A/N Sorry for the long delay in updating, I will finish this story. Every comment or kudo or follow means a huge amount to me.
RAFAEL
FUCK!
The man before me is miles away, stuck somewhere in his head, embedded in a memory too painful to be aware of the tears silently rolling down his cheeks.
I know better than to reach out, but all I want to do is grab onto him, so at least he knows he isn't in this alone.
I sip at the beer in my hand without really tasting it, trying to content myself with just being here for him, even if I can't really help. Struggling to remind myself that silent support is not as useless as it feels.
Now is definitely not the time to try to process all that has happened in the last hour or so. I need to be present, ready to intervene or support Brian, but it is hard to keep my shock at bay.
I knew he would go after Dolan.
I knew it! But there is no joy in being right…..
It is a stereotypical 'Brian the hothead' move. It is how I knew where to find him, how I was able to stop him…
In the circumstances, maybe it is even understandable.
Christ, when I consider what the bastard did….
I expected to have to talk Brian down from beating the fuck out of the prick.
Why did I never really consider that this incredibly hurt and broken man would have a gun?
Judging from the state he was in, the gun wasn't a threat, it wasn't his service weapon. It was a drop gun….he intended to use it.
I scrub a hand across my face. FUCK!
I hate that the word 'broken' comes to mind so easily to describe him. He is not 'beyond repair'….not by any meaning of the words, but I can't find any other way to describe how thoroughly devastated he is….
I'm a lawyer, I specialize in crimes relating to special victims. I've previously tried to support two colleagues through the traumas of sexual assault. And yet I can't help wondering why it is, that even for a man like me, this situation with Brian seems strewn with even more landmines than the ostensibly similar situations with Liv and Amanda.
It's not that I view him any differently to them, each relationship has been different, and it's not that I'm not particularly fond of him. Before her disclosure, Amanda and I had a very adversarial relationship, only softened during Patton's trial, when each of us showed more of our humanity than we had ever dared. I think it's just that I am so aware of his masculinity, of not wanting to undermine him, to not weaken him…..
There's a strange stigma attached to sexual assault for male victims. It's not as overt or as pervasive in society as it once was, but even in my thoughts I find, I cannot quite escape these stereotypes and myths. We, as men, are brought up to feel safe from the threats of sexual assault and rape, they are dangers our sisters, our female friends and classmates are warned about. We are raised to believe that it can't happen to us, that it only happens to women.
Society promotes this ignorance; I clearly remember college posters screaming "Protect your drink, Protect yourself," showing a painted, manicured, nail on the hand wrapped around the glass, unintentionally telling us that it was aimed only at my female classmates.
"Take back the night" marches never felt they applied to a man who felt safer in the vaunted grounds of college, at all hours, than he ever did in his rough home neighbourhood, and never worried about hidden predators.
A picture of an anonymous woman in a short skirt and heels, emblazoned with some derivative of "her clothes don't mean she is asking for it" meant it was impossible to connect myself with their image of a sexual assault victim.
They all seemed to unconsciously reinforce that as a male, it is not something I need worry about.
And yet, it CAN happen, it does happen, all too frequently, to men too. And because we have always known that rape comes with a female pronoun, we have no idea how to deal with it when it's a man. As individuals, or as a society, we just don't know how to deal…
Male rape. It's no sadder than any other kind of rape. But quiet, oh so quiet…
It's why the man before me is struggling after a lifetime of silence, it's why he won't testify, it's why I have no idea what I should do…
And then I realise, I had no idea what to do for Liv, or Amanda either… that some of my helplessness is rooted in a desire to undo what cannot be undone, to right a wrong that happened in another time and place.
I can't stop the young Brian from being assaulted all those years ago, I can only try to help him deal with things as they are now.
It's not a conscious decision, but yet I find my hand drifting to the illegal gun in my coat. I know he felt me gently pull it from his waist as he trembled in that entrance hall.
He's a good cop, even under such stress he would not surrender his weapon so easily…could it be a huge leap of trust? I don't want to betray this incredible gesture, and can only hope I prove myself worthy.
I understand the revenge impulse.
Not in that woolly, you were 'hurt' and 'lashed out' in return, type of understanding.
