#I need to go home and expend energy by repeatedly lifting heavy things

[girlvinland]

Man.

[sahraylia]

**content warning for descriptions of multiple forms of abuse**

so, it's national best friend day today, and i'm feeling heartsick, because the person who used to be my best friend for over three years was also one of my abusers, and has been forcibly and violently removed from my life for 9 months. i've been thinking about her a lot lately, trying to process my myriad of complicated feelings and express them with words. so this is what i can do. (heads up: this is a very long, stream-of-consciousness narrative.)

i first met linnéa through a dating site back in october 2014, right around the time i broke up with gustavo. we went on one date and quickly agreed that we didn't want to pursue any kind of romantic relationship and would rather be friends. we talked on and off for the next few months, but then she went into radio silence for a long time, seemingly dropping off the face of the earth. she finally reached out to me again shortly after i started working at the 5th avenue theatre in february 2015, and we arranged to hang out. i took her to a play, and halfway through the show, she started cuddling with me, resting her head on my shoulder through the remainder of the performance. that made me very uncomfortable, so i told her about it afterwards, explaining that i liked her and i liked being friends, but i typically reserved things like cuddling for romantic partners. she was hurt and confused, and this would become a repeated point of contention throughout our relationship.

from then on, we talked to each other almost constantly, and hung out nearly every weekend. it felt like going from 0 to 100 at a breakneck, borderline uncomfortable pace. but we enjoyed spending time together, and we drew from each other's experiences. i learned a lot from her about trans issues and the nuances of gender and sexuality, and i helped her considerably with figuring out various aspects of herself in regards to her own gender and mental health. despite the speed at which our friendship developed, things felt relatively stable and mutually beneficial.

after a while, it started to become abundantly clear that i was linnéa's only friend, and the sole fulcrum of her life. she continuously messaged me every day, which was fine at first, because i liked texting regularly and was used to it. but then she would get upset whenever i was busy at work or something else and i couldn't talk for a couple hours. she became increasingly demanding of my attention, saying and doing passive-aggressive things that would make me feel guilty when i didn't give her my time at the moment she wanted it. later, she became jealous and possessive whenever i made plans with other friends and partners. sometimes she would sulk so much that i'd feel bad enough to cancel plans entirely with other people, just to appease her. she would even get mad at me for watching movies or shows with other people that she felt were only for us to watch together.

in the fall of 2015, linnéa became unexpectedly homeless. she vacillated between staying with me and her mother in the interim, and i quickly found temporary housing for her with my girlfriend at the time and her husband. while she regrouped in the several months that she lived with them, i encouraged her to look for permanent housing and apply to as many places as possible, because my girlfriend and her husband would not be able to house her indefinitely. she said she would try, but as the weeks continued to pass, she kept asking me to look for her instead, and despite my best judgment, i did. i made multiple posts and spread them all over social media to hundreds of people, and i eventually connected her with one of my chorus members. so linnéa moved in with her, once again gaining a roof over her head almost exclusively because of me, barely putting in any effort herself. but i told myself that it was fine, because she was my best friend and she needed help, and i could give that to her.

then when i suggested that she investigate therapy options after she talked to me about her mental health concerns, she persuaded me to do the heavy lifting with that search as well. i understood her difficulties to a certain extent, because she had severe social anxiety that made doing things like making phone calls challenging at best. but when i recommended that she send short, easy emails with the same template to potential therapists instead, even making up a template for her to use, she insisted that she couldn't do it, and repeatedly asked me to do it for her even though the notion made me really uncomfortable. eventually i gave in, and she managed to get me to log in to her email account, type up a message draft, and send it to a therapist's office, posing as her. and somehow, the entire time, i rationalized the situation and convinced myself that nothing was wrong. but everything was wrong, and this was only one example scratching the surface of the stark imbalance in our relationship.

in april 2016, we moved into an apartment together. we adopted alexander that same month, and things seemed like they would be better. linnéa finally had stable, permanent housing, and we would see each other every day now that we lived together, so maybe she would gradually become more okay with me doing things independent of her. and for a while, that felt like it could be true. but then she developed fibromyalgia, inexplicably and rapidly. due to her pain and fatigue, we agreed that i would do most of the labor heavy chores, and she would do a designated list of lighter chores that took less time and energy. we also agreed to go grocery shopping together once every couple of weeks. this arrangement worked, for a little while at least. but as the months passed, she did less and less at home, even though she appeared to have reserves of energy for other activities. i gradually took on all of the housework, making dinner for both of us every night, and often making breakfast and lunch on the weekends as well, on top of everything else that needed to be done in the apartment and working full time. half a year in, i was doing grocery shopping for both of us every week, even though she was entirely capable of using a grocery delivery service. i became increasingly overwhelmed with everything that i was doing, and all the while, linnéa continued to be clingy and possessive of me, demanding my attention and company even more than before we started living together. i felt like i was suffocating.

