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Chapter Text

Sshhsssckk. Sshhsssckk. Sshhsssckk.

Rafael Barba could hear the chain.

Sshhsssckk. Sshhsssckk. Sshhsssckk.

The links rattled as they scraped along the metal channel.

Sshhsssckk. Sshhsssckk. Sshhsssckk.

Beneath the clinks and clanks, there was a humming, whirling sound of unyielding machinery as the chain was slowly retracted back through the small opening in his prison wall.

Barba sighed.

He had long since grown accustomed to the iron encircling his wrists and the limited length of metal links that connected the bands. It was just enough slack that his movement was impaired, but not completely inhibited. In the months—or had it been years?—since his abduction, Barba had learned that ignoring the chain, which served as a constant tether to his restraints, was futile.

It had been a hard lesson—don’t fight the chain.

The space the former ADA inhabited was austere. Its only furnishings were a narrow bed with a thin mattress covered in a crinkling, waterproof sheet, and, against the far wall, an industrial toilet/sink combination. Words like glamorous and opulent were not only hollow memories; they were absurdly laughable. 

Barba’s bare feet padded over to the bed. Climbing onto it, he ignored the protesting springs as they groaned under his weight. He curled in on himself and raised his hands toward the gap in the wall, which was consuming the chain. It came as no surprise that he didn’t bother to turn his head to see how much was left to be reeled in.

Barba couldn’t see.

His first memories of this place were not of the application of his restraints, but of a blindfold. It was an unremarkable method of depriving him of one of the most basic senses, and yet it was remarkably effective. A strip of cloth secured thick cotton pads against his closed lids. At first, those pads had been affixed with industrial adhesive, and he couldn’t have pried them off without ripping away bits of skin. Now, however, was a different story, and the only adhesive holding the cotton against his face was the kind that came in the packaging. 

Another lesson he had learned the hard way—don’t take off the blindfold.

There was just the slightest tug against his wrists as the sounds ground to a halt and the chain finished winding its way back into the passage in the wall. A few links remained, spilling from the slot like a tongue, providing him with little room to maneuver but just enough should he want to shift from a recumbent position with his hands above his head to a seated one, with his hands in his lap, provided he sat immediately adjacent to the gap.

If Barba was being honest, the opening in the wall where the chain was reeled in and out scared him. He was no match for the gears and machinery that extended and retracted his metal tether. 

There was a scene in Roman Holiday where Audrey Hepburn’s character put her hand into the mouth of a marble carving mask that, according to legend, would bite off the hand of liars. She had removed her hand without incident, but when Gregory Peck’s character did the same, he tucked his hand into his sleeve to make it appear as though it had been chomped off when he withdrew it. Barba had seen that movie as a child, and it had stuck with him all these years. In truth, should the chain ever fail to stop reeling back into the wall, the cuffs would very likely de-glove his hands or perhaps rip through skin, bone, and sinew entirely. He’d be left bleeding out on the thin mattress as the mouth in the wall consumed his severed hands.

Rafael, he silently chided himself, stop it with the intrusive thoughts already. Breathe. Try to stay calm. You know what comes next.

Barba really did know what was going to happen next. His life in this prison was terribly predictable. Horrifically unpleasant? Yes. But at least he knew what was expected of him. 

A sharp clank was immediately followed by a deep rumble as the door to his cell was slid open. 

Inhaling deeply, Barba stilled all movement and lamented that the air held not even the barest hint of something savory. His mouth watered at the thought of crinkling paper wrapped around a greasy burger. Unsurprisingly, his captor was no chef, and the fare Barba consumed was usually of the fast food variety. 

That was the hardest lesson of them all—naughty boys don’t get fed.

Hunger, as it turned out, was the key to unraveling the former ADA, like a cat with a spool of yarn. Barba was a far cry from the man he used to be. Now he was like that proverbial yarn: tangled, frayed, and yielding to his captor’s every whim in the desperate hope of being fed.

“Hello, Sweetie,” his captor purred, entering the room.

Barba held his breath as the mattress dipped behind him and a hand ghosted over the bare skin of his thigh, up his hip, before sliding down between his legs.

“Have you missed me?”

Please make it quick, Barba prayed in silent supplication.

“I have a treat for you.”

As those words were spoken, a soft hand wrapped around his flaccid cock and began slow, deliberate strokes.

“Please,” he pleaded in a one-word petition as he felt his body respond to the stimulus.

“Oh? Are you talking to me today, Rafael?”

Barba nodded. “Yes. Please. I’m…”

“You’re what?” 

“Love,” he answered, swallowing down the revulsion that coiled in his belly every time he used the only name his captor had given him. “Please. I’m hungry.”

There was no immediate response. Instead, the monster who held him stretched out behind him, a swollen belly pressing against his spine. Even through the thin layer of fabric separating their skin, Barba could sense movement.

“You are looking a bit thin,” his captor teased as a hand rubbed him to the point of full arousal. “But I am anything but thin, Rafael. And do you want to tell me whose fault that is?” 

Through gritted teeth, Barba replied, “Mine.”

There was a gentle push and pull of hands as Barba’s captor guided him onto his back, the chain at his wrists rattling with every movement. Cool air brushed along the heated surface of his now prominent erection. The attorney didn’t resist it. There was no point.

A knee was placed on either side of his hips, and the metal bed frame creaked beneath their combined weight. Then came the dreaded press of a warm body against his and the whisper of fabric across his bare skin. 

“Sweetie?” the monster said, pressing a kiss to Barba’s tightly closed lips. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“Your face tells a different story. What has you so upset, Rafael?”

Barba felt like crying but knew that tears would only dissolve and loosen the adhesive on the cotton patches. He didn’t dare risk his captor’s ire by causing a need for the reapplication of his blindfold. 

“Legally,” he finally said, knowing that refusing to answer would be seen as disobedience, “I can’t consent.”

“And that would make this what exactly?” 

A hand wrapped around Barba’s length and his cock was engulfed in a slick, warm, channel of flesh.

“Rape,” Barba answered. 

“Oh, sweetie. I love it when you talk dirty, but you were the one who drove me to this. You know that, don’t you?”

Barba didn’t reply but merely lay unmoving as the monster straddling him began, judging by the slickness of her arousal, her favorite method of torture.

“Rafael,” she chided, her voice breathy as she rode his cock. “I asked you a question.”

Nodding, Barba tried once more to keep the tears at bay as he was raped. “Yes, I know,” he breathed. “It’s my own fault.”

“Good, we cleared that up then.” She paused, leaning forward and pressing her swollen belly against his sunken one. “But do me a favor and at least try to look excited. Okay? Only a few more weeks now, and you’ll be too busy raising our child to worry about silly things like consent.

“Now, be good for me,” she added, tucking a hand under him and pressing against the small of his back, “arch up into me. I hate it when you make me do all the work.”

Chapter Text

SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT
16TH PRECINCT, MANHATTAN
TUESDAY, MAY 14

Absentmindedly, Detective Sonny Carisi used his right forefinger to slowly spin a tube of red lipstick between the middle finger and thumb of his left hand. The physicality of the movement seemed to streamline his ability to think as he stared at the screen covered in images, dates, names, and other information pertinent to the case. The SVU squad had been tracking the Valentine Killer for over a year now. Still, Sonny found himself bogged down by seemingly unrelated variables.

The facts were there, in black and white. A pair of strangers were abducted, locked in a room together, and given the hackneyed ultimatum: fuck or die.

But it was the lingering unknown that wasn’t so easily discernible. The connection between the individuals the perpetrator abducted remained a mystery. A crucial piece of the puzzle was missing. 

In the vast majority of cases, victims at least shared something in common: age, race, gender, vocation, that sort of thing. But in this case, the killer’s victims had no such commonality. Men, women, gay, straight, Black, white, Hispanic, Christian, atheist, Muslim… it didn’t seem to matter to Valentine.

The only consistent detail across all victims was a heart drawn on their skin with cheap red lipstick. Sometimes it was smeared, but other times, especially when it was a body found and not a traumatized survivor, the heart was freshly applied.

And because the victims seemed truly random, there was no predicting who would be next.

Fiddling with the tube of lipstick like it was a pen, Sonny drummed it against his palm. Then, standing up, he took a few steps closer to the oversized screen and its array of photographs and case notes.

Sonny shifted, feeling his shirt beginning to ruck up from the waistband of his pants and bunch beneath the hem of his vest. He had already rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and he was seconds away from loosening his tie. He was sure he looked as harried as he felt, but he didn’t care. His appearance was the least of his concerns, because today was the fourteenth of the month, and the only predictability to Valentine’s crimes was the precision of his timeline.

The detective’s eyes flicked over each abduction date: the 14th of every month from February through January, and finally, February again.

Thirteen pairs of victims, Sonny silently counted. That can’t be right. That can’t possibly be right. We’re missing a set. Eight deaths. Eighteen survivors. There should be two more.

Tapping the object in his hand against his lips, his train of thought was interrupted.

“I don’t think that color suits you, detective.” 

Startled, Sonny fumbled the small plastic tube but managed to catch it before it hit the ground.

“Lieutenant,” Carisi stuttered as Olivia Benson entered the media room. 

With a tone full of regretful reproach, Benson said, “It’s late, Carisi. Go home.”

“But I—”

“You’re not going to be able to solve the unsolvable,” the lieutenant said, pulling him back into reality. “Not even if you stare at that screen all day and night. Believe me, I tried.”

“Today’s the fourteenth.”

“I know. But, Sonny,” Benson reasoned, “Valentine hasn’t abducted anyone since February. And if he doesn’t strike again today, that means it will have been three months since we found his last victims. Maybe instead of focusing on whether or not there will be more victims, you should be grateful that this crime spree has come to an end.”

“But,” Carisi countered, extending a finger with every point he made, “what if he has struck again and: A) the victims haven’t come forward, B) he didn’t dump the bodies in an area where they’d be easily found, or C) he’s decided to keep his victims captive?”

Benson sighed as she approached the detective. Holding out her hand, she wordlessly motioned for him to place the object in her upturned palm.

“Did you get this from evidence?” She asked, her fingers curling around the tube of lipstick.

Sonny shook his head. “No. Test results from the lab determined that the lipstick used by Valentine wasn’t consistent across his victims,” he explained, though really he was only rehashing what they both already knew. “The only commonality was that it was red and cheap. The type you’d pick up from a drugstore.” 

“So, where do you get this?”

“CVS or Walgreens. I don’t remember.”

Carisi watched silently as his commanding officer stood at the end of a long day, saying nothing. Her jaw clenched, the muscles twitching just beneath the surface.

“Lieutenant, I—”

“Why does it sound like you’ve been making impromptu visits to drugstores to purchase red lipstick, detective?”

“Well, if I happen to run into a man who fits the profile and who is also buying lipstick—”

“No.”

“Lieutenant?”

“How many times do I need to address this with you, Sonny? Valentine is as dangerous as he is elusive. You shouldn’t be running these little sting operations on your own. Just because the department has cut back resources for this investigation doesn’t mean you have carte blanche to go rogue.”

“I know, but it just doesn’t make sense that he would have stopped cold turkey! He’s out there, Benson. I know he is!”

“In all likelihood,” Benson replied, “the reason the abductions have stopped is because our perp isn’t physically able to continue. Maybe he’s already been arrested on another charge. Who knows, maybe he got picked up for shoplifting lipstick. But if we’re lucky, the last person he tried to abduct fought back and he’s dead.”

“Yes, but–”

“But what, Carisi? You think you’re the only one on the squad who stays up at night wondering why we never managed to track Valentine down?” Benson said, slapping the tube of lipstick down onto a nearby table. “Even his signature is just as inconsistent in the type of victim he chooses.”

“His methods of coercion and killing his victims are consistent.”

“And he’s consistent in preventing them from seeing or touching him. We don’t even have a sketch or any physical description to go off of, let alone his DNA.”

There it was, plain as day. The reason their department had failed so miserably to stop the Valentine attacks. The perpetrator was a complete unknown. Every lead, every scrap of evidence, every promising suspect had culminated in one dead end after another.

Bringing his hand up to the base of his throat, Carisi hooked his fingers around the knot of his tie and loosened it. Instead of replying, he shifted his focus back to the screen.

He didn’t relish having his commanding officer talk some sense into him. Benson was practical, pragmatic even. She couldn’t afford to wallow in what-ifs. But Sonny did. It’s why he hadn’t left the department after getting his law degree and passing the bar. 

What if I fail as a lawyer? What if the squad falls apart when I leave? What if we never catch Valentine?

“We’re missing something crucial,” he stated. 

“No shit Sherlock.”

Briefly glancing back at his lieutenant, Carisi gave her the barest of smirks. It wasn’t like Benson to use profanity. She was the epitome of professionalism, and it was always a touch humanizing and endearing when some of her biting wit slipped through the cracks.

“I mean,” he said, pointing at the pair of photos at the top left of the board, “what if Amir Hassan and Philip Grant were not the first victims? We know Valentine likes the number 14, and we only have 13 sets of victims. What if—”

“It’s a very public case,” Benson interjected. “I am sure if Valentine had any prior victims, they would’ve come forward. That or we would’ve found the bodies. Our perp likes to take credit for his work.”

Biting his lip, Carisi hesitated. He had a wild hypothesis, more of a crackpot conspiracy theory with no substance or bearing. He knew Benson wouldn’t appreciate him entertaining it. However, if he didn’t at least give his concerns a voice, he knew the what-ifs would haunt him unceasingly.

Finally, Sonny said, “What if the first victim can’t come forward? What if Valentine still has him?”

“Him?” Benson said, her tone full of exasperation as she snapped. “Carisi.”

“C’mon, Lieutenant. No one has seen Barba since early February last year, right before Valentine’s spree started.”

“That’s because he doesn’t want to be seen. Going through that trial was hell for him, which you would know if you had bothered showing up.”

