RAFAEL

Although he was still physically there beside me, Cassidy left the room at the same time Rob did.

I spend a few minutes trying to comfort and reassure his devastated partner, leaving a card at his urging, "in case he wants to talk to you when he is over the shock", knowing that no matter how many years have gone by, I am still here years too early for Rob.

Glad to be able to press some pamphlets into Ted's hands and scribble down some online resources he may find helpful, for himself and Rob, I try to comfort myself that I haven't just blown up their lives for nothing. But it is all far too little…..

Every glance at Cassidy has me becoming more, and more worried he may have just had some sort of 'breakdown'.

And I had just brought this bomb into these men's lives too.

Fuck!

Even in his own distress, with his tearful concern for Rob, Ted looks to Brian with a compassion that surprises me as I follow the pale, silent, hunched detective out of the once warm and welcoming room.

"It's a shock…but maybe I'm not as surprised as I should be?" he confides in me as he leads us out to the door. "Maybe now it is out in the open…?"

I wish I could reassure him that the hardest part is over, that now they can start to really heal, I wish I could say any of the things that Liv can comfort people with, but maybe because of the silent human reminder of their untruths standing between us, I find my quick tongue is no longer my salvation.

An empty "I'm sorry" is all I can offer as Ted vacillates in the front door to his own house.

I miss the door closing or any response, as Brian appears to bolt towards the driver's door and I realise how important it is that he not drive in this condition. My rush to the car is halted, when I see him fold over at the open door. He has turned away from the car, almost as if he is trying to hide, but the soft gagging sound gives away his nausea even if his hurried actions hadn't.

Ted is no longer in the door way, the beautiful house once more sealed, so there is no more time pressure or need to maintain some sort of professional distance.

I round the front of the car, allowing the man before me a modicum of privacy, slumping against the front pillar, briefcase between my feet, my head hanging.

"Sorry" the rough voice mumbles beside me. He reaches into the car, gulping some of the leftover soda. He is clearly uncomfortable.

"I feel pretty nauseated myself!" I assure him gently.

He just shrugs his shoulders, finishing the soda and rifling through pockets until he finds an open packet of gum.

I can almost see his defences raising as he scrubs a hand across his face, carding through his hair, before his shoulders pull back.

"We better get on the road" he says as he digs out the car keys.

"My turn to drive!" I inform him grabbing for the keys.

When the argument I expected, is replaced by an instinctive jerk of the hand holding the key before a childish capitulation, the keys being flung on to the driver seat, I struggle not to lose my temper.

Picking my way carefully around the door, trying not see, or smell the object I am determined to avoid, I grab the identifying keychain common to all city vehicles with my best passive aggressive sigh. I'm sure the idiot climbing into the car's passenger seat smirks! And when I start to adjust the seat forward, I'm ready to let loose at the expected taunting leer but all I see is a haunted man, his mouth dropped open, his jaw slack, staring back at the picture perfect home we have just ruined.

I know if Liv was here she would be able to start a conversation. She would know how to deftly address the situation…..but I have no clue where to start. I need to try and process the horror we have just brought to the couple we leave behind, and I don't know how to vocalise my own feelings never mind take on board those of the man beside me.

Not for the first time, I find myself comfortably slipping back into tried and true routines….silence.

I just head back toward the interstate, no real direction other than getting the hell out of here, in mind. As the neighbourhoods transition into the more commercial that tends to accompany a nearby highway, my passenger starts pecking an address into the sat nav he had refused to use.

I choose not to ask whether it is our intended next destination, or our starting point.

As the irritating voice starts shouting instructions, it is immediately clear from the direction of travel "Take the on-ramp for I-95 North" that we are not headed back towards Manhattan.

I am still far enough away that I could take the North or South Ramp, "Cassidy, are you sure?"

He doesn't look at me. I just get a tight nod, I'm lucky to even see the movement considering I'm the one driving and once more struggle not to vent some of my frustration at the guy who seems intent on enraging me.

