Archive of Our Own

“You know you didn’t have to pick me up,” Noah said, looking down at his phone. “I can take a taxi.”

“You’ve been gone a week. I missed you,” Barba answered. They were in the back of the hired car together, but Noah was leaning against his door, about as far from Barba as he could get.

“Or you don’t trust me. Usually Mom’s the overprotective one,” Noah returned without looking up.

“Of course I trust you,” Barba said with a frown.

“Mhmm,” Noah answered.

“Is it wrong that I don’t want my fifteen-year-old son traveling the city by himself in a taxi?” Barba asked, still frowning. “Do you know what can happen—”

“Of course I know,” Noah sighed, raising his head and matching Barba’s frown with his own. “I’m not an idiot, and I’m not a little kid. I’m also not—” He stopped, though. He bit his lip for a moment, still frowning, before turning his attention back to his phone. “Never mind.”

“No, say it,” Barba said, even though his heart was slamming in his chest and his stomach was suddenly, painfully clenched. “You’re not what?”

“Forget it,” Noah answered.

Things had been tense between the two of them for a couple of months, and Barba had been doing his best to give Noah the space and privacy he seemed to want. It wasn’t easy; Barba missed the days when Noah wanted nothing more than to spend time with him, to read to Barba or tell him about his day, when Noah wanted Barba—not Benson, for once, but Barba—to talk to his class on parents’ career day. Sometimes, Barba missed those days with a pain so sharp it stole his breath.

But Noah was right. He wasn’t a little kid anymore. He wasn’t an adult, but he was fifteen, and he was a good kid. Responsible, intelligent, and kind, he’d never been one to fight or get into trouble at school. He made friends easily, he maintained good grades, he played basketball and baseball, and drums in band. He was a good kid, and Barba couldn’t have been more proud of him.

Noah wanted little to do with Barba lately, though, and it hurt. He did his best not to let the boy see how much it hurt. He tried not to let Benson see, either, but that was—of course—a fool’s battle, as he’d never been able to hide his feelings from her.

Noah was not openly rude or disrespectful, but he’d taken to answering Barba in monosyllables or with a thinly-veiled tone of exasperation. These things were not unusual for a kid his age, of course, and Barba was glad that the tone had not, so far, been used on Benson. Noah was annoyed with Barba specifically, and spent much of his time avoiding him. But he had never once, in the ten years that the three of them had been living together, flouted Barba’s authority. He’d been calling Barba ‘Dad’ since he was six years old, and there had never been a version of ‘you can’t tell me what to do, you’re not my father’ uttered.

Barba could be wrong—he fervently, wholeheartedly hoped he was wrong—but he thought that such a moment had almost just come to pass.

I’m also not—

Those three words, an incomplete thought, echoed round his head, taunting him. I’m also not your son. He was almost certain that’s what Noah had been about to say. Nothing else made sense.

Nothing else could hurt more.

Noah glanced sideways at Barba and said, in a somewhat conciliatory tone, “So, I invited a couple friends over tonight.”

“It’s your first night back,” Barba said. You used to ask, he thought. You used to say, Dad, can I have a sleepover? I was always happy to say yes, just to see your smile. Liv always says I spoil you.

Noah sighed. “Fine, if it’s a problem—”

“It’s not a problem,” Barba said quietly, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket. “Do you want me to cook? Or I can order pizza.”

Noah regarded him in silence for a few moments. Barba looked up and met his eyes, and Noah turned his head to stare out his window. “Probably pizza,” he said. “You know Gable loves his pepperoni.”

“Gable’s coming?” Barba said. “I’ll be sure to order him his own.”

Noah laughed—really it was closer to a snort, but he was smiling when he glanced back at Barba, which was all that really mattered. “I’ll have to ask Jasper what he wants.”

Barba nodded, but Noah was already looking at the passing city again. “Well, just let me know.”

“Mhmm,” Noah answered. His phone buzzed, and he looked down and started typing.

*       *       *

Benson was drying her hands at the kitchen sink and Barba was standing behind her, his arms around her waist, when the three boys walked into the room.

“Hey,” Noah said, and Barba turned. “This is Jasper. We’re gonna take the pizza in my room.”

“Nice to meet you, Jasper,” Barba said, holding out a hand as he crossed the kitchen.

The teenager shook it, saying, “You, too, Mr…Benson?”

Gable laughed and Jasper looked over his shoulder at the other two boys. “She’s the Benson,” Gable said, pointing toward Noah’s mom.

“Yeah, he’s just her boyfriend,” Noah added, grabbing the pizza box from the table. “Come on, guys.”

Barba felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He looked at Benson, saw her opening her mouth, and gave his head a little shake. He didn’t want her to call Noah out, not in front of his friends.

He walked to the refrigerator, trying not to overreact—trying not to show how much those words had hurt. As he stared blankly into the refrigerator, Benson pressed up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, reversing their positions from minutes earlier.

