he seems to be working on only one thin file, when his workspace is otherwise tidy, I find I'm slightly worried about him.

I don't seem to be the only one, Carmen glances around the office, as though she too, is looking for the clutter that usually accompanies a productive Barba.

"Coffee?" she asks him as though it were a foregone conclusion the answer would be yes.

He seems about to respond in the positive before shaking his head.

"No thank you. Why don't you take the opportunity for an early finish?"

I know that despite his acerbic nature, he respects this woman and treats her well, but when she seems taken aback, I know I have cause for concern.

She looks to me, I know I'm no favourite of hers despite our efficient and professional dealings, and I try not to laugh as she merely purses her lips and nods, when it is clear she would much rather question him, but has decided not to do so in front of me.

I stand just inside the door as Carmen makes her way out. I was never particularly comfortable with this man, so it is not like I would ever have made 'myself at home' but I cannot deny there is already a tension between us.

He has stopped working, and is sitting upright in his chair, even though it is more common for him to lean back easily, when I interrupt him like this.

"Car is gassed, and ready to go when you are Boss." I tell him, not knowing how else to approach the upcoming trip.

He seems to consider for a moment.

"What did you find?" he demands as he closes the active file, shoving it into his briefcase before rolling down his shirt sleeves and closing the fastenings at his wrists. He buttons up his open vest, reaching for his jacket as he looks to me for the requested update…

"Rob Dennison, Beacon Falls, Connecticut" I begin without much thought, as Barba pulls on his suit coat, automatically doing each of the buttons in turn.

I've been a cop too long to do anything other than report when one is asked for….

"Played for the Hudson Youth League same time. Lives with his partner Ted Reilly… no kids…both work from home. Freelance graphic designer. No rap sheet.

Leo Berry, Providence, Rhode Island. Currently works at a shipping company, second shift supervisor, String of similar jobs. Divorced, one son… Conor. Bit of a sheet; 3 DUIs, 2 felony assault arrests, both in bars…few stints in rehab….."

The lawyer has stopped, silently questioning why I want a witness with such a chequered history.

"We're gonna try Rob in Connecticut first…" I offer with a shrug in place of a real answer, hoping against hope, that for now, this is enough.

The man looks at me calculatingly, shrugging back in uncharacteristic, easy acceptance.

Carding a hand through his hair he sighs, fingering the jacket buttons he had been working on, eyeing my jeans and sweater.

"Oh Fuck it!" He announces, seemingly out of nowhere, quickly undoing the jacket and vest buttons he has only closed. He ventures into the closet, carefully hanging both items on a hanger, grabbing in their place, a rich blue sweater. After adding his tie to the first hanger, he pulls on the sweater, reaching for a much more casual jacket than his usual smart wool coat.

"Should probably be as comfortable as possible…" he adds with a grimace that lets me know there will be very little else comfortable about this trip.

I'm not sure how to describe the cough-chuckle that escapes my mouth. Hell no, we left comfortable behind a long time ago!

He rolls his eyes, "Let's go!".

Thankfully there is not much conversation as we drive out of Manhattan. We've left early enough to miss the rush hour traffic, but we're still not moving fast. My passenger is studying the files of the two men we are visiting. After the initial fiddling with seat adjusters and his climate controls, and quickly turning off the talk radio in favour of something more easy listening, he settled down to read, leaving me to my own thoughts.

It's not a particularly long drive, a couple hours even with the usual traffic, but by the time we are getting close to Rikers, a road we are both all too familiar with, his mutters and scribbling are bothering me, I'm getting jumpy.

"Barba. I gotta eat. I'm gonna stop, grab a bite, coffee…"

I hope the last minute addition of coffee, to placate and tempt him, is enough to stop him fighting me.

He looks up, as if placing where we are, before guiding me to a "great cuban place" that does "proper coffee".

I could go for a cuban sandwich, although I may pass on what this man calls "proper coffee" from a cuban joint, sounds way too much like rocket fuel…

The quick stop sees us both enjoying a sandwich, him sipping blissfully on a drink that seems closer to tar than coffee, which makes me glad of my choice of a coke.

There are no seats, the restaurant itself is tucked into the corner of a grocery store but there's a counter against the window that we are leaning over, and oddly, I find I'm glad not to be sitting. It's less intimate somehow, and when he asks "Cassidy, why these two guys?", I'm relieved to be able to speak between bites and not make eye contact.

"I don't have anything concrete, didn't see it at the time….but I remember Rob being given a mitt, a nice one…got a lot of attention…..seems to fit…."

"And Leo?"

"Yeah…one day he's our best pitcher, I mean he's mowing down batters…the next… he's just gone…"

"The drinking problem, the DUIs, bar fights, divorce, difficulty keeping a job… seems like a fair bet… Good work."

I just shrug off his praise, using such personal information against them doesn't seem very praise worthy… it seems cowardly and hypocritical.

Barba has read the files, I know he is aware of so many of the signs of someone who has suffered abuse, he cannot be expected to not put all the mistakes from Leo's life down to that one supposed trauma….but I find myself angry at how quickly he latched onto the stereotype of the abuse victim. I know he means no harm and I know there is a basis for his assumptions.