I'm simmering in my own helplessness, scowling and throwing dagger looks at him as often as I can take my eyes off the road as I follow the irritating directions.

"For fucks sake, Cassidy just get the exit number and turn this thing off" I hiss at him after 5 minutes of being told my destination is 2 hours away and yet still being shouted at by the blasted device.

This time there is no mistaking the smirk as he just mutes the offending tech and turns on the radio.

I wonder if he even chose the radio station to irritate me?

Instead of rising to the bait, I roll my neck and my shoulders. I try to relax the taut muscles, and sit back into the seat, trying to breathe away my annoyance.

I have done a reasonable job of reigning in my temper when he whispers "It's too important. We need to get Dolan, for a lot more than me, or Micah….."

I can only imagine how much it took for him to open himself to me this much. And in my calmer state I start to consider how incredibly well he did in an interview that made him physically ill.

He knew what he was bringing into those men's lives in a way I will never understand, he has lived through that grenade going off. I want to ask him if it is worth it? Or if it is really just bringing something to the fore that was always there festering anyway? If it had already ruined that beautiful home, long before it was spoken of? I want to know if there is any relief to knowing you were not the only one, and that it was nothing you did, and nothing wrong with you? If merelybeing one victim to a serial offender is actually some sort of comfort? I want to know if the sexuality of the other victims crossing both heterosexual and homosexual boundaries changes anything?

Rob was very quick to ask if we only came to him because of his sexuality. It is something I have heard from many male victims of assault, that perturbed questioning of their preferred partners. If their sexuality or their sexual preferences is what invited their attack. Academically we know it makes no difference…a gay man is no less a victim than a straight man, who he finds sexually attractive is not defined by abuse or assault, and a perpetrator is usually more influenced by opportunity or circumstance than any care for his victim's sexuality, but in reality I can imagine it is just another struggle to battle when everything you know about yourself is already turned upside down and it feels like your body is no longer yours.

I am sure it is something a young Cassidy must have at least considered in the intervening years if not the initial aftermath, and I find myself wanting to ask numerous inappropriate and overly personal questions.

I can see how, perhaps, Dolan having abused both gay and straight victims may actually be a strange comfort…his sexual preferences superseded any of his victims, his abuse was entirely based on opportunity and vulnerability and not on anything about the boys, now men, he victimised.

I cannot forget how Rob avoided naming his experience, his assault, for what it was, he chose an antiquated and strange phrase … "you just assume the gay guy must've been diddled"… and I can't help wondering if he was merely repeating an old accusation thrown at him all those years ago. It's a strange turn of phrase, it doesn't sound like any local idiom I'm familiar with….it is just another horrific example of a minimisation, ignorance and obfuscation.

Although I know from my personal experiences with Liv, not all carefully chosen, more socially palatable pseudo-synonyms are used to avoid reality. But all too often trying to avoid the pain of a difficult word, is also tied into trying to avoid the experience that person is so hesitant to name.

As I consider this, I am reminded of the barbed exchange between Rob and Cassidy that shut both men down. Cassidy tried to draw the guarded man out, by gently listing some examples of pretty stereotypical predator behaviour. Extra attention and gifts are cornerstones of the behaviour of such predators. He even tried to soften the statement, attempting to take any accusation from it by saying he would have loved the mitt that seems to signify so much to both men. It was good police-work, it should have created a common ground, allowed the interviewee to open up….why did I wince as he said it though?

Was it the knowledge that Brian was also one of his victims? Or was it the implied acceptance of a transaction?

I can see how with some victims, this statement would have allowed them to grudgingly admit that yes they had been groomed, they had been showered with attention and gifts to build a trust that allowed their predator to assault them.

Perhaps the personal relationship between the men warped that statement. Perhaps both men are far too raw to see anything but accusations. But I was incredibly gratified to see no hint of the hot-head I feared when Rob fired back "How envious where you Brian? Did you get into Gary's station wagon?".