She kissed the curve of his neck. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that,” she murmured near his ear. “He just meant that we’re not married.”

Barba closed the door and turned in her arms. “Ten years, though,” he said. He didn’t want to say more, and he didn’t need to. She could see that he was hurt, and she pressed a light kiss against his lips.

“I kind of like having a boyfriend again,” she said, earning a small smile. “Even if his hair’s mostly gray and he snores.”

“I don’t snore,” Barba answered with a scowl. “And I offered to dye my hair.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And what was my answer?”

His face split into a grin. “I’d be sleeping on the curb, I believe?”

“Exactly,” she said. She kissed him again, letting her lips linger a little longer. Barba’s arms went around her and he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. “You know he loves you, Raf, he’s just…you know, a teenager. We’re going to have to buckle in.”

“I’ve been buckled in since day one, Liv,” he said. “I just want to know that I haven’t—”

“Hey,” she said, pulling back to look at him, a small frown marring her forehead. “I don’t want to hear you doubt yourself, got it? We moved past that a long time ago. You’re his father, and he loves you.”

“Yeah, well, us not being married never seemed to bother him before,” he said.

“I don’t know that it bothers him, now, honey,” she said, moving a palm to his chest.

“Does it bother you?”

She smiled. “Don’t you think you would’ve heard about it before now?” she asked. “Besides, we talked about this.”

“Yeah, but that was a long time ago. Maybe we should…revisit it.”

She hesitated, regarding him in surprise. “Are you saying…what? You want to talk about getting married?”

“I know you’re still hoping something better’ll come along, but I’ve gotta tell you, Liv, you’re not getting any younger—” He stopped, laughing when she slapped at his chest. He kissed her forehead and said, “Seriously, though, all of our reasons aren’t so important anymore, are they?”

“Both our names are on the lease and the bank accounts, you’re Noah’s legal guardian, what would change?”

“We could file joint taxes?” he suggested, cocking an eyebrow. In spite of his smirk, however, she could see that he was serious. Noah’s words had bothered him more than they should, and she wanted to set his mind at ease.

“Let’s talk about it later,” she said. “When you’re not so…emotional.”

“Emotional?” he asked, sounding affronted as his eyes widened. “I do not get emotional.”

“Yeah, and you don’t snore, I know,” she said.

As they looked at each other, she saw his expression soften. “Maybe a little emotional,” he admitted quietly. “I just…miss…you know, the holding hands to cross the street and the…cutting the crusts off the sandwiches, and reading bedtime stories…and him telling all his friends that I was his dad like he was proud instead of—”

She raised her hands to his cheeks and kissed him, unable to bear the hurt look in his eyes. “I miss those days, too, Raf, but I promise it’ll be okay. Whatever it is, you’ll work it out, the two of you. You’re a great father.”

“You know that I never…didn’t want to marry you, right? You never thought I was…less than all-in?”

“All-in?” she repeated. “We made the decision together, Rafael. If you want to talk about it, we will. If you ask me to marry you, I’ll say yes. If you want me to ask you, I will,” she added with a smile. “But this is our family, and you and I, we’re together forever, no matter what, right?”

“No matter what,” he agreed, leaning forward to kiss her. “I love you.”

She patted his cheek. “I know you do, you silly oaf,” she said. “And I love you. Stop worrying. We’ll figure it out together just like always.”

*       *       *

“God, I look so much like my mother I want to kill myself,” Jasper said.

Barba hesitated beside Noah’s bedroom door.

“You shouldn’t joke like that,” Gable said.

“You don’t know my mother,” Jasper answered.

There was a pause, and then Noah said, “There are worse things, Jas.”

“Really? Easy for you to say. You don’t look like yours.”

There was another silence, longer this time. “She’s not my real mother. I mean, biologically. I was adopted.”

“I…oh. Sorry? Do you remember your—”

“No.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’s dead.”

“Oh shit, man, sorry.”

“I didn’t know him. Barba’s been…” He trailed off, though, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“Barba? Dude, you call him by his last name?”

“Barba is your dad, Noah,” Gable said.

“You call him Barba, too?” Jasper asked.

“It’s sort of like a joke in their family,” Gable answered.

“I don’t get it,” Jasper said.

“Yeah, well,” Noah replied, “it used to be funnier.”

Barba’s heart was thudding in his chest. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop; he’d simply been caught by Jasper’s exclamation.

“Your parents are like the most stable couple of anyone in our class,” Gable said.

“I’m shocked there aren’t more stable couples in your freshman class,” Jasper said.

“Shut up, you know what I—Ow!”

“Leave him alone, Jas,” Noah said.

“Asshole,” Gable muttered. Then, louder, “Wait, I didn’t—”

“Jasper,” Noah said, his voice sharp.