“I—” Carisi started, then stopped abruptly. Finding his system flooded by sudden emotion, he took a beat before continuing. “I couldn’t go,” he admitted softly. “I wanted to be there. I wanted to support him, but… I idolized him for so long, Olivia. And to see him… as a defendant, put on trial for murdering a baby…”

Quietly, Benson replied, “We all have the right to life, and as Barba saw it, the right to death. He expedited Drew’s passing and acted without concern for himself or the consequences he’d face. I don’t think he wanted you there,” she added. “He thought he would be found guilty. He didn’t want you to see him led away in handcuffs.”

“But that didn’t happen. He was acquitted by a jury of his peers. That’s a reason to feel vindicated, not cut everyone out of your life completely and go no contact.”

The lieutenant stepped forward and laid a comforting hand on Carisi’s back, just below his right shoulder. 

“Rafael isn’t one of Valentine’s victims. He’s not missing. He moved on. Don’t begrudge him that. And for Pete’s sake, stop letting this case devour you. Because just because Valentine had stopped... that doesn’t mean we have to stop living our lives. Go home, detective. Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning.”

Chapter Text

Sitting on the floor of the long, vacant hallway, the Valentine Killer stared down at her phone, watching the live footage playing on the screen. In the past, she had often watched Rafael, taking delight in the way he blindly groped around, screamed in frustration, banged at the walls, overturned his bed in fruitless agitation, and, best of all, grew despondent and lay unmoving for hours.

Now, though, she took no pleasure in his fumbling. She had charged him with the care of their newborn, and though he was trying to shoulder that responsibility, he was clearly struggling. With every passing day, she worried that she had made a mistake.

She should have ended it when she had the chance. But how was she to know this pregnancy would be viable when every other time it had ended in pain and blood after just a few weeks? Then again, she had been much younger in those days. Too young, really. Not that she had a choice.

If she didn't have a choice, why should anyone else?

Well... there was always death.

Sighing, she decided she had wasted enough time thinking. She couldn't just sit here watching Rafael struggle and the baby scream. It wasn’t just grating on her nerves, it made her chest ache with something fierce and unfamiliar, an emotion she didn’t know the name of.

Valentine stood and walked over to the retrofitted walk-in refrigeration unit now serving as Barba's cell. She removed the locking pin and rolled back the thick heavy metal door. She hadn’t bothered reeling in Rafael’s chain like she usually did. The baby was wailing so loudly that she doubted he could hear the rattling anyway. She couldn’t risk the chains yanking abruptly and causing him to drop the infant.

The room was stuffy, the air unmoving, thick with the rank smell of dirty diapers. Valentine left the door open as she stepped inside, hoping some of that stench would abate.

Rafael was kneeling along the far wall next to the shallow plastic tote that held the limited baby supplies she’d given him. In one arm, he cradled the baby, bouncing her gently. In the other hand, he held an empty bottle. In front of him sat the formula, open, with the scoop fallen to the side and white powder scattered where it had landed.

“Would you shut the baby up already?” Valentine grumbled.

“Love?!” Rafael turned to face her, his blindfolded expression tightening in fear.

Maybe not reeling him in had been a mistake. He hadn’t realized she was coming in and she had startled him.

“The baby, Sweetie,” she said, crossing over and pulling the infant into her arms.

The screaming child was rigid, every muscle tight with raw urgency.

“Rafael,” she said, chiding him. “Were you really trying to make a bottle and hold the baby at the same time?”

“She only screams louder when I put her on the floor.”

“That’s no excuse. She’s hungry, Rafael. She—hold on—”

Lifting the hem of her tank top, Valentine held the baby against her bare breast, guiding the little mouth until the baby latched. Delicately small fingers, tipped with the tiniest fingernails, rested against her skin, making a subtle curling motion.

There it was again, that feeling. A tightness in her chest that ached during moments like this.

“There, there,” she cooed as her child settled. “Mommy’s here, little one. Everything is all right.”

Valentine looked up to see Barba trying to scoop the spilled formula back into the container.

“Rafael,” she snapped.

Barba froze, his efforts to clean up forgotten. He held his breath, waiting for what she would say next.

He’s terrified of me.

Valentine had known this for a while. In the early days, it had thrilled her to no end, but now it made her belly clench with unease.

“I’ll clean that up when she’s done feeding. Go sit on your bed,” she said as gently as she could.

“Yes, Love,” Rafael replied, his tone void of emotion. “I’m sorry about the formula.”

Crossing the room, he gave her a wide berth before settling on his bed. He folded his knees and hooked his wrists over and down his bent legs.

“What you really need to be apologizing for is the stench,” Valentine remarked. “You need to do a better job, Rafael. You have a sink and soap. When she’s dirty, change her, wash the soiled cloth ,and hang it up to dry. It’s not that complicated.”

“I’m trying,” he stuttered. “I promise, I really am. I just…”

“Just what?” Valentine prodded, her tone coming out far less kind than she would prefer. 

Looking down at the infant as Rafael replied, she dipped a finger beneath the plasticky over-shell and the cloth beneath it to check the baby’s condition. She didn’t want to end up with a greenish-yellow mess all over her if a blowout happened.

“I can’t see what I’m doing. If I could—”

“She has a rash,” Valentine interrupted. “Rafael, why does she have a rash?!”

“The diaper clothes,” Barba choked out, his voice breaking, “do-don’t dry fast enough. I’m sorry, Love. Please. I’m trying.” He stopped talking, guttural sobs breaking through and halting his words.

“Hush,” Valentine said, taking a few short steps over to the bed and settling down next to him. “I can see you’re trying. But, Rafael … Sweetie, this isn’t sustainable.”

Sniffling, Barba nodded.

“You were the one who got me pregnant,” she continued. “So you’re the one responsible. That being said, she is a sweet thing and I’m going to miss her if I end up having to drop her off at a firehouse or something because you can’t handle one little baby.”

“No. Don’t. Please.”

“Don’t act like you love being a dad, Rafael.”

“I’m not good with babies. That doesn’t mean I don’t love her.”

“You love her?”

Valentine could see the bobbing of Barba’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“Of course I love her,” he replied. “How could I not?”

“Then why haven’t you given her a name. She’s not just my daughter, you know. She’s yours too.”

Barba was silent as so often he was. Valentine knew that he tended to do this when he didn’t want to lie to her but couldn’t bring himself to admit the truth of what he was thinking. 

“Fine,” she stated. “You don’t have to name her. I’ve already done it.”

“What? But you said—“

“I know what I said. But then you took longer than the time allotted by the state and I figured I’d just amend it later. So, we’re just going to go with what I put on the birth certificate.”

“What did you name her?” Rafael questioned meekly.

“I thought a respectable name, something classic but also modern would work best. So, uh, I went with Margaret.”

“Margaret?”

“I thought we could call her Margo, for short.”

“Margo is … unique.” Barba nodded in deferential agreement. “And Margaret is a good name. You know, uh, it’s … it’s Lieutenant Benson’s middle name.”

“I know.” Valentine reached out a hand and placed it gently on Rafael’s shoulder. “You miss her, don’t you?”

“Yes,” her captive said, shrinking back from her touch. “I miss my old life, Love. I miss my mother, my job, Olivia… hell, I even miss Carisi.”

“Is becoming a father not enough for you?”

“It’s not something I expected.”

Though he couldn’t see her, Valentine dipped her head as if conceding something to herself. She hadn’t foreseen getting pregnant, let alone carrying to term. But now that the baby was here, something had shifted. She no longer felt apathetic or craved cruelty just to remind herself she could feel anything at all. Instead, when she looked at her daughter— and even when she looked at Rafael— all she wanted was a sense of connection. And if she wanted to foster that feeling in return, she’d have to inspire more than just fear.

“She’s done,” Valentine said, laying Margo on the bed, nestled against the wall so she was far from the edge. “Now, come here.” She paused, pulling off her top entirely and letting her breasts hang free. “I need you to nurse the other side for me. I hate being uneven.”

“I… No, Love. Please. That’s not…”

“You’re hungry, aren't you?”

Rafael nodded.

“Then let me feed you, Sweetie.”

Barba relented with uneasy compliance. He couldn’t see his captor but her fingers found the back of his head and guided him to her breast. 

“No biting,” Valentine remarked. Not that she thought he would... but he definitely had snapped at her a few times when she had first brought him home.

The chain at Barba’s wrists clinked as he shifted, folding forward to rest his head and shoulders in her lap. He opened his mouth and closed it around her, the pull of his mouth stronger than Margo’s. But he was gentler, more deliberate. He didn’t gnaw like the baby sometimes did. 

Almost to herself, she muttered, “I really need to make the time to give you a shave and haircut. You’re looking a bit unkempt.” 

Barba didn’t bother responding as the sweet warm milk flowed into his mouth and down his throat, nourishing him as it did their daughter. 

Valentine knew that this particular act was humiliating but comforting all at once. And as much as Rafael might want to hate it, the truth was that he was probably grateful for it. He even began to moan as she stroked his hair.

“You know,” she said. “Maybe we just need to think this through. I've already sacrificed so much time to bring Margo into this world. I thought you'd be able to handle her on your own but maybe I expect too much, given the limitations you're under. Tell you what, I'll see if I can't figure out a way to lighten your load. Does that work for you?" 

Rafael nodded, his tongue pressing along the underside of her nipple as he suckled.

That tightness in her chest surged, an ache that yearned to be filled with something truer than the convoluted dynamic she had built. She still craved control, but now there were caveats where once there were none. Before, the more diabolical the better. Now, she wanted something different. Something soft and nuanced. She wanted Rafael to spend less of his time with her cowering and more of it like this: submitting in ways that felt intimate, even affirming. 

Because this… this was incredible. It was power and closeness wrapped into one. 

“Perfect,” Valentine cooed. “You’re perfect like this, Rafael.”

He said nothing, neither nodding nor shaking his head to acknowledge her words. All Valentine could feel was how he drew her closer, swallowing her down with quiet, reverent hunger.

Chapter Text

BLACKLAKE BAR
214 MERCER STREET
FRIDAY, JUNE 14

The bar stool beneath his thighs was padded in cracked black leather. The lone TV on the far side of the small bar had a black screen and a cord hanging listlessly against the wall, unplugged. The main focus of the smattering of other patrons was either the faded dart boards or the ancient jukebox in the corner. Sonny glanced at his watch for what was probably the fiftieth time that night, checking not only the time but also the date.

It was the 14th of June.

Lieutenant Benson had already scolded him for running a few very minor and entirely unsuccessful covert operations at various drugstores on his own. Now that another 14th of the month had come around, he wasn’t about to tell her he had upped the ante and was staking out one of the few locations Valentine had used twice as a hunting ground.

It was better to ask for forgiveness than permission anyway.

Well, there was an upside to running an undercover op on his own and off the clock: he could drink. With a tall weizen glass in hand, its wider top allowing for a thick, fluffy head of foam, Sonny sipped at the wheat beer. It was a local brew, amber and unpretentious. He liked it, though he had never been much of a drinker. That was probably a good thing. He needed to keep his wits about him if he was going to spot Valentine.

Admittedly, it was pure folly to pursue this on his own. However, considering the Valentine Killer had gone four months without taking another victim, Sonny didn’t think he was in any real danger. Besides, there was no way some coward who never dared show his face to his victims was going to get the drop on him.

Sure, there was the old adage “better safe than sorry,” but Sonny didn’t see a need for backup. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t taken precautions. His Apple Watch was set to ping his location back to his computer at the precinct every ten minutes. As long as he kept his watch on him, there was nothing to worry about.

The amber liquid in his glass dwindled as the night wore on. Remnants of foam streaked the sides as Sonny absently turned the glass in his hand. He watched silently as the clusters of white bubbles collapsed one by one. It was the most eventful thing that had happened that evening so far.

“Can I get you anything else?” the bartender said, approaching him. 

Sonny looked up, his blue eyes meeting the smoky purple hues—she must be wearing colored contacts—of the woman standing on the other side of the counter. Tall for a woman, her features weren’t exactly striking, but she was pretty. She wasn’t model pretty by any means, but there were curves to her figure and a quiet confidence in her stance.

“Uh…”

Not wanting his lingering gaze to come off as inappropriate, Sonny shifted his focus to the line of tap handles behind her. Nothing there looked appealing. Lifting his eyes to the shelves above, he settled on one of the top-shelf bottles.

“I’ll take a standard pour of Scotch,” the detective finally said. “Lagavulin. On the rocks.”

The bartender smiled, a single dimple appearing on her left cheek. “Good choice. You know, the water from the ice melting helps soften the alcohol and open up some of the more subtle flavors.”

“Really?” Sonny remarked, watching the woman reach up for the bottle and pour an ounce and a half of the spirit into a glass tumbler. “I just thought it was to keep the drink cold.”

“Really,” she said.

Setting the glass in front of him, she took away the empty weizen and walked over to the sink to wash it out.

Sonny returned his attention to the scotch on the counter in front of him. He didn’t have to think too hard about why he’d ordered it. Despite secretly abhorring hard liquor, the spirit made him think of Barba.

There was no avoiding the truth: he missed that man.

Their new ADA, Peter Stone, was… okay. But he wasn’t Rafael Barba, not by a long shot.

To Barba, Sonny thought as he lifted the glass to his lips.

If only he had a chance to see him again, to talk to him again. Sonny yearned for an explanation better than the one he had. And now... now that they weren’t colleagues anymore... maybe they could be something more... more…

No, the detective told himself. Don’t be grasping at invisible straws, Sonny.

What was grasping at straws, though, was assuming that Barba’s disappearance had anything to do with Valentine. Still, as much as Sonny wanted to follow his gut on this one, certain facts could not simply be dismissed. 

First, technically, Barba hadn’t disappeared. He had told Benson he needed a fresh start before going no contact. Second, the last anyone had seen Barba was after his trial at the beginning of February. If Barba were to fit into Valentine’s pattern, the attorney would have been abducted on the fourteenth of January, which was a whole month earlier. Third, it was only Barba who had dropped off the face of the earth, and Valentine’s abductees always disappeared in pairs.

There were plenty of other unsolved missing persons cases from that time frame, Sonny mused. If Valentine has managed to keep Barba’s abduction under the radar this long, he could have done the same with the other half of the pair.