The words dripped in poison, self blame turned outwards, venom twisted into an accusation of 'asking for it' that has to have hit Cassidy deep.

Did Rob know that the man he turned on had also suffered at the hands of the same predator, or was he just lashing out?

"You did good Cassidy."

The words are not loud but in the quiet car, only soft background music to compete with, they are plenty.

"Hmpfh" is all the response I get.

"He was never going to testify. He's not ready."

I know it is the truth, it was clear from the moment we entered the house and I hope it is some comfort to Cassidy.

There is no reaction to this statement, and whatever hope I had of the man helping this conversation along is gone.

"You know as well as I do, what you described was typical predator behaviour…giving him rides to games, extra attention, gifts…it's why, as an adult looking back you knew to talk to him."

This garners a scowl in my direction.

"I'm not a sports guy, but I can imagine the kudos owning such a desirable item would bring to a kid. And I'm guessing that Dolan leaned into that…as predators do. They don't give gifts…they use items to ingratiate themselves and create some sort of debt. It's obviously something that Rob struggles with….you couldn't have known it was a button."

I feel like I should compliment his self control and professional behaviour but it feels too personal, too out of character, too not-normal. He got an 'attaboy'. I'm notoriously mean with even the faintest praise and as he relaxes a little and leans against the window it feels like the right call.

"He wasn't ready was he?" It's a question but I can also see a return of self belief in the echo of my statement.

I shake my head emphatically.

Despite how raw and hurt the man before me is, his is strong enough to face another 'once friend', another man who can only remind him of a time and circumstance that must be agony, another victim of the man who has had such an impact on his own life.

Before I can consider his strength further he surprises me once again.

"Rob was the better victim on paper….clean record, easier for a lawyer…."

I try not to bristle at the slight barb wrapped in truth.

"…but I think Leo is actually a better bet. He has a son, done a few stints in rehab…I'm betting he's had to do more work."

This time it's my turn to make some unconvinced nothing-noise.

"Hear me out Barba!" He demands. "All this 12 step stuff they push in rehabs, its all about taking responsibility and getting to the root of why you do all this self destructive stuff… and he has a kid, a boy. He has to see himself sometimes when he looks at the kid?"

I'm actually starting to see what he is getting at. Leo has obviously had substance abuse issues and has the rap sheet to prove it, but the fact that he seems fairly settled, with a job, must mean he has done some of the work. And even if it wasn't directly addressed, he must have at least touched off some of the root problems. It can't be as deeply buried in a sober drunk, as it was in Rob.

A jury is not going to identify as quickly with a reformed drunk, but a divorced father is something a lot of them are all too familiar with…..

"What kind of guy is he?" I hate asking the question. It shouldn't matter. His rap sheet shouldn't matter. The only thing that should matter is his experience at the hands of Dolan, but I'm a lawyer and I have to make a case.

Cassidy takes this as a win, it means I am open to using Leo, so he reaches for the file and starts explaining the assaults were drunken bar fights, he's not a violent guy. The DUIs were straight forward, no additional charges which meant he cooperated with the cops and didn't get into any big wrecks.

"…Typical self destructiveness rather than a dangerous guy" He summarises rubbing his eyes and closing the file.

Again, a piece of the man beside me falls into place. He could have just described himself. He is an irritating asshole, a child with a temper, a guy who seems to blow up with little reason…but is that not self destructive?

He chose to be a cop. He has worked through all the obstacles, even the self imposed obstacles, to keep doing the job, though it must tear his heart out. Despite being a victim himself he didn't turn on the victim we were interviewing, only an hour ago, when a harsh retort or quick exit would have been more than understandable.

This is the guy Liv loved. This is the real Cassidy.

"Could work…" I confirm. "I could do with a break at the next exit."

"I can drive Barba" he offers quickly, seemingly eager to finish a task that he has set himself.