“Aw, fine, I was just messing with him,” Jasper said. “Don’t wet yourself, Chubs. Anyway, Noah, the guy seems sorta like a pushover, yeah? I mean, you insulted him and he didn’t even say boo.”

“I didn’t insult him,” Noah muttered, and Barba could hear the frown in his voice.

“Fine, whatever. Look, I’m bored. Let’s get out of here, alright?”

“It’s almost nine o’clock,” Gable said.

“It’s almost nine o’clock,” Jasper mocked in a high voice. “Seriously, does your mother hold your hand when you cross the street?”

“Actually, my mother died when I was seven,” Gable said.

“Oh, well maybe Noah’s parents can adopt you, too.”

Barba knew he’d been standing outside the door for far too long, listening to things he shouldn’t, and he had to force his feet to move. He walked into his own bedroom and closed the door with a soft click. Benson was sitting on the bed in sweat pants and a t-shirt, reading a magazine. She looked up at his entrance, saw his expression, and frowned. She took her glasses off, set them on the nightstand, and put her magazine down.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I don’t like that Jasper kid,” Barba said. “I’m adding his name to my list.”

She smiled. “You’ve been taking names for almost a decade, babe, and what’s ever come of it?”

“I’ve been right every time. That little Cooper kid that Noah used to play with—”

“Yes, I remember, the first name on your list. He was six.”

“Yeah, well, now he’s sixteen and he got suspended last week. And Susie Anderson—”

“I get it, Counsellor, you’re an excellent judge of who our son should be friends with,” she said, with equal parts amusement and exasperation. “But you never told him he couldn’t be friends with any of them.”

“Of course not,” Barba said with a scowl.

Benson patted his side of the bed. Still scowling, he crawled over her instead of walking around the bed. She grunted, then laughed, and his lips quirked into a smile in spite of his frown. She laid her head on his shoulder as he settled against the headboard, and felt him sigh.

“He makes pretty good decisions,” she said quietly. “You’re the one always telling me to trust him more, not be so overprotective.”

“What do I know?” he muttered, and she laughed quietly.

“I’ve always thought you were pretty smart,” she said. “And so did Harvard, I believe.”

“Hey, Liv?” he asked, running a finger up her arm.

She laughed again. “Hey, what?”

“If we got married, does that mean we’d get a honeymoon?”

She put her hand on his thigh. “Is that what this is about? Sex?” she joked, loving the way his muscles tensed at her touch. “We’ve never had to spend thousands of dollars—” She stopped, her head turning toward the sound of her phone, and Barba’s stomach sank. They both knew what the call likely meant.

She grabbed the phone, read the display, and sighed. Barba rubbed her shoulder for a few seconds, and then she was off the bed and answering the phone. He knew immediately by the tone of her voice and the brisk questions that she was leaving, even before she started changing her clothes. She hung up the phone and tossed it onto the bed while she dressed.

He could remind her that she was the captain, and that she didn’t have to go. She had a sergeant and detectives who could handle the situation, whatever it was. She had never been—and would never be—the type to sit back and let others do the heavy lifting, though.

She looked back at him and he could read the apology in her eyes. He also knew that she was on her way to a crime scene, and she didn’t need him adding to her stress. It was most likely going to be a long, difficult night for her. He slid to her side of the bed, setting her phone on the night table, and swung his feet to the floor.

She stepped between his knees and let him wrap his arms around her, if only for a minute.

“Just remember we love you and we’ll be here when you get back,” he said.

“And we’ll discuss the whole honeymoon idea,” she answered quietly. “There are a lot of places in the world I’d like to make love to you, Barba.”

He looked up at her, cocked an eyebrow, and said, “Name one place you wouldn’t.”

She laughed. “I can’t, you’re right. We might as well throw darts at a map. But we’ll talk about it.” She pulled away reluctantly and was buckling her holster when there was a knock on the bedroom door. “It’s open,” she said.

Noah opened the door, saw her getting ready for work, and stopped, frowning. “You’re leaving?” he asked.

“Sorry, honey, just got a call. What’s up?”

“I…We’re gonna go to Jasper’s house for awhile, okay?”

She glanced at the alarm clock, even though she knew what time it was. “It’s late—how are you getting there?”

“Taxi.”

“Noah,” she said. “I don’t know…”

“Mom, come on,” he said. She shot him a warning look and he immediately moderated his tone. “We’ll be fine, it’s not that far. Please?”

“I—You know what, I have to go. I’m sorry, honey. Talk to your dad, it’s up to him,” she said. Noah and Barba followed her out of the room, past where Gable and Jasper were standing in the living room. She put on her coat and patted her pockets, frowning. Barba held out her phone and she took it, her expression easing. She kissed him quickly. “Thanks, babe,” she said. “Don’t wait up.”

“Be safe.”

“Always. Love you.” She looked at Noah. “Love you, see you in the morning. Be good.”