in may 2017, linnéa confessed that she was in love with me, and had been for the bulk of our relationship over the years. i was gobsmacked. i reminded her that we had established from day one that our relationship would not be romantic, and i was sorry, but i didn't return the feelings she had for me. she was obviously upset, but she told me she understood, and we agreed that we would remain friends and roommates. yet after that, she barely talked to me for several days. then in early june, she and her girlfriend penelope asked me if penelope could move in two weeks from that point, because afterwards she would be kicked out of her parents' house and face homelessness. they had been talking about this with each other for months and chose not to bring it up to me at all until that moment, essentially leaving me with no choice but to say yes. and so by the end of june, penelope moved in, and linnéa continued to withdraw emotionally from me, giving me the cold shoulder. she went from spending nearly every waking minute with me in some capacity, to sending me one word messages maybe every couple of days and holing up in her room with penelope whenever i was home. i tried repeatedly to talk to her about things, asking what was wrong, if we were okay, and if she was still upset about what i'd told her earlier in response to her declaration of feelings for me. she barely communicated with me at all, giving me vague non-answers that skirted my questions, saying that everything was fine even though that was clearly not the case, and eventually just ignoring me completely. i was frustrated and confused as all hell.

then in late july, we adopted casper, and the day after we brought him home, linnéa and penelope neglected to close the screen door on our balcony, which allowed him to escape and jump. casper was missing for 4 days, and i was in a state of constant panic, stress, and fear. i spent every available second gathering and expending resources to search for him, while linnéa and penelope did absolutely nothing to help. i was the most distressed that i'd ever been in my life, and the person who was supposedly my best friend offered me no comfort or support of any kind. on the day that we found casper, i was simultaneously elated and furious. i demanded that linnéa cut the bullshit, stop avoiding me, and just talk to me, because i deserved some kind of actual conversation after everything she put me through. yet she continued her non-committal silence, completely apathetic to my pleas, so i gave up, at my wit's end.

one week later, everything imploded. while i was at work, linnéa told me flat out that she didn't want to be friends at all, that she didn't love me anymore, and she wanted to be strictly roommates. she claimed that i was too much for her, that it took too much energy to be friends with me, and she couldn't handle it any longer. i was stunned, asking her what the fuck was going on, because that didn't feel true to me. she finally admitted that after i told her i didn't return romantic feelings for her, she lost all love for me completely, and i went from being the most important person in her world to someone for whom she felt little more than indifference.

i was devastated. i felt like the ground was caving beneath me, and i was scrabbling desperately for purchase. i had no idea what to do. linnéa claimed that she and penelope could continue to live with me as roommates, as long as i gave them my bedroom, continued to pay two-thirds of rent because penelope wouldn't get a job, still do both my and linnéa's grocery shopping, and do half of the household chores. i told them those demands were ridiculous, and moreover, i couldn't continue to live with linnéa when she all but hated me. i asked them to move out in a month, and they agreed at first, but then went back on their word days later and demanded that i move out instead. i refused, doing everything i could to stand my ground. but over the next month, my will was slowly crushed, with linnéa and penelope barely sparing me a word, if even a glance, and leaving me more and more work to do at home. they constantly criticized how i took care of the pets and complained about them almost every day, focusing on things that weren't their fault and that i couldn't control. it got to the point that i dreaded coming home every day, literally sick with anxiety. finally, i couldn't take it anymore so i told them i would be moving out as soon as possible, and i was taking casper and alexander with me. linnéa tried to drain a month of rent from me that i didn't owe, as well as half of the adoption fee i had paid for alexander, saying that the money belonged to her. and it got worse from there.