"Nah, I need a break! Splash some water on my face, use the restroom, a coffee, a few minutes…"

He looks at me properly now, and some of the strain I am feeling must be evident cos he just nods. He is letting me off the hook, not requiring me to explain any further but as I am the closest thing to a partner he has on this case, I know I need to do better.

"That was rough…" I gesture back vaguely in the direction we have just come. "I'm a lawyer, not a cop. I guess I'm more used to dealing with victims after the first approach."

I know I've made myself vulnerable and brace for a potential attack.

"Yeah….rough. This is why SVU wasn't for me."

He is more than meeting me halfway, and his effort warms me.

"I don't know how Liv does it?"

I'm not sure I really mean to say it. It's such a dangerous territory for her current and ex partner to be wading into, I don't think I would have risked it had I thought about it in advance.

"She was born for it. She was made to help people and she has worked so hard."

He's right, on both counts and it reminds us of our common ground and dissipates some of the tension between us.

He chuckles to himself as I change lanes for the next gas station, "you know out here Barba, you might get the real cop experience…. Coffee and donuts!"

I scowl at him in disgust, not quite understanding what he is getting at until we are standing inside the gas station. This is the worst type of stereotypical American gas station. It's a small convenience store that I'm sure buys its stock about every 3 years, because I swear it is sufficiently processed that it may last longer than me! There is something in a hot cabinet that purports to be "fresh, hot food" but is sufficiently dry and unappetising to be clearly less than fresh. Even the coffee is from one of those push button machines with nondescript brown powder in the reservoir rather than whole or even ground beans. I can hear him mutter the word "snob!" As I stab angrily at the 'coffee' button I barely avoid ranting about how it is definitely not gong to output a latte or cappuccino were I to chose either of those options.

He is really enjoying this now as he points to an old school filter pot "I'm sure that's been there long enough it might be like your cuban tar coffee"

"There is a big difference between strong coffee and sludge that has just been left for hours!"

I couldn't help myself and now he is openly laughing as I peruse the limited 'baked goods' with a degree of disgust I cannot hide. I have to admit, only to myself, I may be a slight coffee snob.

I resort to a package of lemon pound cake I am pretty sure is capable of surviving a nuclear war, and has never come into any close contact with a lemon and the largest cup of coffee I could get as he grabs a couple of glazed donuts to add to some sugar laden milky coffee drink. He taps his card before I can argue and leads the way to a few stools against a bar, not unlike where we had eaten earlier, only this time we are more relaxed in each other's company.

"Cassidy we are eating somewhere with actual food later!"

He shrugs his shoulders indifferently, pointing at his donuts, as if to say this is fine.

"Might be a McDonalds near the hotel…." He mutters wiping his mouth with a napkin, his eyes already laughing.

He has forgotten that as much a food snob as I may be, I have a small kid and have had to satisfy myself with kid friendly fast food joints… "I could make do with a deluxe spicy chicken meal, but much prefer Popeyes….however given the choice I would rather eat in an establishment without a soft play area or iPads attached to very low tables"

He doesn't even register any shock at my snappy answer cos he is way too busy picturing me sitting in McDonalds.

"Oh Barba please tell me Liv has pictures of that…in your full suit?"

I can't help a small chuckle as I recognise the ridiculousness of the conjured image.

After our food and drinks are gone, and it feels like there has been some sort of escape from the oppressive atmosphere, it is Cassidy that refocuses us on our mission…

"Yeah and I reckon we may want somewhere with a liquor licence when we sit down later…"

Like a bucket of ice water drenching us, all mirth is forgotten and I can only nod in agreement.

"Cassidy, let me know how you wanna play it?" I remind him as he leads us back out to the car, both of us easily slipping into our previous roles of driver and passenger, the atmosphere anticipatory rather than tense. There is no denying the undercurrent of stress but the silence is no longer uncomfortable, merely two men preparing for battle.