“Mom, can’t I—”

“I told you, talk to your dad,” she said, and then she was gone and the door was closing behind her.

Noah looked at Barba, and Barba saw the boy’s jaw clench. Behind Noah, Jasper was smiling innocently. Too innocently. Gable looked guilty and maybe a little ill.

Noah and Gable had been friends since the first grade. Barba liked Gable, and always had. He was funny, and kindhearted, and easygoing; he and Noah never seemed to argue, and Barba and Benson had come to think of Gable as an extension of their family. He was the closest thing to a brother that Noah had, and Barba trusted the two boys together.

He didn’t trust Jasper, though, and it wasn’t just because he and Gable didn’t seem to like each other—although that was certainly a factor. No, Barba didn’t trust the boy’s smile or his manners. Both seemed just a little too bright to be sincere.

Barba wasn’t surprised. Noah had always, for some reason, been drawn to the outcasts and trouble-makers. Benson had been right, of course, in pointing out that Noah always parted ways with the other kids before he could get sucked into their drama, but that didn’t keep Barba from worrying—especially now that they were teenagers and likely to experiment with more dangerous things. He couldn’t change Noah’s tendency to gravitate toward questionable friends, and he wouldn’t if he could. It was part of Noah, part of his kindness and generosity, that he was driven to befriend the troubled kids.

“Can we go?” Noah asked, sounding sullen as he frowned at Barba.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say no. Noah looked like he expected him to say no, in spite of the fact that Barba had always been more likely to say yes than Benson. Moreover, Noah looked like he despised having to ask.

“Are you staying the night there?” Barba asked.

“Probably,” Noah said.

“Okay,” Barba heard himself say. If anything, Noah’s scowl seemed to deepen, and Barba tried not to let it bother him. “Just, uh—Do you need money?”

Noah turned away, gesturing for his friends to follow him. “No, I’ve got money,” he said.

“Wait, take it, just in case,” Barba said, heading toward the kitchen counter where his wallet was waiting with his keys.

“I don’t need it,” Noah said without looking back.

As the boys walked out the door, Barba heard Jasper muttering, “Shoulda taken the money, what’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t want it,” Noah responded, and then the door was closed and Barba was alone.

*       *       *

Barba peered at his phone through barely-cracked eyelids. He’d had a few glasses of scotch before crawling into bed, to help him sleep. Now, the sound of his phone was an unwelcome intrusion. He squinted at the too-bright screen. 2:56am, and that woke him up. It was Noah’s name on the display, and he pushed himself up in bed, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he answered, “Noah?”

“Uh, Mr. Barba?” a hesitant voice said into his ear.

“Gable?” Barba asked, his stomach clenching. “What’s—Where’s Noah?”

“I, uh…He’s gonna kill me, but…I just think you should come get him. I didn’t mean to…I mean, I wasn’t sure if I should call…”

“Is he hurt?” Barba asked, already halfway to the closet.

“No, not yet,” Gable answered, and his words sent a cold frisson of fear down Barba’s spine. “It’s just that…if Captain Benson comes, she’ll—”

“I’m coming to get my son, Gable, I don’t care about whatever else is going on,” Barba said, yanking on a pair of pants. That wasn’t exactly true—He did, of course, care about whatever underage and illegal activities were going on, and he couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t involve Benson or the cops. But all of that took a backseat to getting Noah home safely. “Tell me where you are.”

“I’ll text you Jasper’s address,” Gable said.

“Good, and both of you stay put, do you hear me?”

“Yeah,” the boy answered, sounding glum.

“You did the right thing,” Barba told him.

“He’s gonna kill me,” Gable muttered.

*       *       *

Barba’s taxi was halfway to Jasper’s house when Gable texted from Noah’s phone to say that Noah and Jasper had gotten into a fight and Jasper had kicked them out. Gable and Noah had left the house and were on their way—on foot—to Columbus Park. Barba gave the new instructions to the driver and sat in the back of the cab, knee bouncing and stomach churning, trying not to imagine the worst.

When the car neared the park, Barba saw the boys walking through the arc of light cast by an overhead lamp, crossing toward the playground, and he told the driver to wait for him—hopping out before the taxi had even stopped. He could see that Noah was staggering; Gable was following a couple of steps behind him.

“Noah,” Barba said, and both boys turned toward the sound of his voice. He saw the relief on Gable’s face.

Noah, almost falling over as he spun, scowled. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, his speech slurred. He had a dark mark beneath his eye, presumably caused by Jasper’s fist.

Barba was feeling a lot of things, including anger, but the most prominent was relief. Yes, Noah was drunk. Yes, he was wandering around the park at 3:30 in the morning. But he was alive and on his feet, and Barba let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“Come on,” he said, gesturing as he approached the boys. “Get in the cab, we’re going home.”

Noah, still scowling, patted his pockets and glared at Gable. “You called him?” he asked. “Gimme back my phone.”