they forced me to do all the work to find a new roommate for them, refusing to help at all. then they turned around and banned me from interacting with their new roommate once i secured an agreement with her. they dragged their feet even further during the process of getting our paperwork done in order for me to move out. they jerked me around constantly, refusing to commit to a time to meet with our leasing office, and claiming that i had told them i'd be moving much earlier than i said i would. and they were relentless in harping on me about chores while they did very little themselves, and bitching about my pets being too loud when i was keeping them cooped up in my room because they were so stressed being around linnéa and penelope. they barred me at every step of the way, and by the end of the ordeal i was so strung-out and exhausted i was crying myself to sleep most nights.

when i finally moved out on september 1st, 2017, i knew that linnéa had cut me from her life forever, with surgical precision. she didn't even say goodbye. that night, lying in bed under a new roof, my stomach was in such painful, twisted knots, i felt like i'd been eviscerated.

when i think back on my relationship with linnéa now, i realize more and more just how toxic she was, and how much she'd used me with no real regard for my personhood. for her, our friendship was about how much she could get from me, and how much i could benefit her. so once she discovered that i'd given her all i had, that she'd wrung me out like a sponge until there was nothing left, she dropped me and moved on. and maybe that's reductive of me to say, maybe i can't truly know her intentions and feelings without getting inside her head. but regardless of her intent, her words and actions had an irrevocable impact that scarred me. she said she loved me more than anything else in the world, that i was her best friend and favorite person, and she wanted me to be happy and safe. yet she controlled and restricted me, she made me feel guilty for wanting anything or anyone outside of her, and she made me feel like i was a bad friend and a bad person for needing to take time for myself and other people and obligations. she convinced me that i was responsible for many aspects of her life, and those were more important than my own. she made me believe that i was the center of her universe, but if i couldn't give her everything she wanted, and if i didn't have the exact same feelings for her as she did for me, then our relationship was worth nothing, and in turn, i was worthless to her.

she built a tower for me and locked me inside at the top, then brought it crashing down until i was buried beneath the rubble. but i survived that destruction, and bit by bit, i've been dragging myself out of the ruins, emerging once again into sunlight and greenery, breathing fresh air and feeling solid ground for the first time in years.

i think writing this post is loosing one of the last chunks of rubble that i've been stuck under for a long time. it's imperfect, and messy, and probably not the most cohesive i've ever been in expressing my thoughts, but it's out there. and now that i'm standing fully upright, free from the remains of my tower, i feel calmer, lighter. free.

i found out today that linnéa moved to wisconsin about a month ago, so i will likely never see her again. i'm simultaneously relieved and melancholy about this fact. even though i know she abused me, and i know i'm much better off without her in my life, the part of me that truly loved her and all the positive experiences we shared together really misses my best friend. i miss her, and oddly enough, i miss her needing me. i miss what our friendship was, and what it could've been. i miss who i was before i met her. i miss everything.

but she's gone now, and she's been gone for a long time. i have to keep walking. i have to leave my tower behind me. i don't need it anymore. i don't need her.

[svu-stories]

And the winner is...

Thanks to all who voted! The winning prompt was: 

Person A proposes to Person B, but Person B shocks them by saying no. As strain is put on the relationship, Person B reveals that they are facing a potentially life threatening illness. Person A attempts to console Person B and convince them that they are in this for the long haul.

And the winning ship was:

BARISI

Now, I’ve never written for them before, and I don’t really ship them, but this was a fun exercise outside of my comfort zone and a very special treat to those who do ship them and follow me anyway! Thanks again everybody for the 1,000+ follows! I love you guys! And now...without further ado... Characters: Barisi + Mentions of Rollins and Fin Warnings: Mention of Serious Health Issues Word Count: 3,648

‘Don’t stop stirring, Dominick!’

Carisi smiled as he watched the spoon in his hand carefully turn the risotto repeatedly, folding the creamy mixture over itself as it thickened to the perfect consistency. His mother would be so proud. In fact, she was already beaming as she gave him the recipe for her famous parmesan risotto and helped him plan the perfect meal for the perfect evening with his perfect boyfriend.

It had all been a little much, even for Sonny. Sonny who loved big romantic gestures. Sonny who had spent hours researching the perfect words and watching YouTube videos of so many dreams come true. Sonny who had gone to painstaking lengths to make sure he and Barba both had the day off.

And while they may not have gone into their respective workplaces, Rafael had still spent the vast majority of their supposed lazy Saturday tucked away in his office, nose buried in his files and fingers typing away message after message to coworkers and, Sonny was certain, the same squad that he had carefully avoided for the past twelve hours.