I think of the early days of my relationship with Liv. We worked so hard, and struggled with every intimacy, and as I started to understand the depth of her suffering, the immense pain and damage forced upon her, I learned that for all my pacifism, I would happily kill Lewis. I would disregard every rule and law I hold so dear, to rectify the wrongs done by him. Because some evils cannot be adequately mitigated in a courtroom, the law just cannot stretch far enough. The 'one size fits all', blind justice framework, upon which we have based our legal system is just not equipped to deal with the uniqueness of some cases.
When I saw the gun in Cassidy's waistband and recognised it for what it was, I had to stop him. Not to save the monster he had his sights set on, but to stop him from ruining his life.
I saw Liv fighting her demons over beating Lewis in that beach house. I had a front row seat to the court proceedings, the hell she went through because the law couldn't envisage a monster like Lewis, and a woman, yes a cop, but still a woman, driven past human tolerance by pain, hunger and thirst. Drugged, drunk, having witnessed, and been subjected to unbelievable physical and sexual savagery over a period of days, she snapped. He was cuffed, yes, but the danger he posed to her was not removed or even substantially lessened by his restraints.
The law was not designed for such intricacies.
Nor was it designed for the agony and guilt that led Brian, in desperation, to his abuser's door.
Had he killed his monster, Brian would have been charged with premeditated murder. Legally his actions would support such charges, but it would not properly consider the man I see before me now. A man driven by feelings held back for a lifetime, his reason blunted by pain, shame, guilt and fear. Had he killed his abuser, it would not have been for himself, he doesn't feel his suffering worthy of such an action, it would have been in rage for the other victims, unknown faces whose suffering was just too much.
As my time with SVU has passed, I have seen more and more failings in the system I love. I cannot always get a guilty verdict, even when it is clearly warranted. I had to sit back and watch Lewis escape the charges that set in motion Liv's torture. And I still feel guilt, even with the understanding there is little more I could have done.
I understand Brian's reluctance to place his trust in such an imperfect system. He is a cop. He knows the justice system intimately.
He knows how stacked the deck is. How biased against male victims the court is, even in the 21st century. He knows that as an officer of the law, working for me, he would face daily prejudice were he to testify. He would not have the luxury of leaving it behind once the court case was done. It would follow him.
I saw the look of betrayal that I could even ask him to do that.
But I also saw the look of trust, maybe even comfort, as I held his head in my hands, in that grimy lobby, and wouldn't let him throw his life away.
Even in this, the man is a contradiction… seemingly trusting me and simultaneously feeling betrayed by me…
He is still too shrouded in pain to have any awareness of his surroundings. Maybe that also shows some level of trust?
"Brian?"
I call his name gently a couple of times, before I get a response.
He looks at me blankly, tear tracks drying on his face.
"Let's get out of here?" I ask, getting to my feet, hoping he follows as easily as he did when we came in here.
He grunts an affirmation as he also pulls himself out of the booth. I throw a couple of bills under my bottle and lead the way back onto the cold street.
I hear a sniff and his hand raises to his face, but I carefully look away. Any sympathy now will be most unwelcome.
I stomp my feet a bit, as though getting used to the biting temperature, giving him a minute, before I take off towards our cars.
It's a very short walk, we were only a couple of blocks away, but I hope it has given him enough time to feel less vulnerable as we fall into step side by side.
We quickly come alongside the seldom-used personal car I share with Liv and he stops, stepping back.
Typical Cassidy, he can't just go along with me, even when we are both too exhausted to argue.
"Eh…..thanks…..Barba," he mutters, looking at his feet before making a break for his own car across the street.
I step into his path, he had to round my car and it wasn't hard to cut him off.
"Cassidy, don't be…."
His head doesn't move but his eyes dart up to me, his hands instinctively pulled out of his pockets in case he needs to defend himself.
I sigh loudly, once more scrubbing a cold hand down my face, the harsh words dying before they can reach my lips.
"Look, Cassidy….Brian…..I can't leave you here, now."
'I also wouldn't want to' nearly escapes, but I snap my jaw shut just in time.
He looks to the building I had pulled him out of, not so long ago.
"Yeah….I won't….I'll just head home…"
There is no doubting that whatever misplaced energy fuelled his earlier attempt is long spent, but I'm still not leaving him here.
"Cassidy, just get in the car!"
He shuffles from foot to foot like an uncomfortable teenager, even when blasted with a heartfelt scowl.
I try to let go of my irritation, to figure out what this odd behaviour is about.
Okay, so it's not like we ever travelled in the same car before….god, he couldn't be worried I would do anything inappropriate could he?