“This isn’t you,” Gable said. “This is Jasper! He’s got you all—”

“He’s not my friend anymore,” Noah cut in. “Maybe you aren’t either.”

Barba was close to them, and he had to resist the urge to grab Noah by the arms and either hug him or shake him. “Noah,” he said.

“Oh, just go away,” Noah told him, turning away. He staggered a bit but stayed upright and started walking. “I’m fine.”

“This is not a discussion, mijo,” Barba said, his voice sharp. He couldn’t remember ever having used that tone with Noah, but this was different. Noah was putting himself—and Gable—in danger.

“Actually, you’re not my father,” Noah said, and there it was. Finally.

“Jeez, Noah,” Gable mumbled.

Barba grabbed Noah’s shirt to stop him. “Actually, I am,” he said, doing his best to fight past the dagger of pain in his heart.

Noah turned unsteadily and swung out an arm. It wasn’t a punch, exactly, but he caught Barba in the mouth hard enough to split his lip, and Barba stumbled back a step.

“Shiiiit,” Gable moaned.

“Mierda,” Barba muttered, touching a finger to his bloody lip. Noah looked shocked, and he took a shuffling step backward. “Don’t you dare,” Barba told him when he saw that the drunken teenager was considering an attempt to flee. “I will tackle your ass to the ground,” he said.

“I didn’t—” Noah broke off and took another step backward, and Barba stepped toward him.

“Gable, get in the taxi,” he said without looking back.

“I’ll just call—”

“Get in the car,” Barba snapped. Then, to Noah, he said, “Whether you like it or not, mijo, I’m the only father you’ve got, and I’m not leaving you here. We can finish this at home, but you are fifteen years old. You need to get into the—” He stopped when he saw Noah’s face beginning to crumple.

“Guess you were right, huh?” the boy asked, with tears shimmering in his eyes.

Barba took another step forward but stopped when Noah stepped back. “What are you talking about?” Barba asked. He couldn’t stand the pain in Noah’s face. He wanted to fix it, whatever it was; he wanted to make everything better.

“I used to worry about Mom a lot,” Noah said, his voice thick with emotion and alcohol. “Not just about her but what would happen to me. Where I would live.”

“What the hell—”

“Guardianship can be cancelled, I knew that a long time ago.”

Barba hesitated, feeling cold. “I…Noah, mijo, almost any judge would listen to you about where you wanted to—”

“Not against you, they wouldn’t,” he cut in.

“Against…me,” Barba said. He swallowed with difficulty. “Noah, do you think I’d force you to stay with me if you didn’t want to?”

“No, it’d probably be a relief,” Noah answered, and his voice cracked.

Barba held out a hand. “Noah. Mijo,” he said.

“Don’t call me that!” Noah suddenly shouted, and the pain in his voice broke Barba’s heart.

“Fine. Fine, Noah,” Barba said. “You want to hate me, you can hate me. I’ll be the bad guy. Just get in the car.”

Noah stood there staring at him.

“Come on, Noah!” Gable called from beside the waiting taxi.

“I don’t hate you,” Noah muttered. “You hate me.”

“No. No, son, there is nothing you could ever do to make me hate you. Ever.”

“That’s not true—You hate my father.”

For a moment Barba was confused. “Do you mean…Are you talking about Johnny D?” he asked.

“Yeah. He and my—and Ellie Porter, they’re why you didn’t want me, right? Until you knew for sure? I didn’t understand for a long time.”

“Noah. For the love of God. Please. Please, get in the taxi. We can talk about this at home.”

“You were right. Look at me. I—I hit you.”

“Please,” Barba repeated. He wanted to grab the boy and hug him and never let go, but he couldn’t. He had to get Noah home, where he was safe. He had to sober him up. And then he had to talk to him—really and seriously talk to him. He had to know what he’d done wrong, what he’d done to make Noah doubt his unconditional love. He held out a hand.

“Don’t touch me,” Noah mumbled, but the words were more of a plea than a command.

“No. I won’t touch you,” Barba said quietly. “But I fucking love you, kid, so much that I’d rip my heart out and hand it to you if I could, if that would convince you. Please come home with me.”

Noah hesitated a few seconds longer before hunching his shoulders and walking past Barba toward the cab. Barba felt another rush of relief, in spite of his swirl of hurt and anger and confusion. He trailed behind his son, watching him struggle to walk in a straight line. They’re why you didn’t want me, right? Until you knew for sure?

Barba felt like he was going to be sick. What the hell have I done? he thought.

*       *       *

“Go in Noah’s bedroom, please, Gable,” Barba said. He glanced at his watch. “Try to get some sleep.”

Gable glanced at Noah, who was standing in the middle of the living room with a scowl on his face and the beginnings of a black eye. “Okay,” Gable said, looking unsure.