The thing about Valentine’s “pairs,” though, was that they never knew each other. They were strangers, thrown into a room together, waking up from some drug concoction that left them disoriented and missing chunks of memory. None of them could recall the hours leading up to their disappearance. But once Valentine had them, there were only two options: fuck or die. Most chose the former over the latter, but not all…

Sonny shuddered as he recalled finding frozen corpses thawing out in the late autumn heat.

“Last call,” the bartender said, returning to him. “Want me to close your tab or pour you another finger of Lagavulin?”

Sonny sighed. This night was a bust. What was the harm in going home a little drunk? He didn’t have work tomorrow or the next day; plenty of time to sleep it off.

“Sure. Pour me another. But can I at least make a bad joke about the use of the term finger?” he asked, catching the smirk on the bartender’s face. 

“You new?” Carisi added, realizing that although he and Amanda had interviewed all the staff, as well as the owner, after a second victim had been linked to this location, he didn’t recall seeing this particular woman before tonight.

“Not new. Just a temp. Sometimes, like tonight, the owner calls me in when he’s short-staffed,” she said easily. Then, lowering her voice just a touch, she confided, “I like it better when someone asks me to cover their shift on the down low. I clock in and out like I’m them. Then they slip me cash under the table. Add tips on top, and it’s a nice little payday Uncle Sam doesn’t need to know about.”

Raising his glass, Sonny replied, “Well, I’d cheers to that, but you don’t have a drink. Why don’t you pour one for yourself? On me, of course.”

The bartender smiled and said, “No thanks. My husband and I have a little one at home and I’m still breastfeeding, so I’ll pass. But thank you for the offer.”

“Oh,” Sonny exclaimed, chagrined that he’d been flirting with a married woman. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

She waved him off as she poured another few ounces into his glass. “No, it’s fine. My fingers are still a bit swollen. So unless I can convince my husband to buy me a bigger ring, getting hit on is expected. Not gonna lie, tips are better without it on.”

“Still, my apologies. I didn’t mean anything by it,” the detective stammered before continuing, hoping to distract her from his faux pas. “Is it water retention? I only ask because my sisters have mentioned similar experiences. When my sister Teresa was pregnant, I remember her ankles and feet were so swollen she couldn’t fit into her shoes. She ended up going grocery shopping in slippers. It took a while for the swelling to go down, even after my niece was born.”

“How old’s your niece now?”

“Mia? She’s a freshman at Hudson.”

“So it’s been a while since you’ve been around a newborn, then?” she said with a soft laugh and smile.

“Seeing as I don’t have kids of my own, you’d think that’s a fair assessment. However, considering how often I get stuck babysitting… let’s just say I know my way around a diaper.”

“Diaper duty, huh? Disposable or cloth?”

Sonny grinned wryly. “If you haven’t figured out disposable is the way to go by now, you will soon enough.”

“Do you know how long it takes for a disposable diaper to decompose in a landfill? Up to five hundred years.”

“Really? That long?”

The bartender nodded. “Makes you think about things, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does.”

“Listen,” the woman said, her smile genuine, “I know this might be coming out of left field, but can I ask you a favor?”

Perplexed, Carisi raised his brows in mild surprise. “What kind of favor?”

“Would you mind sticking around after you finish that drink? I heard in passing that two of the victims of that Valentine’s Killer disappeared from this bar, and I’m on my own for closing duties tonight. Any chance you’d be willing to keep me company as I wipe down the counter, wash some dishes, and put up the chairs? I’d prefer not to be alone.”

“Why not?” Sonny said, slowly sipping his scotch and glancing at his watch. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Chapter Text

As far as he could tell, Barba’s prison had no windows. Not that it mattered one way or the other, since his constant condition was a state of blindfolded darkness. Still, he could tell when the overhead lights were on and when they weren’t. It was subtle, but light would leak through the bandages covering his eyes, a glow just at the edges of his perception. Most of the time, he didn’t pay it too much mind.

After the baby came though, Barba noticed a pattern and wondered if it was for Margo’s benefit. Was her mother turning on and off the lights in coordination with day and night? Was that monster really concerned about Margo’s circadian rhythms and how well the baby was sleeping?

Sleep.

Hell. Barba missed sleeping.

Before the baby, he’d spent more time asleep than awake. Sleep had been his only escape from the monster who wore a person-suit like a second skin. Momentary, yes… but still an escape.

Now that Margo was here, Barba barely slept at all. Despite knowing next to nothing about infant care, he was aware of a fear that lurked silently in the minds of all new parents. A danger that reached out and snatched babies away from this world without warning: Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

Endless hours of wakefulness in exchange for keeping his daughter safe was a small price to pay. And he would keep her safe, even if it cost him everything.

Margo lay sleeping on the bed, and Barba had curled himself around her, his hand resting on her chest, ensuring he could feel the rise and fall of each of her tiny breaths. Listening to her soft sighs, Barba fought off the siren’s call of sleep. He needed to stay awake. He had to. He…

Sshhsssckk… Sshhsssckk… Sshhsssckk…

Never before had a sound roused him faster than the chain rattling in the wall as it was reeled in.

Margo’s mother was coming.

Barba’s heart pounded as he sat up and the door to his cell rumbled open. Lately, his captor’s visits had been strangely tender. Even so, the memory of torment lingered close to the surface.

“Love!” he whispered as loudly as he dared. “Margo’s asleep. Please. Please don’t wake her.”

There was no response, only a huff followed by the dragging sound of something heavy being pulled into the room.

“Love?” Barba asked again, unsettled by her silence.

“I am trying to be quiet, Rafael,” came her whispered reply, forced out between labored breaths.

The sounds of a cumbersome weight being pulled along the floor, accompanied by Love’s huffs and groans, grew closer until Barba sensed she was leaving whatever she had dragged beside his bed.

What on earth had she brought in here?

Barba inhaled sharply through his nose, hoping the object might give off a scent he could use to identify it. But the only notes that reached his nostrils were earthy, with a hint of spice. Cedar, maybe? Was it made of cedar wood?

A crib? No. Not a crib. The object was surely heavy, but the sounds had been softer than the screech wood would have made on the hard cement floor.

Whatever had been brought in wasn’t rigid.

A sack of clothing or bedding? No. That wouldn’t be so heavy it needed to be dragged.

Maybe a mattress…

Even with his senses sharpened by his captor’s presence, he was still exhausted. His mind was sluggish, unable to fully grasp the implications of what was unfolding. One thing he did know: caution was warranted. With her, even the most benign surprises were never truly harmless.

Beside him on the bed, a weight settled. The monster was sitting next to him.

“Hey, Sweetie,” she whispered, her tone casual and breathy.

“Hey,” Barba replied, unsure of what to expect from the mother of his child but terrified nonetheless.

“It’s nice to come in here when Margo isn’t crying for once. Gives us a chance to—” 

“Please,” Barba interjected, his voice catching in his throat. “Not that. Anything but that.”

“Rafael,” his captor said, drawing him in close and holding him tightly against her. “Sweetheart. No. Listen to me. You don’t need to be scared. Okay? I’m not… You don’t have to… I just wanted to talk. That’s all.”

“Talk?” Barba replied, warily. “Talk about what?”

He could feel a hand ruffling through his hair, briefly curling in the strands and pulling his head back. Heated breath brushed along his face before soft supple lips met his in a fleeting kiss. 

“You’ve been so good for me,” she murmured, her low voice warm and sweet like sugar stirred into strong coffee. “Give me your hands, Rafael.”

The individual links of the chain clinked softly as he raised his wrists, offering them to her in silent supplication. Despite her comforting words, he didn’t dare disobey.

Barba could feel the cool brush of Love’s fingers as she traced along his skin, where over the past months the metal had left nothing but calloused patches. What came next was so unexpected that Barba froze. The press of the cuff around his left wrist tightened briefly and then, with a click, the restraint fell away.

“Love?” He gasped. For once, speaking her name didn’t carry the usual bitterness or resentment of being forced to call his captor by a tender pet name. Instead, he felt overwhelmed with intense gratitude. “Love, what— Oh, god. Love, what are you doing?”

“I’m doing what I promised. I’m lightening your load, Rafael.” His captor’s touch moved to his other wrist, unlocking that cuff as well. “You’ll have an easier time taking care of Margo without these on. Don’t you agree?”

Barba nodded, choked with so much emotion he could not speak. He barely dared to breathe. It felt impossible that this moment could truly be happening. A wave of relief flooded through him, the sensation so unfamiliar it felt almost foreign after so long without it. He did not trust the feeling, wary it might vanish as quickly as it had come.

His Love moved away from him. The chain dragged and clinked against the floor, following her like a shadow. And Barba couldn’t help flinching at the sharp snap of the cuffs locking shut once more.

Chapter Text

Sonny could sense he was somewhere he shouldn't be, even before he fully regained consciousness. Like an old computer booting up, not everything came back online at once. First came his hearing, the sounds around him echoing through his skull. But the pounding in his head wasn’t his alarm clock, and it wasn’t the aftermath of one too many drinks. It was a baby, whining with quiet insistence.

The next sense to return was touch. He became hyper-aware of his bare skin pressing against the unforgiving chill of concrete.

Heaven help him. He was naked.

Valentine!

Sonny opened his eyes in a flash as he took in a gasping breath. Wildly, he flinched away from the dim world around him as his head spun with nauseating fierceness. Despite the raw ache behind his eyes, he scoured the room, searching for the other person Valentine had surely paired him with and now expected him to…

Oh God, there was a bed. 

Just the sight of it unleashed a flood of memories from victims’ statements about how they had awoken naked in a room with nothing but a stranger and a queen-sized mattress on the floor for company.

This bed, however, wasn't that. It was an empty, pathetic thing, little more than a thin, narrow mattress on a rickety frame. Notably, though, a length of chain spilled out a narrow slot in the wall, just above the metal rung headboard. It trailed across the bed and ran down to the floor, right to where the detective was sitting.

Sonny looked down at his hands and bit back a sob. A pair of metal cuffs, connected by a short chain and then attached to the longer length feeding into the wall, were secured tightly around his bare wrists. It was not lost on him that his Apple Watch, his tenuous lifeline to the rest of the squad, was noticeably absent.

“No,” Carisi croaked out the word, his throat dry with panic. “No. No. Oh, fuck. No.”

His sense of taste returned next. Acidic bitterness clung to every corner of his mouth. As it mixed with the rank humidity, a sour and chilled dampness that should not have existed together, Sonny heaved. One wracking cough after another tore through him until whatever was left in his stomach splattered the floor.

“Shit,” he swore, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Could you not?” a familiar voice echoed behind him. “I’d prefer my daughter’s first words not be ones of profanity.”

Sonny turned around and spotted a seated figure cradling a small infant in his arms. A dark mess of hair hung over a strip of dirty off-white fabric that covered the man’s eyes. Still, it wasn’t enough to hide his identity.

“Barba!”

Despite the chain and the pounding in his head, Sonny lurched to his feet and rushed toward his former mentor, only to be stopped short. The chain didn’t offer enough slack and yanked him back.

The attorney, who had been unaccounted for over a year, didn't display the same level of agitation. Instead, he merely raised his head, looking toward Sonny despite the blindfold clearly obscuring his vision.

“Barba!” Sonny gasped again, shock threatening to overwhelm him. “Holy Mary Mother of — I can’t believe—” He paused briefly, eyes scanning the attorney. “What on earth are you doing with a baby?”

“What on earth are you doing chained up in this metal and concrete box with me?”

“I don’t—”

“Honestly, Carisi. You of all people,” Barba scoffed in thinly veiled anger. “So much for lightening the load… How could you be so incompetent that you—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sonny shot back. “Barba, I am not incompetent. I just…”

“You just what, Carisi?”

“I… Barba,” Sonny said, his voice choked with emotion, “I don’t know. I don’t understand what happened. I don’t know how I got here. This wasn’t a part of the plan.”

Taking in a deep breath, the attorney let out a long sigh. “Okay. Okay. Just don’t cry, Carisi.” 

As if on cue, the infant in Barba’s arms let out a sharp wail. 

“It’s okay, mi cielo. Daddy’s got you. I got you,” he said, rocking her gently.

“Barba?” Sonny’s voice was almost a plea, a meager beseeching for the older man to somehow put to right this whole fucked up situation.

“There’s not enough length in that chain for you to reach me, is there?”

Sonny shook his head. “No.”

“Then I better come to you.” Barba shifted the crying infant against his chest and rose to his feet.

As the attorney drew closer, Sonny made a quick assessment. Barba was gaunt. Though clean-shaven, the dusting of hair along his chest, arms, and legs remained the only hint of color against his pale flesh. Standing before him was a man who had clearly not seen the sun or a full meal in months. The evidence was unmistakable in the absence of tone and definition beneath every inch of his bare skin.

“Barba,” Sonny quietly wept, trying not to sniffle and give away that he had indeed started to cry. “What… how…?”

“Shhh,” Barba hushed him as he reached out. “Take my hand. I don’t want to bump into you.”

“I’m here, Rafael. I’m here.”

Barba’s free hand found the detective’s. He came closer, and Sonny looked down at the baby cradled in the attorney’s arms. She had quieted, soothed by the gentle motion of walking.

“I need to know how you got here, Carisi,” Barba stated, his features resolute and composed despite the upheaval of the detective’s arrival. 

“I don’t know,” Sonny said, combing through his most recent memories and finding them both fragmented and incomplete. “I… I was at work. I must’ve… I must’ve…”

“Must’ve what?” Barba prodded.

The detective swallowed the dread rising in his chest. Despite the gaps in his memory, he knew what he had been doing; what he must’ve done.

“I went looking for Valentine on my own.”

“Who’s Valentine?”

“Valentine is… um,” Sonny stammered. “Well, Valentine is a moniker.”

“A moniker?” Barba’s tone was less than patient.

