She finds him at a Tony's, a stool pulled up to the bar counter and a large glass of scotch before him. He probably doesn't want her here, but she'd heard about the "slamming bod, I think she's the mayors wife" who had apparently dropped by the ADA's office today and thought maybe he could use a friend. She takes a seat next to him, ordering her cabernet. He looks at her with a little tilt to his head and unsteady eyes. "How did you know?"

"I'm a trained detective, Councillor."

"Rafael. Tonight, tonight I am not a Councillor."

"Rafael, you're always a Councillor. It's as much a part of you as cop is a part of me."

"Please, Liv. Not tonight." And she listens, drops it and sits in silence, sipping her wine as he motions for another glass.

She doesn't comment when he leans slightly towards her, body weight slumping against her should for the briefest of moments. He slows his drinking, cradling the glass and staring into its amber liquid. He knows he should say something, anything, assure her he's okay. But he's not so sure he is.

"She said some things today. And I know it shouldn't still matter… but it does. I see Alex and Yelena, and it's like that day all over again. First year at Harvard and I come home to el barrio as a surprise; find the two of them, holding hands at lunch with my mother. 'Oh but Rafi, you never wanted kids',"

She would laugh at his high pitched imitation of a female voice if his eyes didn't look so haunted.

"She knew what I grew up with, she should understand."

And that's it, that's the moment, she gets it. Because everyone has ghosts and scars and maybe el tiburón is actually just a little boy who wanted to make the world better.

Her hand is around his without thinking, and his eyes snap to hers searchingly.

"Rafael, you deserve better." His lips quirk in that half smile ["what are you going to be doing when you're 85?" "Squabbling with you?" "Wouldn't that be nice."] and his hand flips to squeeze hers.

"So do you."