Barba reached out and put a hand on Gable’s shoulder, drawing his attention. When the boy was looking at him, Barba said, “Thank you.”

Gable swallowed and nodded before turning and disappearing into Noah’s room. He closed the door behind himself.

Taking a breath to steel his nerves, Barba turned to his son.

Swaying, Noah said, “I don’t feel so good.”

“Yeah, well, that’ll happen,” Barba answered.

Noah suddenly sprinted unsteadily toward the bathroom. Barba heard the thud of his knees hitting the linoleum and, a second later, the unmistakable sounds of his son vomiting into the toilet. Barba got a glass from the kitchen and walked slowly into the bathroom. Noah was hugging the toilet bowl, his sweaty curls plastered to his forehead. Barba filled the glass with water and set it on the corner of the counter, within the boy’s reach.

“I think I’m dying,” Noah moaned.

“You’re not,” Barba assured him quietly. “Throwing up will make you feel better.”

“When?”

“Soon. Rinse your mouth and drink.”

Noah grabbed the glass with a shaky hand and almost dropped it into the toilet. He swished a mouthful of water and spit it into the bowl, then took a long drink while Barba reached over his head and flushed the toilet.

Noah glanced up at him and quickly away. “I know you’re pissed,” he muttered. After a moment he pushed himself backward, sitting against the side of the bathtub with a wince and clutching the glass in both hands.

“I’m angry, yes,” Barba said, still speaking quietly. “Do you know why?”

“I didn’t mean to hit you,” Noah mumbled, staring blearily at the floor.

“Yes you did, and I don’t care. I mean, I care, but that’s not—Noah, no matter what happens, no matter how angry you are with me, no matter what, you fucking call me, do you understand? If Gable hadn’t—Jesus, Noah, if anything happened to you…” He shook his head, and for a moment he thought he might have to hit his knees, too. He swallowed the sting of bile with effort. “Nothing is more important than you being safe.”

“Why are you being nice?” Noah asked, finally looking up as tears spilled over his flushed cheeks. He was going to have a hell of a shiner in the morning, and Barba couldn’t help but hope that Jasper had an injury or two of his own. “I know you see my father when you look at me.”

“Do you think I never made stupid decisions and got drunk on crappy beer when I was your age?”

“I don’t mean you, I mean—”

“I know who you mean,” Barba interrupted, his voice sharp. “And you are my son. I’m not perfect, but I’ve done the best I can. We used to talk, if there was something bothering—”

“Were you worried I’d turn out like them?”

Barba regarded his son. “No,” he said. “Not ever.”

“I saw your study. Your law review thing.”

Barba blinked, surprised and confused. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“I was doing a report on you, on your career,” Noah said, fresh tears shimmering in his eyes. “I found the study you wrote.”

Barba slowly sank into a crouch, barely aware of the strain on his joints. “I’ve written a lot of articles and reviews,” he said, but he suddenly understood.

“Nature vs. Nurture: Exploring the Theory of the ‘Rape Gene’ and Familial Criminality.”

Barba’s scalp was prickling. His skin felt cold. “Why didn’t you come to me?” he asked through numb lips. “Noah. Dios mío. The point was to debunk—How long? How long ago did you—”

Noah shrugged a shoulder, looking at his glass. “Couple months ago,” he muttered.

Barba sat on the floor and ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus, mijo,” he breathed. “I am so sorry—”

“It made sense, you know?” Noah interrupted without looking up. “Why you wouldn’t want to…commit—”

“Commit?” Barba repeated. “You don’t think I’m committed to you? To your mother?”

Frowning, Noah said, “I know you love her. I mean, I know you love me, too, but it makes sense that you’d be—”

“You’re a smart kid, but you don’t know everything,” Barba said, and Noah looked up at the hardness in his voice. “When your mother and I first started dating, we discussed everything—marriage, living together, names, finances, and most importantly, you. Before, Liv and I were…well, independent would be an understatement. Workaholics, for sure. We decided together that we should keep some of that independence—not because we weren’t committed to each other, but because we both knew ourselves well enough to admit that we might…chafe at the collar if we moved too quickly into the realm of shared bank accounts and joint leases. All of that happened gradually—naturally. We did what we thought was best for our relationship and this family.

“I became your legal guardian almost immediately. The one thing we agreed on from the start was that you were going to be my son, forever. Yes, if we’d gotten married, I would’ve adopted you, but the legal differences—”

“Would you have changed my name?”

Barba shook his head, slowly.

Noah’s chin quivered. “Because you didn’t want me to have your name when I might end up—”

“No. Your mother chose your name to honor the memory of your biological mother, of Ellie Porter. Noah Porter Benson. We agreed that it should be your choice, when you were old enough, whether or not you wanted to change it.”