“There’s this unknown assailant. We’ve been tracking him for over a year. He abducts pairs of victims and coerces them into sex. If they refuse, they’re killed.” Carisi paused, his voice growing tight. “The trail went cold, though. He hasn’t taken any new victims in months.”

Unless you count me, Sonny added silently. Oh no. They will count me. Even if Valentine doesn’t do anything else, I’ll still be listed as one of the victims. 

Seeing the abhorrent state Barba was in, the detective knew there was no chance their captor would ever cease his cruelty. And knowing this only added a new layer of terror to the horror and dread encompassing Sonny’s heart.

“She.”

Sonny blinked. “What?”

“She hasn’t taken any new victims in months,” Barba corrected quietly.

Sonny’s voice tightened with disbelief and unease. He’d spent countless hours studying Valentine’s psychological profile, and he simply couldn’t accept the idea that the killer might be female. “Valentine isn’t a woman.”

“Carisi,” Barba replied, his voice heavy with exasperation. “Please tell me that simple addition is not beyond you and that you can put two and two together here.”

“Do you know how rare female serial killers are, Barba? And when they do exist, they usually have a partner. There is no evidence to suggest Valentine is working with anyone. He’s not a woman.”

If Sonny could have seen Barba’s eyes, he was sure the attorney would have been rolling them in silent derision.

“Evidence? You want evidence, detective? Fine. I’ll walk you through this and give you all the proof you need. How long have I been missing?”

“Sometime after your trial.”

Barba’s exasperation only grew as he asked, “And how long ago was that?”

“February of last year.”

“Wait. Last year? What month is it?”

“It’s June, Barba.”

“That’s what… sixteen months? Carisi, are you telling me I’ve been locked up in this room for almost a year and a half and…” Barba trailed off.

Sonny remained silent, unwilling to push the attorney to finish the thought. 

It was an impossible question to answer. Why had SVU let Barba’s abduction go unanswered for so long, especially when he had so clearly needed their help? Sonny doubted Barba would find any comfort in knowing they had chalked up his disappearance to a desire for a fresh start. He didn't want to explain that they had assumed he was so cold and calculating he had cut off everyone in his life with little or no warning. And now Sonny, finally trying to help, had only made things worse and ended up in the same perilous situation as the former ADA.

“I have no way of keeping track of time,” Barba finally said. “Honestly, I don’t even know how old she is.”

“Who? Valentine?”

“No. Margaret,” the attorney answered, softly swaying and brushing his fingers along the baby’s arm. “We call her Margo for short.”

“We?”

“Her mother and I.”

“Who is her mother, Barba?”

“She’s the person you call Valentine. She brought me here, Sonny. She brought you here. You wanted proof, didn’t you? She kidnapped me and within months conceived a child. And, if you want to know why the abductions stopped, it’s because she was too far along in her pregnancy to continue. It fits your timeline, doesn’t it?”

Sonny’s breath caught in his chest. His brain tallied the information Barba had just supplied. Around him, the walls seemed to close in, forcing him to acknowledge reality. He tightened his jaw, pushing down another wave of nausea, and did his best to steady his nerves.

“Yeah,” he finally said, voice low and rough with begrudging acquiescence. “It fits. Though I’m not exactly convinced. But, Barba… you and her? How?”

“Do you want the short answer to that question or the version that comes with nightmares?”

Sonny paled at the thought of what Barba was implying… that not only had he been abducted by a homicidal woman, but had then been forced to have sex with her and father her child. 

Barba hadn’t just been taken. He’d been raped. 

Sounds like something Valentine would do, Sonny thought, a chill running down his spine. 

“Would you like to hold the baby?” Barba asked, pulling Carisi from his thoughts. “She likes being held.”

“Uh, yeah,” Sonny said, careful not to scrape the metal of his cuffs against the baby’s skin as he hunched forward and slipped his arms beneath Barba’s to take the child from him.

Margo, as far as babies went, was the picture of perfection. Delicate and warm, she wore a cloth diaper made from a folded piece of thick but worn fabric secured with plastic closures. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks chubby, and her body soft with rolls of baby fat. If Sonny had to guess, she couldn’t have been more than a few months old.

Barba, having passed her off, rested his hand gently on her chest. His fingers, with their short bitten nails, looked enormous against the baby’s small body. Slowly, his thumb brushed across her cheek, as if memorizing every inch of her.

His touch shifted, pausing unexpectedly on Sonny’s bare chest as he oriented himself without the use of his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Barba murmured.

He didn’t linger. His fingers rose to Sonny’s face, gliding over the detective’s tear-damp cheek.

“Sonny,” he said softly, “I thought I told you not to cry.”

Chapter Text

Hope.

It was a terrible thing. 

For months, Barba had hoped to be pulled from this hellish nightmare, one way or another. He plotted futile escape attempts and spent countless hours lost in daydreams of rescue from the woman who called herself Love. When those methods failed him, he turned to more desperate measures. 

He prayed. 

He pleaded with every god he could think of, whispering their names in the darkness, willing to make any sacrifice just to see his loved ones again. He yearned. No, he hoped. He hoped for an answer.

None came.

So what had hope gotten him? 

Nothing.

Seeing Carisi—if seeing was even the right word—his colleague, his former mentee, his friend, only underscored how little had changed. He was no closer to freedom than he had been before the detective's arrival.

Hope made a mockery of him, long after he had given it up.

It was a cruel twist of fate for Carisi to show up, just when Barba had long since stopped resisting Love. The word no had all but fallen out of his vocabulary. He wasn’t particularly eager to return to the outside world, either. The optics were less than ideal. He had essentially become complicit in his interactions with his captor.

The sting of shame was only magnified by the fact that Valentine was a woman, and he—no naïve youth, but a grown man—had been forced to father a child. Margo’s existence would be hard to explain, let alone justify. 

Little Margaret, though as strange as it might sound, had brought about as much of a change in her father as she had her mother. It was odd, but in a way, parenthood suited them both: the lifelong solitary, unmitigatedly contentious bachelor, and the violently unhinged Valentine. He cared for Margo as if his whole life had been leading up to this singular purpose, and Love’s temperament had simmered down to something that most would mistake for maternal affection. They weren’t the best parents, but they were taking it in stride. Life had become bearable, manageable… something like contentment… if he dared to call it that.

There was no longer a need for hope. 

And yet it mocked him anyway. 

All because… because fucking “Call me Sonny” Carisi showed up, buck-ass naked and shaking like a leaf.

Fuck you, Barba thought. Fuck you, Carisi. Fuck you for being a golden retriever of a man with your innocent cornflower blue eyes and earnest virtue. Fuck you for that open heart of yours and your good intentions. Where has that gotten you? Where has that gotten us?

He wanted to scream with rage, with grief… with shame. Carisi shouldn’t be here. And now that he was, Barba knew he’d be forced to witness the detective fall apart, just like he had.

The irony of Barba’s months-long pleas finally being answered in such a twisted fashion wasn’t lost on him. It was taking every ounce of his self-control not to reach out and slap Carisi for being so stupid. What kind of idiot puts himself in such a vulnerable position? Especially when the detective knew that there was someone out there committing heinous offenses.

It was only as he placed Margo in Carisi’s arms that some of his ire eased. The detective was in for a very rude awakening about what it meant to be captive, and it hurt Barba’s soul to be the one to have to talk him through it. To be honest, he didn’t feel much like talking. The thought of it alone he found rather exhausting, only adding to his sleep-deprived state.

As he leaned in to wipe the tears off Carisi’s cheeks, a familiar aroma lingered in the air between them. It was earthy, woody, and unmistakably cheap. He had first noticed the scent earlier when Love dragged the new captive into the room. It hadn’t occurred to him then, but now it was obvious. He was smelling Carisi’s drugstore aftershave.

Barba sighed. “Sonny, I thought I told you not to cry.”

“What would you have me do?” Carisi bit back, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Just…” he muttered, trailing off briefly before finishing, “hold her. This is all a bit much. I need to lie down before I fall over.”

Barba stepped away, feeling his way to the wall before returning to the bed he had abandoned when the then-unknown captive was left behind in the room with him. Now that he knew his cellmate was none other than the SVU detective, his dreadful apprehension eased. 

Careful to avoid the taut chain and the puddle of sick on the floor, Barba reached his bed and stretched out along the thin mattress.

“Barba?” Carisi asked, his voice echoing against the bare walls. “What has she done to your eyes?”

The attorney recoiled at the question, flinching as though the words were pointed barbs aimed straight at him. Shame didn’t even begin to capture how he felt about Love’s method of sensory deprivation. The answer was complicated, layered with unpleasant memories and lingering consequences as prior threats only sharpened his fear of disobedience. That fear remained so sharp Barba could almost taste it, twisting on his tongue and making it hard to speak.

“Nothing,” the attorney finally replied, the weight of countless sleepless nights thick on his tongue. 

“Then why—?”

“Carisi. Do yourself a favor. Shut up.”

The detective’s next word was halted and tinged with caution. “Why?”

“Because I am tired, and she is always watching and listening. You don’t want to give her more ammunition to use against you than she already has, do you?”

It was a blessing, of sorts, that Carisi didn’t respond.

With the heaviness behind his unseeing eyes beckoning him, Barba quickly found the sweet relief of unconsciousness. Finally freed (at least temporarily) from the weight of his parental burden, he slipped into slumber’s welcoming embrace. 

Barba didn’t know how long he had slept. Exhausted as he had been, any dreams he had had evaporated the moment he woke. But as he shuffled back into the waking world, his first thoughts were not of Margo, Carisi, or even Love. Instead, his attention was drawn to the peculiar lack of sensation around his wrists.

It felt strange to be without the encircling bands of metal. They had almost become a harness to reality, a small comfort that, while his imprisonment was inescapable, it was at least real and not just some endless nightmarish delusion. Only now did Barba realize those metal links no longer controlled his willingness to obey. He was far too accustomed to doing as he was told. The very thought of disobedience terrified him, even without the chains around his wrists. Those chains now belonged to Carisi.

Thinking of the detective, Barba strained his ears, wondering where the younger man was at in the room. The soft sound of a clinking chain accompanied a soft rhythmic clapping.

“Carisi?” Barba called out, sitting up on the bed.

Without the weight of his metal tether, he felt unmoored, briefly wondering if his encounter with the detective had been nothing but a dream. Breathing in deeply, he did his best to ground himself.

"I'm here," came Carisi’s trembling voice. “You've been sleeping for ages, Barba. You didn't even wake when the chain let out the rest of the way."

Barba's fingers skimmed along the surface of the mattress. "Where's Margo?"

"I've got her. She just finished the bottle I made her, and I'm burping her now.”

"You're what?”

"I'm patting her back to help her release the air she swallowed while feeding." Carisi's tone turned almost accusatory. "Please tell me you're not completely in the dark here. You do know that, right?”

"Know what?" Barba bit back.

The detective let out a heavy sigh. “You’re her father, for heaven’s sake. You should know this stuff. But tell me, Barba, how much do you really know about caring for an infant? Because from what I've seen from our time as colleagues and after cataloging the supplies you have here, I'm assuming the answer to my question is very little."

Barba swallowed, uneasiness growing in his chest. He didn't answer.

“Has she been crying a lot?”

“All the time,” Barba replied. “I didn’t realize…”

“Of course, you didn’t,” Carisi grumbled, more to himself than to Barba. His voice cracked, the words seemingly slipping out the moment the realization hit him. “Valentine didn’t tell you.”

"I doubt she knows,” Barba said, unwittingly quick to defend Margo’s mother. “From the way she talked about the pregnancy, she never expected to actually be a mother. I doubt she even picked up a parenting book, let alone a pamphlet at the doctor’s office. She told me I was responsible for her condition, and I’d be responsible for the child. And I am… but she hasn’t completely disengaged. She makes sure I have the necessities.”

"A necessity would be a crib. Do you know how dangerous co-sleeping can be? If you’re holding her, she could slip down and suffocate between your arm and chest if you nod off and your grip loosens. And on the bed, she could fall to the floor, you could accidentally roll over her, or worse, she could get wedged between the wall and the mattress."

“I—"

"No. I know. You’ve been careful. You haven’t been sleeping, which is why you practically passed out the moment I got here. You knew Margo would be safe as long as I was around to watch over her.”

“This comes easily to you, doesn’t it? The whole kid thing?”

Carisi didn’t immediately reply.

Barba took a breath, catching a faint trace of soap in the air. The acrid stench of vomit had vanished, replaced by the clean scent of something recently scrubbed. Apparently, Carisi had been cleaning. It seemed that the detective had quietly stepped into the role of caretaker, not just of Margo but of their shared space as well. Typical Carisi … considerate to a fault.

A moment later, Barba heard the soft sound of bare feet crossing the room. Then the mattress dipped under the weight of the younger man settling beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Carisi said. “I really fucked this up, didn’t I?”

“I meant what I said about not using profanity around my daughter, Carisi,” Barba chided. “And yes, you messed up. But at least…”

Blindly, he reached out and took Margo from Carisi’s arms. His fingers gently traced her face and chest, making sure her skin was clean and her breathing steady. Tilting his face down, he breathed in and was relieved to find that the scent of a soiled diaper was nowhere to be found.

“But at least,” he continued, “you know what you’re doing when it comes to infants.”

“She’s a good baby,” Carisi replied. “And, well, I suppose you could say I’d rather look after her than think about the impending consequences of my mistakes.”

The younger man paused, and Barba assumed that for once Carisi was actually thinking before he spoke.

“I just can’t believe we didn’t realize Valentine was a woman,” the detective muttered. “In cases like this, you’d expect a male perpetrator to leave behind seminal DNA or to penetrate his victims in some way. But since Valentine is female, that explains why she’s not directly raping any of the victims.”

“Oh,” Barba said, unable to keep the barbs from his voice. “I’m so pleased to hear that she’s not directly raping anyone, Detective.”

“Rafael,” Carisi replied, his voice full of apologetic overtones. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, but there’s still the implication, isn’t there? That because I’m a man, I couldn’t have possibly been raped by a woman.” 