I carefully push away any consideration of how I could fall into this category. I refuse the premise entirely. What happened to me, was awful, real shit even…but I didn't let it rule my life.

Not that Leo or anyone else did…..

Fuck!

I'm not saying I'm better than anyone else. I know I'm a total fuck up, but that's just because I am… It's not because of a couple of months when I was a kid.

Standing at the counter, the end of a sandwich hanging forgotten in my hand, is probably not the best way to convince Barba I'm fine, but luckily he does nothing more than eat and sip his coffee.

I know this is all I can do…try and get Dolan the right way, by helping make a case for the DA. I know I need it. I need to see the prick pay for some of the damage he has done. I need to play some part in righting the wrongs I allowed him to keep getting away with. But I have no idea how I'm gonna get through these next hours.

I try not to let the panic growing in my chest take hold. Throwing the remaining sandwich back into the little red basket it came in, I make a show of wiping my fingers.

"You just about ready to get back on the road?"

As my eyes flick towards him there is no missing the concern creasing his forehead. He reaches a hand out to stay me, clearly intent on a conversation that would completely undo me.

"Barba, we gotta get on the road… take care of this…."

The plea in my words is all too clear, no matter how much I may deny it.

"Sometimes you gotta finish the job before everything else."

To most people this would probably be nonsensical, a cop out to avoid talking, maybe it even is, a little bit….but it's also the truth. And as a DA, as a man all too used to putting his personal feelings aside until the case is finished, I know he understands.

He nods his agreement after a short hesitation.

"Yeah Cassidy, these interviews are gonna be rough… What did you tell them you were investigating?"

My hand scrubs across my mouth, trying to keep the hysterical laugh bubbling up my throat from escaping. "Rough?" That's the understatement of the century. Rough is talking to survivors of abuse….talking to guys who were once friends, who probably fell victim to the same guy who messed with me….that's many steps past "rough" on the scale of things that are hard to do.

But as I look to the man gathering and bussing the remains of our meal, I realise he isn't minimising by saying "rough". He is just stating a fact. It is not gonna be easy, for him or for me, and he is giving me a temporary reprieve as I have asked for.

Another scrub of my face, accompanies a shrug.

"Told em we were investigating corruption in the league going back to our day…"

The lawyer nods approvingly.

"A hell of a lot worse than corruption but…might give them a hint, time to prepare…"

I lead the way back out to the car, stomping determinedly until a gentle hand on my wrist stops me opening the car door.

"I'm trusting you. Let me know when you hit your limit."

Every instinct is screaming at me to yank my hand back. To get his hand off my coat. To get him away from me. To end this torture… but he was careful not to spook me when he reached out, he carefully just laid his hand on my coat, and he is really taking a big risk on me.

I nod quickly, looking anywhere but him…

"Okay" is all he says as he makes his way back to the passenger seat.

The rest of our journey is surprisingly uncomplicated. He flicks through files, scribbling notes, sitting gazing unseeing through the windscreen, thinking, as the radio hums in the background and I drive and follow signs, occasionally, referring to my hastily planned route.

"Not a fan of sat nav?" He mutters as our route starts to leave the freeway and negotiate unknown neighbourhoods, and my quick route checks increase.

"Stupid things, don't always get it right, leave you boxed into incorrect lanes and shout unnecessary instructions at everyexit…like 'stay on this road for 100 more miles'. 100 miles of being told to stay on the freeway at every exit is a good reason for road rage!"

Without meaning to I had even imitated the annoying voice that seems common to all 'Digital Assistants', that crosses between your disappointed mother and an irritated school teacher.

The man beside me is laughing heartily.

"I've got to agree with you… there is a special tone of disdain. I was accused of being sexist, of not liking taking directions from a female voice on a long drive. We changed the voice to the male option and it was even worse. It's constantly telling you stuff you don't need to know and yet at a big complicated interchange you've missed the third direction cos it was too close to the last one…"

I roll my eyes, all too aware of the phenomenon he is describing.

"Hey I used a digital map! I'm not a dinosaur! But this way I don't wind up being told to take a left where there is no left!"

Again the man chortles.

Who would have thought that I'd find myself laughing and bonding about the uselessness of Sat Navs with Barba like this?

All too soon the easy amusement brought about by an unexpected common ground starts to change into silent anticipation. Nerves start to fizzle in my belly as the streets become more and more domestic. We can't be far off now….

One turn more, and the house is right in front of us. It's a cute family home, well maintained and carefully landscaped, but to me it's the equivalent of the ramshackle house of terrors that stars in every horror movie ever made.

Parking just outside, we both take a second before undoing our seatbelts and stepping out.

"Barba, let me start….."

He sizes me up, seemingly judging me calm enough as he dips his head in acknowledgment, "You let me know if it's too much."

I recognise that his agreement is dependant on mine, that he is striking a bargain, but it is one I am happy to make. It is fair and even comforting, I feel he is willing to back me up.

I repeat his nod and bang on the door.

I introduce myself and the DA on my shoulder, to a man I assume to be Rob's partner. He is warm and welcoming as he shows us in, which makes me think he is completely unaware of the reason for our visit.