Noah puzzled that through for a few moments, his brow furrowed. “Did you want me—”

“Yes. Of course I wanted you to want my name. Of course I did, Noah. Of course I do. But that’s your decision. You had a rough start in life, but you were always strong, always a fighter. We knew that you’d grow up strong-willed and stubborn, and that you would be in control of your life and future. Do you think I doubted you? How could I? I’ve watched you becoming a man and as much as I’ve wanted to slow down time, to keep you my sweet little boy, I couldn’t be anything other than proud of you, of the adult you’re going to be.”

“You…wrote about the idea of self-fulfilling prophecies—”

“That article was not about you, Noah.”

“But here I am, look at me. I got drunk, I hit you in the face—”

“So, you’re a teenager,” Barba said. “Big deal. You worrying about whether or not you’re a good person is what makes you a good person, Noah. Do you think I never worried that I would turn into my father? I was scared to death by the thought of having kids and screwing them up, of being like him. Before I met you.”

“It’s not the same,” Noah said. “Maybe he wasn’t a great guy, but he wasn’t…” He trailed off, though, because he saw Barba’s expression tighten. “I guess…I don’t really know how…bad he might’ve been,” he muttered. “I just…thought…”

“Noah,” Barba said. He hesitated. He and Benson had agreed that they would tell Noah about their family histories when he was old enough to really understand. Now, Benson wasn’t here, and Barba debated. Hoping he wasn’t making a mistake, he finally said, “Did you read the article? Do you know where the term ‘rape gene’ came from?”

“Yeah,” Noah muttered. “You guys had a case together. The guy—”

“Yeah, a case together. Your mother and I weren’t together yet, but we were…Well, let’s just say I knew how upset she was by the…suggestion.”

“Because she’d adopted me.”

“No. Look at me and make sure you hear this. Liv’s—your mother’s father raped her mother. That’s how your mother was conceived, in a…despicable, horrible act of violence. She spent most of her life fighting against the idea that…Fighting against the knowledge that his blood was in her veins. She fought to prove that she was nothing like him, that she was the opposite of him, and I don’t really think it was until she found you that she realized how unnecessary it was. I think it was when she looked at you that she finally realized that she’d been fighting against an imaginary monster that she’d created. We were determined that you would never go through that. I failed you, and I’m sorry.”

Noah shook his head, his face crumpling. “I screwed everything up,” he said on a sob.

Barba shifted closer and reached for him, and Noah set the glass on the floor and crawled toward him. Barba grabbed him, hugging the boy’s head to his chest. He smelled like beer and vomit and sweat, but Barba kissed his dirty hair and held him as tightly as he dared.

“Nothing is screwed up, honey,” he murmured against his son’s curls. “You’re fifteen. You’re going to be alright, I promise.”

“All I wanted was to be your son,” Noah said, his voice thick with tears. Barba couldn’t see his face.

“You are my son.”

“I mean, really.”

“So do I,” Barba said. “Screw biology—that’s what I should’ve named that article. Do you think your mother isn’t really your mother?”

“No, but—”

“I spent all of my adult life trying to make my name mean something good, trying to make it mine instead of my father’s. I loved him, but I hated him, too. My name represents both the best and worst of me. My name, it isn’t perfect, but giving it to you would be…Noah, nothing could make me prouder. You would make it something for me to live up to. But Benson? That’s a name that I love with all my heart. If you want me to, I’ll take your name, your mother’s name. If the difference between adoption and guardianship bothers you, I’ll beg your mother to marry me and—”

“It doesn’t,” Noah said. “It doesn’t matter. I was stupid, Dad, I’m sorry.”

Barba sighed, rubbing the boy’s back. “Please, just talk to me, Noah. When something’s bothering you, let me try to help. Don’t ever stop talking to me, okay?”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“How does your eye feel?”

“My eye?”

Barba laughed quietly. “You have a black eye,” he said. “Does it hurt?”

“I do? God. Mom’s going to kill me.”

“The black eye might actually get you a modicum of sympathy,” Barba said with a smile.

Noah pulled back, lifting his head to look at him, and Barba loosened his arms reluctantly. “Your lip…” Noah said, his red-rimmed eyes full of guilt.

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not.”

“It is,” Barba insisted softly, raising a hand to brush his son’s hair from his forehead. “If you’re feeling a little better, I want you to get some sleep.”

“My head hurts,” Noah said. “But I think my stomach might be okay.”

“You won’t feel great in the morning,” Barba warned. “And there will most likely be yelling, so you’d better prepare yourself.”

Noah grimaced. “She’s gonna be pissed, but I deserve it. Can I take some Tylenol?”

Barba shook his head. “Bad for your liver, mijo, stick to aspirin or ibuprofen.”

Noah shifted away, wincing, and carefully pushed himself to his feet, swaying a bit. After a moment, Barba also got up with a wince. He grabbed the aspirin from the medicine cabinet and shook a couple out, handing them to Noah. He retrieved the glass of water from the floor, afraid that Noah would topple headfirst into the bathtub if he tried to get it.