“I didn’t have a choice,” Barba continued. “The chains you’re now wearing were the same ones that reeled me back to the bed every time she entered the room. And I’d have no choice as she—”

“No,” Carisi interjected. “Don’t tell me.”

“Why not? You’re used to taking victim statements, aren’t you?”

The detective’s tone was shaky as he quietly admitted, “This isn’t about not wanting to hear you out, Barba. It’s about how much I’m dreading what is going to happen to me. Forgive me for not wanting it to be spelled out in detail.”

“You think she’s going to rape you?”

“I think she’s going to force me to choose between having sex or dying. That’s what Valentine does. The real question is whether she’ll do it herself or…” Carisi trailed off, leaving the rest of his statement unspoken but lingering heavily in the air.

“I’m not having sex with you, Dominick,” Barba said, balking at the idea so quickly his words tumbled out as fast as he thought them.

“No? But she has to expect something. It’s not like she stripped me down without reason,” Carisi stated. Then, after a long pause, he admitted, “I hate this. I’m scared and … well, I feel guilty as hell about it.”

“Guilty? About what? You haven’t done anything.”

“I knew all about Valentine’s methods, and I still thought going out on my own to find him — well… her — was a good idea. I got myself into this position. I’m scared, Rafael,” Carisi said, his voice thick with emotion, punctuated by sniffling that made it clear he had started crying again. “But what right do I have to be scared when you… You’ve endured so much, and I don’t even have the courage to hear you out.”

“Endured?” Barba huffed. “I haven’t endured anything. I’ve been thoroughly broken. Every day she would demand less of me, and the less she demanded, the more I gave. I give her my obedience, Carisi, because the cost of saying yes is much less than the cost of saying no. No means punishment. No means isolation; days without food or company. No means…” Barba trailed off, rubbing a hand over his face, careful not to jostle the blindfold covering his eyes. He took in a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t even bother saying no to her anymore. I have learned to say yes. I am complicit. I just apologize and plead for leniency.”

“Being coerced into obedience doesn’t make you complicit, Barba.”

“Doesn’t it? It is the reason I’m still alive. It is the reason I have earned the privilege of caring for my own daughter, and that she wasn’t just dumped at a fire station, destined to grow up in a system full of abuses.”

“So…” Carisi said awkwardly, “Margo’s definitely yours then?”

Barba nodded slowly, as he rocked his daughter in his arms. “You don’t get over it: the feeling that your own body is betraying you. Those first few weeks, I thought I knew what to expect. But you never stop feeling taken, and your body just refuses to shut any of it down. So I leaned into it. Making sure we both finished was really the only way to get her to stop. It happened often enough that I don’t know why I was so surprised when…”

Barba trailed off, the memory crashing over him with a strange weight. There was something almost nostalgic about it, though he couldn’t begin to understand how he could feel that way about being raped. 

“One time,” he continued slowly, “she didn’t reel the chain all the way back into the wall. She left just enough slack so I could… rub her clit while she was on top of me. Her belly was already so swollen. I put my hands on it, and that’s when I felt the baby kicking.”

“Is that how you found out she was expecting?”

Barba gulped and nodded. 

“Jeez,” Carisi quietly exclaimed. “It’s sort of insane if you think about it. Valentine kills people. What is she doing bringing life into this world… giving birth? What is she doing making someone like you become a father?”

“What do you mean someone like me?” Barba grumbled.

“You know what I mean. Up until you dropped off the face of the Earth, you were unattached and childless by choice. We both know that if you had wanted to settle down, you could’ve had anyone.”

“Oh, sure,” Barba snipped. “Tell me, Detective, who exactly was knocking down my door to climb in bed with a man accused of murdering a disabled infant?” He let the question hang before continuing, his voice lower, wearier. “I know she didn’t give me a choice, but she did choose me. And I know how this must sound, but it’s… complicated.”

He adjusted his grip, tightening his arms around his daughter. “She gave me Margo. I didn’t ask for her, but she’s mine. And despite everything, that’s a privilege few are so freely granted. I didn’t think I’d ever be a father, but now that I am—” He paused, breathing in the soft warmth of the life he held. “Besides, Valentine hasn’t killed anyone lately, has she? So maybe just let this one go.”

Carisi’s response clashed against Barba’s weary rationalization. “You want me to forget that the woman holding us captive is a murderer? Barba, are you hearing yourself? Have you completely lost your mind?”

“No! No. I —”

“Valentine didn’t bring you here to play house, did she? How many times has she coerced you into having sex with her? You just said you could feel the baby kicking… which means Valentine was pretty far along and still—”

“It’s my fault!” Barba interrupted. “Don’t you get it? I’m responsible. If I had just—”

“Just what? What could you have done to deserve this? To be imprisoned in isolation for over a year? I know you can’t see yourself, but, Barba… You’re pale as a ghost, barely more than skin and bones, and around your wrists you have dark patches of skin from the constant wear and tear of metal rubbing against them. You are not responsible. Not in the slightest. I need you to see that. I need you to—“

The detective’s words were cut off by the clinking of the chain as he moved his hands. The sound reverberated too close to Barba’s ears. Carisi was reaching toward his face… reaching to pull back the band of fabric covering the adhesive patches over his eyes.

“Don’t!” Barba gasped, jerking away and causing Margo to whimper in his arms. “Carisi! Are you insane?! You’ll get in trouble. I don’t… I can’t… I have to take care of Margo. How can I do that if I’m worried sick about you… or worse, if she’s taken away?”

“But it doesn’t make sense. Why would she blindfold you and not me? What is the point of keeping you blind? How long has she kept you like this?”

Barba swallowed, hard, and answered, “I’ve never seen her. I’ve never seen this room. I’ve never seen the baby.”

He let the weight of those words settle, then added, “And I need you to understand… you don’t know Valentine like I do. Sure, you know what she’s capable of… on paper. But you don’t know what she’s like in person. I do. I know what it takes to survive her. So listen to me when I say that disobedience is not worth the cost she will make you pay.”

The two men sat in silence on the thin mattress. One was unwilling to give up, the other knew resistance was pointless, merely a precarious illusion of autonomy.

The baby fussed, nuzzling against her father’s skin until he placed a finger to her lips and let her suckle.

Finally, resolved not to let the tension between them build any further, Barba broke the silence.

“Sonny,” he said tensely, hating that Carisi was here yet grateful for the company and the relief he brought to both him and Margo. Acknowledging that Carisi possessed skills Barba himself lacked, he continued. “Tell me what she looks like.”

Carisi let out a soft huff and relented, brushing aside any lingering unease with kindness in his voice. “She’s perfectly plump and healthy. Her complexion is fair, and she has these cool gray eyes—though that can change. She doesn’t have much hair, just wispy blonde strands.”

“Blonde?” Barba replied, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“It’s okay,” Carisi hastily added. “Babies’ features will darken as they grow. I’m sure she’ll be her father’s spitting image. You’ll see.”

“How am I going to see that?”

“Because we’re getting out of here, Barba. Lieutenant Benson, Fin, Rollins… I’m pretty sure I left a note. They’ll know I went looking for Valentine, and they won’t rest until we’re found.”

“Think about this rationally,” Barba muttered, scooting off the bed. “You’ve been looking for Valentine for over a year, and she’s slipped by unnoticed time and time again. No one at SVU even knows she’s a woman. What makes you think rescue is even possible?” He began to pace, careful to avoid the coils of chain as he lamented, “There is no hope.”

Chapter Text

SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT
16TH PRECINCT, MANHATTAN
MONDAY, JUNE 17

Coffee in hand, Olivia strode briskly into the SVU bullpen. It had been a rough start to her morning, and she was late. Glancing around, she realized she wasn’t the only one.

Of all the days to be late, she silently fumed. Carisi picked today.

She had always considered herself to have a long fuse, at least for a cop. These days, however, Olivia felt like her temper was constantly churning beneath the surface. Her mood swings she attributed to her lack of sleep, which she attributed to hot flashes. To top it all off, she’d been experiencing a heavy period that was now going on its second week in a row.

Perimenopause was absolute hell.

Every day she felt an increasing amount of stress and a decreasing amount of support. She needed her subordinates to carry their weight. She needed her detectives to be on time. She needed to get open cases closed and the unsolvable cases either marked inactive or shelved. And she couldn’t do that without a full team that showed up when they were supposed to.

Honestly, it was wearing on her to the point that she wasn't sure how much longer she could keep pretending she had everything under control. It was times like this she needed her best friend. She needed... Rafa.

Olivia swallowed down the emotion rising in her throat and tried not to think of the former ADA. Rafael Barba had resigned from his position with the district attorney’s office and his position as her friend. He had even blocked her number. Olivia knew, because she was sent directly to voicemail after one ring every time she called. She had been so worried, she even checked with his cell phone carrier to ensure the line was still active. It was, and it was up to date on payment.

Carisi’s crackpot theory of the beginning of Valentine’s spree of crimes coinciding with Barba’s absence was certifiably false. The attorney wasn’t missing. He just didn’t want to associate with anyone from his past. He needed a fresh start. That was what he said anyway. And who was she to deny him that?

And why the fuck was Carisi not here?

“Where’s Carisi?” she asked, approaching the pair of desks belonging to her detectives. 

“Not sure,” Rollins replied, gesturing toward her partner’s desk with the pencil she’d been chewing on just moments before. “There’s a note, though.”

“A note?” Olivia questioned, stepping around to Carisi’s workstation.

Sure enough, there was a white envelope taped to the bottom of his computer. Written across the front in his boyish scrawl was her name: Benson.

Amanda, who had stood up from her desk, hovered over Olivia’s shoulder. “I’m not sure what it could be,” she stated, worry coloring her voice. “He didn’t mention anything to me.”

Nodding, Olivia wordlessly pulled the envelope off the edge of the screen, the tape stuck briefly, shifting the display askew. Without thinking, the lieutenant reached out a hand to set it straight while absentmindedly flapping the paper at her face like it was a fan.

Heat swelled and sweat prickled along her limbs, threatening to bead up along her brow as well.

Great, she grumbled silently. Perfect time for a hot flash.

“You okay?” Rollins asked. “Want me to call down to maintenance and have them crank up the AC?”

“No,” Benson replied. “Thank you, Amanda. I’m fine. It will pass.”

Olivia wiped at her forehead with the back of her hand, willing the sudden flush to subside. The last thing she needed was to look as off-kilter as she felt. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. Her biology wasn’t the only thing making her heart race. Of course, it was perfect timing for her junior detective to pull a stunt like this.

She fanned herself harder. 

If he was doing something reckless, she was going to kill him.

Briefly, she paused the motion of her wrist, lowering the letter from her heated face just long enough to break the seal. Then she pulled out the note and resumed fanning herself with the empty envelope.

Lieutenant,

Hey, so you’re probably going to laugh at this if you find it before I get to work on Monday, but I guess I wanted to hedge my bets anyway. I’m going out looking for Valentine.

I know, bad idea. But I’m being careful. Valentine’s not dumb enough to walk into a trap, but maybe I can catch a break or find something to help us close this case. I can’t just sit and wait for him to make the next move.

I’ve got the profile memorized: white male, late 20s to mid-30s, clean record (or close to it), smart, manipulative, and with definite resources.

Anyway, if something goes sideways, I set my Apple Watch to ping my location every ten minutes. There’s an app on my desktop. Password is Cannoli1980.

Sorry for going rogue, even though you told me not to. I just couldn’t sit on my hands anymore.

— Carisi

Immediately, a disquieting sense of fear tightened its grip around Benson’s heart, turning her hot flash into an icy chill.

“God have mercy,” she exhaled, dropping the letter and leaning over to enter the password on Sonny’s desktop.

“Lieutenant?” Rollins questioned, reaching over and, without permission, picking up the letter to read it for herself. Ten seconds later, she stammered, “He didn’t—” The detective’s voice was thick with disbelief as she read the words a second time. “He wouldn’t—”

“He did and he would,” Benson replied, her fingers tapping furiously across the keyboard as she pulled up the tracking app on Carisi’s desktop and navigated to his recent location history. 

“Amanda, call your partner. Call him now. If he doesn’t pick up, we’re going to have to notify 1PP and the chief of detectives. See if we can’t put out an 'officer safety alert' and maybe an ATL.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Rollins swore, scrambling over to her desk to grab her phone. Words fell from her mouth in frantic repetition.“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”

Chapter Text

Deep breath in. 

Deep breath out.

It was calming… the process of regulating the flow of oxygen in and out of his lungs. It was one of the few things he could control as the rest of his existence continued to devolve into the chaos Valentine created.

Valentine. Barba liked the name. He preferred it, actually. It was marginally better than ‘Love.’

Deep breath in. 

Deep breath out.

Barba sat upright, his feet anchored to the cold concrete floor beneath the bed frame, and tried to match his pattern of inhaling and exhaling to Carisi’s, who was asleep behind him. 

The detective was out cold, still not completely recovered from the dose of whatever Valentine had drugged him with. 

Barba huffed at the memory of the detective apologizing profusely for being tired and asking to sleep on the bed. 

As if I’d make my… as if I’d make him sleep on the floor, Barba thought. 

Curled in the fetal position, his chained wrists pressed against his chest, Carisi had one of the thin baby blankets draped over his hip and groin, providing him with a limited sense of modesty as he nestled against the attorney’s back. Barba hadn’t worn clothing in over a year. He wasn’t bothered by his own nudity — or even Carisi’s. It wasn’t like he could see anything anyway.

A deep sigh escaped his lips as he traced his thumb along Margo’s arm as he cradled her in his arms. Without the use of his vision, he had no way of being certain if she was asleep or awake when she was quiet like this. But he could feel the rise and fall of her breaths, just as he could hear Carisi’s.

He loved his daughter so much, it was this weight in his chest that both warmed his heart and terrified him at the same time. He’d do anything for her and yet he feared a day would come where she needed him and he could do nothing for her.

Deep breath in. 

Deep breath out.

A thought struck Barba and his rhythm immediately stalled out. He felt much the same about Carisi. 