I curse my own stupidity, I would never have wondered that of Cassidy, or a male colleague before his disclosure. It seems I am even more susceptible to discomfort, and idiotic snap judgements than I believed. I'm sure Cassidy has no concerns about losing a physical altercation to me…I don't allow myself to actually consider how thoroughly mismatched such a battle is likely to be…I was never much of a fighter, always relying on my quick tongue to extricate myself from trouble, and I am lacking the extensive training he has undergone….
Nope I definitely wouldn't fancy my chances….
Finally the look of absolute agony pasted on his face, pushes the real reason for his shuffling, through my idiocy. It is obvious….Liv.
I had been trying not to dwell on his words, until I was alone, somewhere I could process them.
I will truly be haunted by those words for many years to come. And his absolute belief in their truth.
'I'm damaged goods Barba, I see it every time I look in the mirror' I can't help softening as I remember, and look at the man curled into himself against both the cold and his shame.
"Look, Brian, tough doesn't begin to touch on what you've had to face…"
He seems to recognise the echo of the words we shared in the bar.
"I can't imagine….can't even begin to imagine. I want you to know I'm here if you wanna talk…."
Before he can refuse my offer or say anything that will wind me up I raise a hand, quickly continuing.
"I don't talk either….I actively dislike talking about difficult things."
He snuffs lightly, in what I take to be agreement.
"But you know Liv…she has a way of wheedling it out…"
He rolls his eyes at me, and I instinctively know what that gesture is saying.
"And she has even learned the benefit of talking herself… Brian, everything you've done so far has been right, totally right. It has gotten you this far…."
Surprise turns his head to me, but before he can dispute me I continue softly.
"Sometimes the things we do to survive, stop working. Sometimes they even hurt us… You know, maybe it's time to try something else?"
He seems to consider this, giving me an unsure shrug.
Before I can ruin my quasi-success, the skies open and rain starts to lash down on us. Running around to the driver's side jabbing at the remote in my pocket I throw open the door, and sit into the cold, but dry car.
He is still dithering on the pavement so I tip the window control, rolling down the passenger window enough to yell.
"I'm not shouting through a window!"
He seems to hear the frustration and irritation in my voice, and it garners a small smirk as he reluctantly folds himself into the seat beside me.
Shit! I didn't consider how this move would affect the conversation we were having… the only sound in the vehicle is the heaters coming to life, and I realise how much more intimate this setting feels.
He is too close now, for my comfort, maybe even more than his. I lock my eyes straight out the windshield as I talk, trying not to overthink the words before they fall out.
"I respect how good you were to Liv, after…Lewis."
I wanted to leave that name off the end of the sentence. Neither of us needed it, but it felt too cowardly.
As it is, the mention of the monster's name pulls a growl from the other man.
"I respect how you faced McCoy, and then took your punishment. You didn't complain, and have been an asset to the office since you came back to work. I can only imagine how hard it was, all of it, but you did it."
The man doesn't seem to take praise much better than he takes criticism, as I see him squirm in my peripheral vision.
"What you have been through, is too much for any one person to deal with. I'm not gonna force you to talk. It could help, but it's your decision, if, when and who you want to talk to. But I'm not leaving you alone tonight. You're sleeping in the spare room. Or at least lying in the bed."
God knows sleep won't come easy for any of us tonight. I'd expect lying in bed will be the best we can all hope for.
"I'm not going to tell Liv anything…except that today is too much for anyone to deal with. Once she knows you are safe, she will offer to talk, but she will give you space."
I still don't look directly at him, but there is no movement, and no response.
I don't mind waiting now, the car is warming, the rain is pelting down the glass, and I know he needs to make his own decision.
I understand how small decisions become exponentially more important when a person feels powerless.
When it comes, my answer is just a quiet "Okay."
I nod, assuming that there is nothing of any urgency he needs, that we won't have in our house.
My phone was plugged into the car as soon as I sat down. It's habit, ingrained in a cop and DA who are on call 24/7, and I take the opportunity to use the voice to message function, so he can hear exactly what I tell Liv.
[Liv, on my way home now. Been a rough day for all of us, so Cassidy is gonna crash in the spare room. See you in about 40 minutes]
The man nods at the message, a tiny movement but I appreciate and value the effort.
I select drive, and as I push out into the light traffic, I feel the unfamiliar weight of the gun catch on the door. That's a problem for tomorrow, I tell myself as we make our way home.