I'm glad of my training as we follow him into the living room, I assess my surroundings, always on the lookout for warning signs of trouble, carefully mapping escape routes and cover, as well as any threats. This action, almost instinct now, allows me to postpone the fear and guilt that batter me as I finally lay eyes on Rob for the first time in so many years. He is tense, sitting awkwardly facing the window. Unlike the man who is showing us in, he knows why we are here, it is written all over the nervous energy twisting his fingers together.

I start to hope that, if he knew why we were coming, maybe he is willing to help us.

He doesn't stand to greet me as I hold my hand out to shake, he returns the gesture automatically, letting go of me as quick as possible. I introduce Barba as the man carefully reaches for a cup that has undoubtedly sat forgotten as all signs of warmth are long gone, seemingly eager just to avoid the hand that would undoubtedly have followed, nodding hesitantly instead.

Ted invites us to sit, offering coffee or water, which we both refuse before taking a seat opposite, beside an increasingly uncomfortable Rob. He seems confused at the increasing tension in the room and looks from Rob to us expectantly.

"Rob, thank you for seeing us." I start confidently, still allowing my training to guide me. "As I told you on the phone earlier we are conducting an investigation into someone associated with the Hudson Youth League in the 1980s and we hope you may be able to help us."

With no prompting, Ted is already agreeing to provide any help they can, until Rob reaches for his hand, gently stopping his offer. Confusion gives way to surprise on Ted's face and the sick feeling in my stomach increases…I know what I'm about to do to these poor men…

"Ehmm, so we're….eh…, looking into some allegations made against…" This is getting harder and harder, and I have no idea how I'm going to say his name without puking.. "..Gary Dolan…Coach Gary…."

The dreaded name tastes bitter but the fact that my stomach contents remain in place is little to celebrate as Rob's dread materialises and his tense frame collapses into the soft cushions.

It's more than enough for me and Rob, but Ted is still clueless and Barba steps in to say the words I couldn't hope to.

"He's currently facing charges of sexual abuse in the first degree…"

For an instant Ted looks confused but as he looks from Rob, to me, to Barba, he puts it all together…

"Did this coach do that to you Rob?"

He is shocked and horrified, wanting nothing more than assurance that these men haven't upended his life entirely…

Rob doesn't move, doesn't look to his pleading partner, pretends he doesn't hear what he can't answer. "So you just assume the gay guy must've been diddled… is that it?"

"Look, we're just asking questions here, you know? I know this is uncomfortable….."

We're both playing out the roles, saying meaningless words as though it were scripted, and I realise that I have entirely given over to my training. This is a script, that of a policeman making inquiries… and Rob is stubbornly clinging to denial or silence, or whatever has kept him going all these years. I knew this would be hard….how could it not be?

"Wh, wh, why is this even coming up now?" He stumbled over the question, and I know he needs to know why I am here now, but also isn't sure he can survive the answer…

"This is Gary Dolan's latest victim…"

I know I should have softened the blow. I should have done something to prepare them for the photo I threw down. A very young man, dead, his head still wrapped in the plastic he used to end the suffering that had overcome him in the aftermath of that monster's abuse. But I had neither the ability or language to lessen the horror. Maybe somewhere in the back of my cop brain I even hoped that such a shock would pry the truth from the once friend, sitting before me.

"Oh my God" Ted can't hold back the gasp as Rob sits statue still, seemingly unbothered by the scene captured in the picture.

"Look, Micah Fuller was 22 years old, alright? He committed suicide, because Gary molested him 10 years ago."

"Well there is nothing I can do about that now is there?" The cop's instincts haven't failed me, Rob's eyes latch onto Micah as I talk, the plea hitting home as I knew it would, even as he desperately tries to hide away in the death and the time passed since this more recent assault. I'm sure he is about to walk away but Ted gently reaches a hand out. Ted's face has been open and easy to read since we arrived, every emotion, however fleeting, plays clearly across it, which is probably why his partner has studiously avoided it, but the strong hand comforting, but yet gently halting his flight seems to have done what I couldn't…as Rob clears his throat, his struggle becoming harder to disguise.

"Hey Rob, Gary paid a lot of attention to you back then, right? He gave you rides to the games? That Wilson A2000 that he bought you, I mean, hell, I woulda done anything to score a pro mitt like that…"

Whatever progress we had made is completely undone as Rob's eyes deaden once more..

"How envious where you Brian? Did you get into Gary's station wagon?"

I'm fighting every instinct not to fire back at the hurting man before me. I know I've fucked up, even before it's thrown back at me. I made the mistake of implying that the 'presents' meant it was an exchange, and the implication that I may have willingly climbed into that monster's car, in exchange for anything….has my sandwich threatening its return. Barba doesn't need any signal from me to know I am passed my limit as he tries to salvage something I know is definitely gone, if it were ever really on offer.

"If you testify Mr Dennison we could…"

"Not at chance! I want you to take your 'snapshots' and I want you to get the hell out!"

"Come on Rob? These problems we've had…"

"Shut up Ted! I don't have to listen to this…"

This time not even Ted could stop the man from standing up and leaving.