No, no. He thought, I can’t feel that way about him. There’s no way I can keep him safe. Not in here. Not from her.

Barba tried regulating his breaths once more but found himself out of rhythm, unmoored by his fractured feelings. He cared for the detective as much as colleagues could care for each other, but… but… 

There was no denying it, not here and certainly not now. Barba’s feelings for Carisi were decidedly not paternal in their nature. He wanted to card his fingers through the detective’s ridiculously coiffed hair, gripping the strands just at the base of his skull, tilt Sonny’s chin up, and…

Fuck.

How was this stupid little crush rearing its head once again? Wasn’t it bad enough that Carisi had wormed his way through Barba’s defenses back when he had allowed the detective to shadow him? Back when he was able to guard himself against foolish enterprises?

He was imprisoned, deprived of everything except the barest of necessities. Caring for Margo was all-encompassing, and before that … he had been raped, repeatedly. How in the hell did he even have a libido anymore? Why wasn’t it dead along with his sense of hope? 

Because having your vision impaired has heightened all your other senses, his mind supplied. 

That’s not—

Barba had begun to dive into an internal argument but was yanked from his thoughts as the chain in the wall began to rattle. 

“Carisi!” Barba hissed, placing a hand behind him and shaking the detective. “Carisi. Wake up. Wake up! She’s coming.”

“Huh,” Carisi muttered as the clinking of chain reeling into the wall echoed through its narrow channel.

“She’s coming. Valentine is coming. You have to sit up,” Barba said, directing the younger man. “Sit right up against the headboard. That mechanism that reels in the chain isn’t going to stop no matter how much you struggle.”

Carisi’s breathing had gone from the slow rumbles of sleep to rapid gasps.

“Don’t freak out. Okay? You’ll be fine,” Barba said, though he had no way of knowing whether or not he spoke the truth. 

“Fine?” Carisi whined, the remaining length of chain slithering between them and over the thin mattress. “Barba? Have you seen yourse— I mean—”

“Just keep your mouth shut, detective,” Barba said, thrusting Margo into Carisi’s arms. “Hold the baby and let me do the talking. Understood?”

“Yes,” came Carisi’s meek reply.

Pulling his legs up, Barba positioned himself fully on the bed between Carisi and the door. If Valentine was planning on fucking with the detective, she’d have to go through him.

“Okay, okay,” he said nervously. “Just… brace yourself.”

The door rumbled open.

Barba held his breath, waiting. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Hello, Sweetie.”

“Love,” Barba replied, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He didn’t want Carisi to see him like this — exchanging pet names with a rapist like they were trapped in some Leave It to Beaver version of a perfectly normal relationship.

“You two have been awfully chatty.”

Where once he was flush, Barba went pale.

Oh, no…

They had talked so much about her and she had probably listened to every last word they had spoken. He already knew she had her methods of observing him when she wasn’t in the room but now it was more than just his ass on the line. She didn’t tolerate disobedience and Carisi hadn’t exactly been a ‘good boy.’ What would Love do to him? Would she do something drastic to prove a point or would she—

“Come,” she said, interrupting his train of thought.

Barba froze, his muscles seizing up in rigidity. 

After a beat, Carisi leaned forward and whispered, “She’s holding out her hand to you.”

“Oh.” 

It was a relief that she wasn’t yelling or getting physical with either of them but at the same time it was unprecedented for her to simply do nothing.

Tenuously, Barba slid off the mattress, his bare feet touching the cold floor once more. He extended a shaky hand and found her smooth one connecting with his palm before her fingers intertwined with his and gripped him tightly. And just like that, she was pulling him along. He knew the layout of his prison cell well, and it was only three steps until the door. 

One.

Two.

Three.

Four!

A fourth step and he was out. 

Out!

He’d been locked inside so long that stepping out felt incomprehensible. He should have felt overjoyed, but instead there was only an absence of feeling altogether. 

“Sonny?” Barba questioned, his voice tight as the door shut behind them, locking the detective behind it, along with their daughter. 

“He’ll be fine. And so will you. Come. I have a surprise.”

Anxiety wrapped around him, but he couldn’t suppress his own amazement at being out of his cell. "Aren't you worried I'll try to run?"

"No. But if you want to, I won't stop you."

"You won't?" Barba couldn’t stop the disbelief from trembling through every word.

"Do you want to run, Rafael? Would you really leave Margo behind? What about your little detective friend? What about me, Sweetie? Do you want to know what I would do to them if you left?"

He did know, not with certainty but with conviction, that she would hurt Carisi. And she would eventually take Margo away, only to abandon her at the earliest convenience. Margo would be lucky if she ended up at a firehouse. Valentine could just as easily sell her.

"You're right not to worry, Love,” he said. “I won't run. I ... I don't want to run."

"Good. Now, come."

Barba tried to count his steps and figure out the layout of this unknown terrain. A fruitless endeavor as he soon found himself completely disoriented. His feet passed over concrete, thin carpeting, and finally, tile. The room they entered was warm as his captor led him across the tile into a smaller enclosure of some sort, their footfalls reverberating within the tight space. 

Nerves curled in his belly like writhing snakes.

Valentine said nothing, but her clothing brushed against him as she shifted him around. And then the soft material she wore swished as she removed it.

“Love?” he questioned, knowing that if she was undressing, it could only mean one thing…

His respite from performing for her had come to an end. 

“You’re fine, Sweetie,” Love said. “I promise. You can trust me.”

Something squeaked, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. 

What was that … a faucet? 

Barba felt cool water hit his feet and shuddering, he stepped back. Then, the water warmed as Valentine fiddled with the knob, surrounding them in a mist of hot spray.

Barba’s hands flew to his blindfold, pressing it against his face. What was she doing? This was not a test for which he was prepared. He did not know how to pass it and he could not afford to fail. 

“No. No. I can’t. Listen, Love, I’m sorry. Whatever I did wrong, whatever I’m rightfully being punished for… I am sorry.”

“Sweetie, Rafael,” Valentine said, lifting his chin up with her fingertips as she drew the damp scrap of fabric away with her other hand. “It’s okay. This isn’t a punishment. Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“Figured what out?”

“That I’m not a monster. You know that now, don’t you? So the precautions… they just aren’t necessary anymore.” 

The hot water had already dissolved most of the adhesive, and yet Barba kept his eyes squeezed shut as the bandages fell away.

“Rafael,” his captor murmured, “look at me.”

Blinking, Barba opened his eyes. The world around him was dark and fuzzy and yet far too bright. He couldn’t bring anything into focus — everything swam in color and light and steam. And yet, one thing stood out with aching clarity: the dusky blues of Valentine’s eyes.

“There you are, Sweetie.”

“Love,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut again. “Oh God, Love.”

His equilibrium faltered, but instead of falling, he found himself steadied. Valentine had wrapped her arms around him, her warm bare skin pressing into his. Her hand drifted down the nape of his neck, his spine, anchoring him.

“It’s okay. You’re okay, Rafael. I trust you.”

That word. Trust. It dug its claws into his heart, piercing it.

“Love,” he said again, the name coming apart in his throat. She wasn’t demanding his loyalty. She was offering hers. And that, that, was what undid him. He had spent his whole life trying to prove himself worthy of validation, approval… of trust. From his parents, his teachers, his colleagues, from the court, even the law. 

But in this god forsaken corner of the world, all he wanted was hers.

And in that moment… he had it.

Barba pressed himself against Valentine, needing her like he needed oxygen to breathe. 

If what she said could be believed, if her actions truly spoke of trust, then he would not, could not, deny her mercy. And if this wasn’t some cruel manipulation, then what was it? Was she mirroring back the devotion she had once coerced from him? Was that devotion even forced anymore? Barba didn’t know, and he no longer cared to. He could give himself this. He could allow the surrender to feel like his own.

He lifted his chin and felt the warm press of her lips against his. In reply, he opened his mouth and let his tongue stray across hers, chasing comfort, craving connection, and collapsing into the only approval that mattered anymore.

Chapter Text

BLACKLAKE BAR
214 MERCER STREET
MONDAY, JUNE 17

Anger boiled beneath Rollins’ skin as she clenched her jaw. This wasn’t her first time at the Blacklake Bar. Nor was it her second. This was her third time at this shithole dive, and she was beyond pissed.

“How could he have been so fucking stupid?” she hissed. The air escaped through her teeth as she shot daggers toward the door that led to the backroom, through which the owner had disappeared.

“Amanda,” Olivia chided. Walking her fingers across the counter with practiced calm, the lieutenant inched between her detective and the bar. “Now’s not the time.”

“Carisi went out, on his own, without backup. How is that anything but stupid?” Rollins spat.

She knew full well that her commanding officer was placing herself between her and the counter… just in case Rollins got a wild hair up her ass and leapt over the bar to throttle that damn bar owner for still not installing security cameras. But in her defense, Carisi was now the third person to disappear from this location, and the bastard who owned the place acted like it was merely a coincidence and really none of his concern.

There was no doubt in Amanda’s mind that Sonny had figured Valentine’s sprees were about to start up again, and this dump was as likely a place as any for the perp to show.

Like the idiot he was, her partner came alone, thinking he could handle it like he was some kind of superhero. But real life didn’t work like that.  This wasn’t a story inked on pulp paper, panels splashed with bold primary colors and punctuated by BOOMs and POWs.

Benson, to her credit, was making the best out of a very bad situation. “I’m not saying it’s the smartest thing Sonny could’ve done, but we all take risks in this job. He at least had the foresight to make sure his location could be traced.”

“The app says he’s here, Liv,” Rollins exclaimed, spreading out her arms to illustrate that they were alone in the bar with its worn furnishings and shabby fixtures. “And obviously, he’s not.”

The lieutenant opened her mouth to reply but never got the chance.

“Here we are!” the bar owner, Bruce Lake, interrupted as he emerged from the backroom.

He was bald but greasy, with a beer belly that hung low like a canvas bag filled with sludge from the river. If her father had been here, he would’ve made a dad joke about the man having Dunlap disease because his stomach had done lapped over his belt. Rollins felt queasy just thinking about her partner’s fate resting in those sweaty hands.

“Found it!” Lake announced, extending a partially closed fist.

“Hold on just a moment,” Benson replied, pulling a blue latex glove from her inner pocket and snapping it onto her hand before reaching out.

The owner promptly dropped something into her upturned palm: Carisi’s smartwatch.

“When was this found?” Benson asked, examining the face and band.

“Saturday morning. It had gotten left on the edge of the sink in the men’s room. I figured someone must've taken it off to wash up and forgotten to put it back on.”

“What?” Rollins snipped, “You’re saying a man actually stopped to wash his hands? That’s unlikely.”

Benson sighed. “Amanda, really?”

“Sorry, Lieu.”

“You don’t have an evidence bag on you, by chance?”

Nodding, Rollins pulled out a red-trimmed plastic bag and held it open.

Without another word, Benson dropped the Apple Watch in, then turned back to the overweight proprietor to begin pressing him with questions.

“Do you know who was working Friday night?”

For once the man had an actual answer. “Oh, yeah. Valerie. She’s one of the best. When she works, the till always balances, the counters are wiped down, and the trash is even taken out.”

“Valerie?” Rollins prodded.

It was her first time hearing the name. After the second victim had disappeared from this location, she and Carisi had questioned every employee in person. None of them were called Valerie.

“She new?”

Lake shrugged. “She’s a temp. I don’t know her too well.”

“A temp?” Benson inquired. “But she’s worked here before? How often? Do you have the dates?”

“I don’t really keep track of that.”

The heat in Rollins’ tone was scorching as she leaned past Benson and slammed her fist down on the polished wood counter. “What do you mean you don’t keep track of who’s working for you and when? What type of business are you running?

Rollins didn’t even stop to take a breath as she continued, “This isn’t the first time we’ve come to this damn place because people keep getting abducted here, and you’re still acting like it’s no big deal! Why didn’t you tell us you had temps working here? Do you not understand that people’s lives are on the line?! My partner is MISSING!”

“Amanda,” Benson interjected, all but wrapping an arm around the detective and hauling her back, “the outbursts aren’t helping. If you need to wait in the car to calm down, then I can finish this discussion with Mr. Lake on my own.”

Heart thumping, Rollins shook her head and took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. “No. I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” the lieutenant replied, before turning back to Lake and addressing him directly. “I need to know everything about the temps you have working here and what service you use to hire them.”

Looking appropriately chagrined, the owner stuttered, “I wouldn’t know where to begin. My business partner, Vince Black, handles staffing and the books. I’m more of a front-of-house guy… operations… that sort of thing.”

“Okay. But you are familiar with the temps that work here. Start with Valerie. Tell us everything you know about her.”

“I assure you, Valerie isn’t involved in any of this. She couldn't be.”

“And why is that?” Rollins questioned, careful to keep her temper at bay.

“Well, I hadn’t seen her in a while. Friday was her first night back.”

“Back?” Benson asked. “Back after what?”

“Valerie’s a new mom—just had a baby; a little girl. She showed me a few pics on Friday before I headed out. Cute kid.”

Chapter Text

Despite his earlier warnings against the very thing he was doing, Sonny sat, dozing on and off with a sleeping Margo in his arms. His head drooped, and a few moments of rest caught him in their embrace. However, sleep’s tentative grip on him immediately loosened the second the rumbling sound of the door to their prison opening reached his ears. Jerking his head up, he looked up to find Barba standing stock still as the door closed behind him. 

The attorney’s grimy blindfold was missing, and instead of a swath of dirty fabric, Sonny found himself staring into the dulled, muddy-green hues of the attorney’s eyes. 

“Rafael?” Sonny questioned.

Immediately, Sonny found himself wondering what deal had been made for Barba to have his sight returned to him. And that wasn’t all. Barba was clean, freshly shaven, and his hair was even combed back. But the most jarring detail was that he wasn’t naked. Hanging low on his hips was a pair of white boxers printed with red heart outlines. Valentine’s signature on him couldn’t have been more overt.

“Are you okay?”

“I … we,” Barba muttered, “took a shower.”

“Okay,” Sonny replied, doing his best to remain positive. “That’s not so bad.”