I'm glad of our underground parking lot and its assigned spaces when the rain hasn't let up on our arrival. I pull the keys out of the engine, sneaking a quick peek at the statute-like figure beside me. He looks exhausted.
"Ready?" I ask softly. It seems silly, after almost forcing him here, but I'm happy to give him a moment to collect himself, should he need it.
He takes a deep breath and nods, following a step or two behind me, into the elevator, and into my home.
The light is already on when I push open the door. It is lovely and warm, and I can only hope it feels welcoming to him too. Shrugging off my coat, I hang it carefully on the hook furthest from the door, gesturing Brian to do the same. I'm very conscious of the gun, but don't want to risk spoiling the current calm, and since there is no way to access the safe discretely now, I comfort myself that Noah is in bed and I will lock it away as soon as I have the chance.
There is no sign of Liv until we walk into the open living area. She is in the kitchen stirring a large pot of what smells like soup. Three bowls line the counter top with crackers and spoons.
She smiles sadly at Brian, not hiding her feelings but not overwhelming him either. He smiles crookedly back at her, his shoulders dropping minutely, when he is not interrogated.
I hadn't considered that he probably hasn't eaten, nor have I for that matter, and a bowl of hot soup would be ideal. She is already dishing up a serving, as I gratefully accept her offer, immediately diving into it. She chuckles and looks to Brian who shrugs noncommittally.
Ladling up two more servings, she leaves one on the counter for him, following me over to the couch clasping her own steaming bowl. There are two overstuffed chairs there if he wishes, but there is no pressure and after a little hesitance he perches on a stool at the counter, sipping at the soup.
I'm aware how awkward the scene is, so I don't reach for her as I usually would, and the low chatter of the TV is the only noise as we eat.
Liv wanders back to the pot, to supply second helpings or turn off, as needed. I refuse seconds, as she drops her own dish into the sink, Brian pushes his bowl away with an uneasy half smile. She nods her head in understanding and turns off the heat. They don't need any words, he just silently follows her to the guest room. I can only hope she reads me as well as she usually does, when I silently plead with her to be gentle with him, as she passes me.
I need not have worried, there is no drama, and no hot-head trying to stomp out of the apartment. She is slipping back on to the couch beside me, in no time.
"How is he?"
I ask the question even though I know there is no answer she can give that would satisfy it.
She shrugs and stops holding back the tears she has been battling, for probably most of the day.
Wrapping my arms around her, she curls into my embrace as tightly as possible.
I'm exhausted, as I know she must be, and suggest moving to bed before we can settle too comfortably. She nods slowly, and as we start to switch off lights, I double back to my coat, pulling the gun from the pocket, heading straight for the gun safe.
When she sees what I went to retrieve, her eyes widen. Tears spring forward and she gasps…"he wasn't going to..?"
Damn! How could I be so insensitive. Of course that's what it looks like to her…. "Oh God, Liv, No! I'm so sorry! No!"
As the door closes on the safe, she sags into my arms in relief.
"He wasn't going to hurt himself." I assure her as she sobs.
When she has had time to process that her worst fear hadn't come to pass, she looks at me questioningly.
"He needs to tell you." Is all I will say, but it is probably enough…
She takes my hand, kissing it gently. Somehow it feels more intimate than kissing my lips would have been. Then she repeats the action on my other hand, and forehead. Every kiss is accompanied by a whispered 'thank you.'
We finish the nightly routine of turning off and locking up, walking hand in hand to check on a sleeping Noah. The boy puts a smile on my face and loosens the knot I hadn't even been aware of in my throat.
"What kind of animal could hurt a kid?" I ask, as the first tear breaks free.
She leads me into our room as she shakes her head.
With a young boy who doesn't understand boundaries, or knocking on doors, in the house, we don't often get to sleep naked anymore. And with a guest who may very well wake screaming, we both reach for nightwear. We each pull on sleep pants and a t-shirt, meeting in the middle of the bed where we curl into each other.
Her hand slips under my shirt, resting on my heart. Soon her head also finds its way to my chest, fiddling with the shirt, pushing until the side of her face rests on my skin.
Fuck it, I decide. And move her aside for a second as I pull off the shirt. She wants to feel my warm skin under her, my heart beating, it's not sexual, it's comforting. We settle into each other, my hand inside her shirt stroking circles on her back as she lies on my bare chest and neither of us mention the tears shed.