Noah swallowed the pills and the last of the water.

“Go to bed and don’t be hard on Gable. He did the right thing.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t trust Jasper from the get-go.”

“I know,” Noah repeated, with the ghost of a smile.

Barba nodded and started to turn, but Noah put a hand on his arm.

“Dad,” he said, and Barba looked back. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s—”

“No,” Noah said, shaking his head. “I don’t mean for the drinking, or the…attitude, or for hitting you. I’m sorry that I doubted you when you never did anything to deserve that. I was scared, and stupid. You never…You didn’t do anything wrong. You were the best dad I could…anyone could have. You didn’t have to do it, you didn’t have to be here. You do everything for us, and I made you feel like shit for no reason. I’m sorry and I love you.”

Barba couldn’t keep the tears from spilling down his cheeks and he reached for Noah, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry, and I love you,” he murmured. “We’ll talk about this later with your mom, but you and I have a clean slate, alright? No more apologies, no secrets, no lies. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

Barba kissed his temple and released him, nodding. “Alright. Go to bed. And enjoy having Gable sleep over because your mother’s probably going to ground you until you’re eighteen.”

Noah laughed. He looked like hell, but his laughter was all that Barba could hope for. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Poor Gable.”

*       *       *

Benson stopped inside the bedroom door, looking at Barba. “You’re up,” she said, unnecessarily. She looked exhausted, and she dropped her phone onto the nightstand. Barba was sitting against the pillows with a book facedown in his lap.

“Are you okay?” he asked. It was just before five. He’d checked on the boys a few minutes earlier, and they were both sleeping soundly.

“It was a rough night,” she said, as she took off her holster and set it on the dresser. “Is Noah here?”

“Yes,” he answered.

She heard the hesitation in his voice and she turned toward the bed, frowning. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “What—happened to your lip?” she asked, walking toward him, her frown deepening.

“Everything’s fine,” he said. “Noah and I—”

“Did he hit you?” she asked, sounding alarmed.

“Accidentally, yes,” he said. “And he was drinking.”

“Drinking? I’ll kill him,” she said, starting toward the door.

“Liv. Please, let him sleep for now. He knows he’s in trouble, but there’s more.”

“More?” she asked.

“Come to bed and I’ll explain.”

“Raf—”

“Please, honey, I don’t want you to worry right now. I know you’ve had a hard night.”

She let out a breath and scrubbed her hands over her face. Finally, she grabbed the sweats and t-shirt she’d been wearing the night before—it felt like a lifetime had passed, rather than just eight hours. She stripped off her uniform and pulled on the pajamas, and disappeared toward the bathroom. She returned in a few minutes, slipping into bed beside Barba.

“It smells like vomit in there,” she said. “Vomit and old beer. Rafael…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “He’s fifteen. What—”

“He read that stupid law review article I did,” he said, quietly. “The ridiculous rape gene theory. He thought that I didn’t marry you because I didn’t want to adopt him until I knew if he was going to turn out like that asshole father—” He broke off and pulled a breath in through his nose. “It wasn’t that, really—marriage and adoption—it was the name. He thought I didn’t want him to have my name.”

“Oh my God, Raf, I’m so sorry,” she said, putting her arms around him.

“Why are you apologizing to me?” he asked with a frown, pulling back a bit.

“We should’ve explained sooner. I thought there was still time because it never seemed to bother him. We knew it would open up so many things…” She saw the look on his face, and said, “What?”

“I’m sorry, but I told him about your…About what happened to your mother. I didn’t mean to do it without you—I just had to make him understand—”

She pressed her palm against his cheek. “I trust you. If you told him, then I’m sure it was the right time. I can talk to him about it. Did it help?”

“Yes. Yeah, I think we’re good,” he said. “I just wish I’d realized what was bothering him sooner.”

She sighed and laid her head against his shoulder, and he hugged her against himself. “We can’t second-guess every decision we’ve made,” she said quietly. “We’ve done the best we could.”

“He knows that. And I don’t think we should be too hard on him, this time. He screwed up—he really screwed up, but he knows it.”

“You’re such a pushover,” she mumbled. He could hear the smile in her voice, and also knew that she was close to falling asleep. He kissed her head. “I love that about you,” she added sleepily.

“I love everything about you,” he murmured into her hair.

“Good, because I’ve been thinking,” she said without looking up. “A honeymoon sounds nice.”

He smiled. “Are you proposing to me?” he asked.

“You brought it up first,” she mumbled against his shirt, half-asleep.

“After you read Noah the riot act, we can discuss what’s really important.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Who’s taking what names,” he said, and she laughed quietly against his chest. “Sleep, honey. I’m just going to hold onto you for awhile.”

“I think you mean forever, babe,” she muttered.

“Yes, I do,” he answered as she slipped into sleep.