“It wasn’t. Best shower of my life.”

Hearing Barba describe an encounter with Valentine as the ‘best of his life’ was deeply troubling. But before Sonny could address it, the attorney continued.

“Then we… first time since Margo’s been born… we…”

Sonny’s mind filled in what Barba had left unsaid. It wasn’t all that surprising, but it wasn’t easy hearing that his former mentor had once again been manipulated into having sex with their captor.

“Oh no, Barba. She didn’t, did she?” Sonny remarked, hoping his assumptions were wrong.

"I could've said no. Maybe even stopped it from happening,” the attorney said, turning towards the door and staring at it. "I didn't... I didn't want to stop it."

“Rafael?” 

“You don’t get it,” he remarked. “She gave me back my autonomy, and the first thing I did with it was kiss her.”

“Autonomy?” Sonny shot back with what he felt was an appropriate level of fervor. “What autonomy? You’re locked in here. Same as me.”

“No,” Barba muttered. “It’s not the same, Sonny.”

Feeling unsettled by what he was hearing, the detective asked, “What are you saying?”

Pivoting around, Barba looked back in the direction of the younger man.

It was then Sonny noticed what he had missed before. Barba’s green eyes weren’t just dull; they were unfocused. His gaze drifted past him, pupils trembling pinpricks, fixed on nothing at all.

With the warm weight of their captor’s daughter suddenly heavy in his arms, Sonny felt his mouth go dry. He knew Valentine was cruel, but this? This was utterly reprehensible. The blindfold hadn’t just limited Barba’s sight; it had left the attorney impaired to a devastating degree.

“I just had to see it,” Barba muttered, his word choice ironic—though perhaps unintentionally.

“See what?”

“Her devotion.”

“Her what?! Rafael! Have you gone literally insane?”

The look on the attorney’s face said it all. The tightened jaw, the press of his lips into a straight line, and the dip of his brows were a clear indication that Rafael Barba did not appreciate being called crazy.

Trying to temper his previous statement, Sonny gently supplied, “It’s conditioning, Rafael. She isn’t devoted to you. She doesn’t … she doesn’t love you.”

Stepping closer, Barba closed the distance between them. He reached out, using his fingers to compensate for his unreliable eyesight. With his hand on the detective’s bare shoulder, Barba quickly oriented himself and lifted the sleeping baby from Sonny’s arms.

Barba pressed a kiss into the wispy blonde strands of his daughter’s hair and bitterly said, “What makes you think you know a thing about love, Carisi?”

“I know it doesn’t involve being left chained up, naked, for months,” Sonny bit back. “I know it doesn’t involve rape.”

“The world isn’t black and white, Detective,” Barba snapped. “Maybe you’re content seeing it that way, but I refuse to let bravado and grandstanding blind me to a reality seeped in color and complexity. You talk about Valentine as if she is a monster, but she isn’t. I know she isn’t. Despite everything she’s done, I have what you lack: the courage to see her for who she really is.”

Barba’s words, to say the least, were infuriating. Sonny could feel anger boiling just beneath the surface, making his skin flush red. Despite this, he tried to keep his tone cool as he replied, “And what’s that?”

“It’s not my story to tell. But maybe if you’re good,” Barba replied as he moved to the other side of the room, “she’ll tell you herself. In the meantime—don’t talk to me.”

Chapter Text

Fuzzy.

The world around him was fuzzy and dull. From what he gathered, it had been over a year since he had last used his eyes, and these were the repercussions: a diminished sensory capacity. He had no one really to blame but himself. If he had just—

“Barba,” Sonny pleaded for what felt the hundredth time, from across the room. “Barba, are you really not going to talk to me?”

Pressing his lips together in a thin line, Rafael remained silent. There was absolutely no reason to engage in any sort of conversation with his former mentee. Carisi had made his position clear, and further confrontation would only upset them both. 

“Rafael, please!” Carisi begged one last time before breaking down entirely and dissolving into tears. 

Barba sighed and tried to refocus on his daughter instead. She’d been fussy and refusing her bottle, not entirely unusual, but after weeks of caring for Margo around the clock, he had gotten a sense of her personality. The issue wasn’t that she didn’t want to eat; it was that she was a very intuitive child and tended to pick up on the temperament exuded by others. 

Stop being so emotional, Barba silently vented towards the detective.

Even as he thought it, he knew it was easier said than done. Being locked in this room was like being inside a pressure cooker, amplifying every feeling until it reached a breaking point. Before Margo was born, Barba had often experienced those emotions crashing down around him, leaving him hollow and despondent.

Now, though, Barba was anything but despondent. While he could admit that colder emotions still sometimes surfaced, overall, he was content. Becoming a father had filled him with a sense of warm, comforting clarity that he would never, ever give up, no matter how much Carisi insisted his daughter’s mother was a monster.

Quiet sobs filled the air, punctuated by the rattle of the chain around Carisi’s wrists. In Barba’s arms, the baby fussed. 

“I’m not rewarding him for bad behavior,” Rafael whispered to his daughter, rationalizing his decision to give Carisi the silent treatment. 

Margo, of course, said nothing. Instead, she spit the rubber nib of the bottle out and gave a little wail.

Breathing out a low, extended sigh, the attorney closed his eyes and kept them shut. Even the dim light of the room was enough to make his eyes hurt, and trying to bring anything into focus was giving him a splitting headache. So much for teaching Carisi a lesson. Barba doubted even a full 24 hours had passed, and here he was, already throwing in the towel.

But what else was he supposed to do? Margo needed to eat, and she wasn’t about to cooperate, not with a blubbering detective throwing off her appetite. 

With his arm curled around his daughter and his other hand holding the bottle, Barba rose to his feet and padded over to the bed where the detective lay. 

“Sonny,” Barba said, his voice soft but his tone firm. “I need you to feed the baby.”

“Okay,” Carisi hiccuped.

Barba waited, silently picturing the detective’s pitiful countenance and his blue eyes filled with tears, until he heard the clink of the chain and felt Sonny’s arms come up under his. Barba released Margo into Carisi’s embrace.

It wasn’t until he heard his daughter’s whines diminish and be replaced by the sounds of her suckling that Barba took a seat next to the detective on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Carisi meekly supplied. 

“You called me crazy,” Barba grumbled. 

“Rafael,” the detective’s words were unsteady at best. “I… I care about you. Deeply. And it hurts to see you,” Carisi paused, his voice faltering, “with her.”

Barba huffed. “Sounds like you’re jealous.”

“More scared than jealous,” he admitted. “Because you’re right, Barba. I’m a … a coward. I’m so terrified that I’m—” The detective audibly gulped, and left his sentence unfinished.

“I get it. I do. But, Sonny, if you want to survive, then you cannot push against her. And if you’re good for her, if you give her even just the smallest benefit of the doubt, she’ll show you how compassionate she can be.” 

Barba waited, expecting the detective to make a counterargument, and the attorney braced himself to once again hear Carisi use divisive terms like ‘rape’ and ‘murder’ to justify his position. 

Instead, Carisi said, “I’ll try. But … she’s only come in here once. And that was to get you.”

With his eyes closed, it was easy for Barba to picture the time he had spent with Love outside of his makeshift cell. The hot spray of the shower, the feel of his lover’s smooth, wet skin … the sensation of the hard tile on his knees when he had dropped to them to kiss Valentine in other places far more intimate besides her lips. Savoring the memory of doing something not because she had told him to, but simply because he could.

“Rafael, I’m not,” Carisi continued, interrupting Barba’s reminiscences. “I’m not okay. Physically or mentally. It’s been days, and I … not to be dramatic … I’m starving.”

“If Margo doesn’t finish her bottle, you can have what’s left.”

“I’m not drinking baby formula.”

“Love’s not going to let you starve, Carisi.”

“Rafael,” the detective countered, “forgive me for not feeling reassured. I mean, when was the last time you’ve eaten anything?”

Barba blushed and turned away. He didn’t need Carisi knowing that the last thing he had eaten was Valentine, as if his entire purpose in life were to exist between her thighs.

“Rafael?” Sonny prodded.

“Listen, Carisi…” Barba paused, knowing he had to say something, but his mind betrayed him, drifting to memories of the sweet taste of Valentine’s cunt, then to her breasts and the warm milk that flowed from them. “She’s not unreasonable.”

“You think she’s reasonable?” the detective questioned, skepticism clear in his voice. “Really? So the last time you asked for food, a blanket, or something for Margo, she just handed it over? No strings attached?”

“I’m not stupid. Okay? I know what she’s capable of and I act accordingly. But I think if you knew what I know…” Barba trailed off, his throat tightening. He shouldn’t be giving an account of events that weren’t his to tell. But the words hovered on the edge of his lips, tempting him to speak anyway.

“Right,” Carisi said, the trained detective in him pushing when he must’ve known Barba’s silence was protecting Valentine. “No, I understand. Not your story to tell. But can I ask you one question?”

“Go on.”

“When did she tell you?”

“Um,” Barba said, pausing briefly to think. “It wasn’t all at once. I… pieced it together gradually. But, uh, she began telling me more or less the first night I arrived.”

“What did she tell you that first night?”

In a surge of emotion, memories of Barba’s first encounter with Valentine flooded his mind. The pain, the terror, the panic as she had taken control and had…

No! he told himself. No. It wasn’t like that. She was desperate, not cruel. Traumatized, not malevolent. I can’t blame her.

Gritting his teeth, Barba grumbled, “That’s more than one question, Carisi.”

“Sorry,” the younger man apologized. “I just think I deserve to know.”

Barba took a deep breath through his nose before exhaling slowly. Carisi wasn’t wrong, he did deserve to know. On the other hand, Love could very well take issue with their privileged communication being shared. Leaning back, he settled on the mattress and turned onto his side, away from the detective.

“She told me…” he muttered, keeping his voice low, hoping it wouldn’t be picked up by any microphone or security camera he knew was hidden somewhere in the room. “Love told me of her decade-long fixation. All she ever wanted was for someone like Benson to notice her. Everything she’s done, it’s been to catch SVU’s attention.”

“Wait? A decade? That makes no sense. Barba, she’s not that old. I doubt she’s even thirty. A decade ago, she would’ve been a teenager.”

“Exactly,” Barba breathed, opening his eyes to stare blankly at nothing. Focus was impossible anyway. “Even as a teenager, she became fixated on the only people she thought could … save her. That obsession never faded. It just… shifted. She remained determined to get SVU’s attention, one way or another. That’s why we’re here, Dominick. Not because she’s a monster—”

Carisi interrupted in a whispered flood of words, cutting off Barba and finishing the sentence for him. “— but because she was a victim.” 

Chapter Text

SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT
16TH PRECINCT, MANHATTAN
THURSDAY , JUNE 20

“So we got the owner of Blacklake Bar to come in and give a statement to a composite artist,” Rollins said, pinning a sketch to the bulletin board. “Then, based off his description, we cross-referenced that drawing with security footage of temp workers from the other abduction scenes.” Saying this, she tacked up three grainy stills as well. “It’s not much, but whoever this woman is, she’s either the perp or she’s helping him.”

Standing from his desk, Fin stalked over to the board and carefully eyed the photos.

“You sure about this, ‘Manda?” he questioned. “From what I’m seeing, the women in these pictures don’t look nothin’ alike. Not that I’m doubting you. Only surefire thing we got is this sketch, and while the artist—what’s his name?—is decent, this ain’t gonna get us any positive IDs. Different hair color, different style, even eyewear ain't the same.”

Folding her arms, Rollins contended, “How many pregnant women do you know who work temp jobs?”

“A lot, actually.”

“Is that so? And I suppose all the pregnant people you know are also approximately five foot nine? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been scrubbing through security footage, freezing every damn frame, cross-referencing every angle, just to make sure the possible suspects I’ve identified are even close to the same height?”

“It’s a reach, Rollins,” Benson cut in. “She doesn’t fit the profile. And even if Valentine is a woman, pregnant women are far more likely to be victims of violent crimes than commit them.”

“Tell me more about these temp jobs,” Fin pressed.

Rollins shrugged, “Bartending, catering, secretarial work, and even waste disposal. Pretty run-of-the-mill stuff.”

“And these images, how far back do they go back?” the lieutenant asked. 

“Well,” Rollins hesitated, “I’ve identified who I think is the same woman at the locations our victims were last seen in December, January, and February. And I know it’s only three out of the thirteen abductions we’ve linked to Valentine, but they are the most recent.”

“Kyle Summers, Ryan Park, Tanya Moore, Carlos Ruiz, Alicia Price, and Carter Barnes,” Benson said, rattling off the names of Valentine's victims from those months.

“Price and Barnes are both dead,” Fin said flatly. “The other four didn’t say jack about no pregnant woman. That’s not the kind of thing you forget to mention.”

“C’mon, Fin. None of the victims remember being attacked,” Benson said, her voice steady but tense. “We know they were drugged and when they regained consciousness, they had no memory of what had happened in the last twenty-four hours. But what they do remember is consistent: they all woke up naked, next to a stranger, with a distorted voice coming over a speaker telling them to have sex.”

“She’s taunting us!” Rollins declared. “Think about it. She’s hiding in plain view. Different name, different look, but always there. We were just so fixated on the assumption that our perp was a man that we overlooked her entirely. And listen, each place I spoke to had a name for the worker: Valerie, Vanessa, Vanya, and even Valentina…”

“Only means she’s connected the Valentine case,” the sergeant countered. “Ain’t mean she got Carisi.” 

“What do you want me to say, Fin?!” Rollins exploded, flying into a long tirade. “Carisi disappeared on Friday, the 14th. That same temp worker was there Friday night, just like the nights of the other two Valentine abductions at that location. 

"Don’t act like I’ve got blinders on just 'cause we didn’t know Carisi was missing until he didn’t show up Monday. And last I checked, it’s Thursday, and he could be dead for all we know. Meanwhile, I’ve spent the last four days working my ass off. I’ve been calling his friends and family—I won’t even mention how distraught his parents are—contacting businesses, combing through footage, re-interviewing victims… and this is all I’ve got. 

“If that’s not good enough for you, Sarge? Then I don’t give a flying fuck.”

Not one to be scolded by his subordinate, Fin shot back. “Don’t make it sound like you’re the only one who’s been looking for him. My feet got blisters on top of blisters going door to door canvassing potential witnesses.”

“Listen, you two,” Benson interjected, her tone both soothing and reproachful. “Take a breath. We’re all doing the best we can. Carisi isn’t dead, alright? If Valentine had killed him, we would’ve found the body. As for this woman, I’m sure she’s connected, but let’s not jump to conclusions. For now, she’s just a person of interest.”

“But—”

“Amanda,” the lieutenant chided, “don’t start.”

“We get the number for that temp agency?” Fin asked, slipping back into his usual ice-cold demeanor.

Benson nodded. “We got it from the bar owner on Monday. The number isn’t registered, and when we tried calling, the line was disconnected.”

“I verified with the other three locations,” Rollins added. “They all had the same number for Metro Point Staffing.”

“So we thinking it’s not a real agency then?” Fin pressed.

“Looks like it,” Benson said. “I couldn’t even find a trace of it online. Not even a fake Twitter account.”

Her voice faltering, Rollins shoved her hands in her pockets. “It’s not much to go on.”

Benson gave the detective a firm, steady look. “We work with what we’ve got. One step at a time.”

“What’s our next move, lieu?” Fin asked. 

Shifting, Benson straightened her spine and said, “We release the sketch and see if anyone recognizes her. In the meantime, we go back to square one with the known locations of the abductions. If any of them hire temp workers, we need to get in there and talk to anyone who potentially had contact with our perp. If we’re lucky, she’s given out her personal contact info.”

“Canvassing’s been rough. People don’t wanna talk to cops, and that won’t change if we show up where folks are just trying to earn a paycheck.”

“Then we fly under the radar,” Benson said. “Fin, send a request over to TARU for a slew of surveillance equipment. Let’s get as many detectives wired up as we can, even if we have to borrow them from other units. Plain clothes, alternate IDs. And make sure no one’s going to throw a fit about getting their hands dirty either.”

“Dirty?” Fin repeated. 

“Bussing tables, mopping out urinals, that sort of thing.”

“You’re talking temp work,” Rollins said, seeking clarification more for herself than anyone else.

With a firm nod, the lieutenant said, “We’re going undercover. Let’s find our boy and get him home, by any means necessary.”

Chapter Text

The water was barely cold, and yet its taste was sharp and metallic as it hit Carisi’s tongue. Standing next to the sink that was attached to the back of the toilet, the detective scooped handful after handful of water into his mouth. With the cuffs around his wrists, there was no way to stop the clanking of the chain against the stainless steel rear panel. 

He was starving, and at this point, water was the only thing filling the hollow ache in his gut.

“Carisi,” Barba called, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the din Sonny was making, “ease up over there. Too much water too quickly can shock your system. You’re going to end up puking that all up if you’re not careful.”

With water dripping from his lips, the detective stared dejectedly into the empty metal basin. The fixture was practically ancient, and the knobs squeaked in protest as he twisted them just right to stop the flow. It was probably an old unit that had been bought at a government surplus auction. Despite its jerry-rigged appearance, the patch job held strong, tied into the plumbing that snaked through the guts of the walk-in cooler they were trapped in. The setup was solid, the water ran clear, and the toilet didn’t so much as gurgle.

“How long do you think it’s been?” Carisi asked. “How long have I been here?”

“Maybe a week,” the attorney replied. “It’s hard to tell.”

Carisi lifted his eyes from the dismal gray stainless steel hues of the sink and looked over towards the massive door along the long side of their makeshift prison. “Why has she just left us in here?” he asked. “You’d think she’d come in here more often.”

“Oh? You miss Valentine?” Barba queried, a hint of teasing in his tone.

“Absolutely not,” Carisi bit back. “I don’t want to be anywhere near that—,” he paused, knowing that calling their captor a monster would rub Barba the wrong way. “I mean, I don’t want to be near her. That’s all.”

“Careful what you wish for, Detective,” the attorney stated. “For a long time, she was all the company I had. Strange as it might sound, she was my only source of solace. Isolation is lonely, Carisi. Just as painful as hunger at times. I need you to be careful with what you say because I promise you the last thing you want is for her to take Margo and me out of this cell and leave you on your own.” 

“What I want,” Carisi grumbled as he traipsed over to the bed and slumped down next to where Barba was sitting, “is food.”

“There’s always—”

“Don’t suggest formula,” the detective interrupted. “Not even on my worst days am I the type of man that would steal from a baby.”

“If the formula is gone,” Barba said softly, “you’ll force her hand, Sonny. She’ll either come to restock the supply, or she’ll simply breastfeed the baby herself. It’s what she did when Margo was a newborn. Love practically lived in here with us for those first few weeks.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“What isn’t?”

“Breastfeeding,” Carisi supplied, even as the attorney shot him an unfocused glare. “Don’t look at me like that. I have three sisters and more female cousins than I can shake a stick at. It’s not my fault I know things. And I’m assuming Valentine weaned Margo off when she switched to formula. Her milk’s probably dried up.”

“It’s not.”

“How would you…” the detective paused, recalling Barba’s recent sabbatical from their prison and his account of what had happened upon his return. “Oh, jeez, I’m sorry, Rafa. I forgot. She probably leaked all over you while it was happening.”

“Carisi,” Barba snapped, “just because something ridiculous pops into your brain, doesn't mean it has to come out of your mouth.” 

“Hey, I didn’t mean—”

Sshhsssckk. Sshhsssckk. Sshhsssckk.

The sound of the chain retracting into the wall brought an abrupt end to the two men’s conversation.

“Speak of the devil,” Carisi grumbled under his breath. Careful not to let the chain snag around Barba, he maneuvered along the thin mattress, settling in a corner next to the headboard and beneath the slot in the wall.  

Barba stood, with Margo in his arms, and took a few tentative steps towards the exit. He stopped, just a few inches shy of the end of the bed, having placed himself directly between the door and the detective. Not for the first time, Carisi was struck by the uneasy notion that the older man was trying to protect him. 

Once the detective’s linked tether was fully retracted, the door rumbled open.

“Hi, Sweetie,” came Valentine’s voice, a deceptively delicate tone.

Carisi studied the woman’s features as she walked into the cell. She wasn’t unattractive by any means, but she wasn’t conventionally pretty either. A squarish jaw offset her hooded eyes and flat lips. With hair that was light brown, almost blonde, she had swept it back from her face in a messy bun. She looked tired, her skin pale and patchy with the lingering fatigue of a long day. The exhaustion aged her, but if Carisi had to guess, he’d place her closer to 25 than she was 30.

She’s younger than me, Carisi realized. What horrors has she had to endure in her lifetime to drive her to such extremes? The abductions, the sexual manipulation, even the murders, it’s all so incomprehensible.

Sonny remained silent, unwilling to draw attention his way as he watched their abductor approach the attorney and gently lift her daughter from his arms. Barba’s fingers lingered, even when Margo was in Valentine’s embrace. Carisi recognized this as the attorney’s method of tactile navigation, keeping contact with a moving object to stay oriented without the use of his eyes. Sonny couldn’t help but wonder if this was necessity or merely habit.

With Margo cradled against her, Valentine leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss against Barba’s lips as if greeting a spouse after a long day. The thought of Barba and Valentine as husband and wife made Carisi’s stomach twist with unease.

Valentine lifted one hand, pinky extended, so the baby could suckle at the tip while she bounced her gently, swaying back and forth. Barba stood there, unmoving, as he spoke quietly with his baby’s mother.

Straining to listen, Carisi wasn’t certain he was meant to overhear what started as a mundane exchange between a set of parents.

“When’s the last time she’s had a bottle?”

“Not more than an hour ago,” Barba replied.

“Does she need changing?” 

“No. I think she’s fine for now.”

“What about you? Are you okay? You have your eyes closed.”

“Just a little headache from the lights. That’s all. I’m fine.”

“I want to make sure you’re taken care of too, Sweetie. Are you hungry?”

“Yes, but Love,” Barba said, his voice faltering, “please, not here. Not in front of him.” 

“Why? Are you embarrassed, Rafael?”

“No. It’s just… It seems unfair. Sonny’s not used to this. It’s hard for him to go without eating for so long.”

“Are you suggesting that I—”

“No. No. Don’t do that. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t behave. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Valentine said in mock exclamation. Moving around Barba, she made her way to the bed. 

A wild flare of desperation erupted within Carisi’s chest, igniting in his lungs as he inhaled a sharp, deep breath and held it. The door was open, and there was literally nothing standing between Barba and freedom. All the attorney had to do was take a few steps forward, and he’d have a real chance at escaping.

Run, Rafael! Fucking run! Do it now, while you can.

Alas, the attorney gave no indication of any intention to leave. Instead, he appeared almost off-balance, his stance unsteady.  

Valentine was neither of those things as she came to stand in front of Sonny. Pulling his attention away from the wide-open door, she asked, “Are you planning on hurting me, Detective?”

Wordlessly, Carisi shrank back into the corner, practically cowering behind his bent knees, painfully aware of his nakedness, and shook his head.

“Good,” she declared. Coming closer, she leaned forward and extended her arms and with them the baby. “Here we are, Margo. Go to your uncle.”

The chain links around Sonny’s wrist clinked brightly in the awkward silence as he reached out to his captor’s daughter from her. And with Margo nestled against his bare chest, Carisi silently watched as Valentine called for Barba to join them. 

Valentine turned, sat on the corner at the end of the bed, and patted the empty bit of mattress next to her. “Come lay down, Sweetie.”

Even with his eyes closed, the attorney moved with enough spatial awareness to come to reposition himself without tripping or stubbing his toes on the bed. Instead, he said nothing as he came to stand before her. His silence lingered as she tugged down the hem of his boxers and let them fall to the floor. Climbing out of them, he got onto the mattress. The frame creaked beneath their combined weight. 

There really wasn’t much room on the bed for three grown adults and Barba’s legs brushed up against Carisi’s feet as the older man resignedly placed his head in Valentine’s lap. 

“That’s it. You know what to do,” their captor murmured, running her fingers through Barba’s dark hair. “You ready?”

Ready? Carisi wondered. Ready for what?

Valentine hand left Barba’s hair as she fiddled with a strap just beneath the fabric of her shirt before she then lowered the neckline, exposing her breast.

Stifling a gasp, Carisi looked on in horror as he watched his former mentor ‘latch.’

“Ah,” Valentine sighed, dropping her head back, exposing the curve of her throat.

Word flashed in the detective’s mind: sick, demented, unnatural, twisted… yet he didn’t dare speak them. Carisi’s disgust only grew as he watched Valentine’s hand snake between Barba’s thighs and begin to stroke the older man’s penis.

Carisi couldn’t believe it. Mere inches from him, Barba lay on his side with his head cradled against Valentine’s chest… nursing from her breast as she stroked him between his legs. 

It wasn’t long until Barba was hard, his cock leaking, and yet she kept going. The attorney didn’t stop her either; he made no complaint or fuss as he continued to swallow down her milk. 

“Such a good boy,” Valentine purred. “Hmm, Sweetie? Aren’t you my good boy?”

Beneath her fingers, Barba briefly spasmed. And from Carisi’s viewpoint, it looked like the attorney was enjoying himself. Maybe he was. Maybe Barba was really that far gone that he’d relished being thoroughly reduced to the point he was drinking breast milk and allowing himself to be jerked off in full view of another man.

This is so wrong, Sonny thought.

“Love!” Barba exclaimed, popping off of her tit and gripping at her arm. “Oh, please! Love.”

He was saying her name, or at least the name she had given him to call her. He was crying out her name as she assaulted him.

The man he knew was pragmatic, logical, and unapologetically fierce to a fault. And yet here Barba was, being assaulted by a serial killer … and he wasn’t even putting up the slightest bit of a fight. He was unrestrained. He could stop her. He could run. But he didn’t.

He wouldn’t get very far, he rationalized. He’s completely exposed and practically blind. Carisi hated to think it, but the words appeared in his mind, though he was wise enough not to give them voice. Barba is gone and has been replaced by this pathetic thing.

From his years on the police force and as a seasoned investigator, Carisi knew of the psychological toll extended captivity could take. He knew that victims could become emotionally attached to their captors, even forming deeply intimate connections. But never in his wildest nightmares would Carisi have imagined that Rafael Barba could succumb to the involuntary trauma bond of Stockholm syndrome.

Maybe he’s protecting what little he has left of himself, Sonny thought. Maybe he’s protecting Margo from what Valentine will do if he steps out of line. Carisi shifted his wrist beneath the hardened metal of his restraints. Maybe he’s protecting me.

Sonny looked away, and down at Margo’s chubby cheeks moved gently as she suckled softly in her sleep, blissfully unaware that she had been handed over to her Uncle Sonny while her parents… well, while her mother did unspeakable things to her father. 

Barba gasped and moaned, his groan sputtering out in jagged fragments as he came to pieces. 

Carisi closed his eyes, wishing instead he could cover his ears. He knew what had happened; he didn’t need to see it. 

“Detective?” Valentine spoke his rank, using it to mock him. “You were complaining that you’re hungry, weren’t you?”

Cracking his eyes open, he saw that Valentine was presenting her hand; the white, viscous fluid pooled there and along the length of her fingers. Sonny kept his mouth shut and turned his head away.

“No?” she challenged.

Sonny shook his head emphatically.

“Very well then,” she replied. Reaching out, her fingertips dug into his flesh, forcing his head back against the wall.

Mortified, Carisi clenched his jaw and pressed his lips into a thin line of disgust, struggling not to retch at what was being done to him. If he dared open his mouth, he was sure she’d force it onto his tongue and down his throat. Valentine didn’t relent, wiping the remnants of Barba’s release across his cheeks, lips, and chin. The cooling ejaculate clung to his face, a humiliating reminder of his helplessness.