There was no rest for the weary, but the start of the shower from the master bedroom eased even Carisi’s own aching muscles from the deep clean of the apartment that afternoon and the energy he was expending on the perfect dinner. Not to mention the worry that was starting to wear away at him. Something seemed off-kilter in the world. It had for weeks.

He would fix it, though. Tonight would be the answer to all of their problems.

He’d even noticed a new filing system the few times he had poked his head in to visit the love of his life. Once he had turned the chair around, perching himself on Rafael’s lap carefully and stealing soft kisses that gave them both goosebumps up and down their bodies. Once he had stolen Barba’s phone, insisting he couldn’t have it back until he ate some of the brunch that had been set before him – a light meal of fruit, teff with honey, and yogurt.

He had been slightly off-put when Barba ate only a third of his banana and a few bites of the hot cereal.

One final time he had stopped in to remind Rafael lovingly that he needed to shower and dinner would be ready at seven-thirty on-the-dot. If Sonny had to give up an entire day of couch time and talking, he was at least going to make sure that they got dinner together.

The dinner his mother had given him the recipe for.

The dinner he had gone to three different markets just to get the freshest ingredients for.

The dinner that was certain to change their lives.

He lifted the spoon from the pan, taking the lightest bite of the risotto and hissing as dish burned his tongue. He dropped the spoon back into the mixture, but he smiled through the pain, because it was perfect. His mama would be proud.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to double dip?”

Sonny smirked, whipping his head around to catch Barba approaching the kitchen. The bite in his voice was second only to the love that Sonny could hear seep through. The harder Rafael tried to hide it anymore, the less he could. Everyone knew. Olivia had figured it out first, weaseling the details from the prosecutor at a late night side bar. Rollins was next, reading Sonny like a book every time he stared just a few moments too long at Barba’s perfectly displayed ass or let a smile linger when they left each other’s presence.

Eventually he’d let it slip to Fin on a stake out. It was just better out in the open.

And no one had batted an eyelash. Their disclosure progressed without a hitch and professionalism had never been questioned.

“That rule doesn’t apply to the chef.”

Barba’s eyebrows lifted, but Carisi noticed the dimmer than normal sparkle in his eyes. He wondered, momentarily, if it wasn’t the right night. He was distracted, however, by the following moments. Rafael’s arms wrapped around his waist from behind, cheek pressed into Sonny’s back through the fabric of his light blue button down.

“You okay?” He asked lazily, not drawing attention to the off-putting behavior, but voice serious enough to elicit a real answer. Rafael rarely initiated physical intimacy unless they were already under the covers and hands were allowed to wander. Even in their own home, Carisi almost always touched first. He wasn’t complaining, however. It was assuring to have Rafael seek out his own comfort once in a while.

“Just tired,” Barba sighed, eventually releasing his grip and spinning to lean against the counter. He picked up a piece of sautéed spinach from the back pan, carefully pinching it between his thumb and index finger as he dropped it in his mouth, head tilted back slightly.

Sonny leaned down, nipping at the skin of his exposed neck before capturing Barba’s lips with his own. “You’re going to spoil your dinner,” he warned, pulling back with bright smile.

“I’ve barely eaten today.”

“I noticed,” Carisi quipped.

“Don’t start, Carisi,” Barba chided, moving to take his spot at the table as Carisi dished up their meals.

Sonny swallowed hard, laying a beautifully plated meal of sautéed spinach, parmesan risotto, and brown butter scallops in front of his boyfriend. Rafael’s look softened, the corners of his lips turning upward in the slightest of smiles as he offered his silent thanks for the meal.

Carisi relaxed into his chair, swallowing hard, “Buon appetito.”

Rafael let out a quiet sigh as he started to dig into his dinner. Forks clanking against ceramic and gentle hums of contentment filled the dining room before they started chatting. Stories of the week that hadn’t yet been exchanged – saved specifically for a candlelight dinner or late night of empty conversation. Sonny spoke on procuring the secrets for the scallops and risotto from his mother while Rafael praised her recipes and thanked Sonny for listening when she tried to get him to cook.

He wished he’d done the same with his own mami.

They laughed, sharing in love and joy. Joy that was so often robbed from them in their line of work.

Carisi’s hands were growing clammy with nerves, but he tried to hide the slight tremor that occasionally made its presence known. He debated his words as Rafael told a story about Carmen’s newest heels breaking midway to the copy machine.

As Rafael set his napkin on the table, Carisi glanced down, noticing that he’d eaten less than half of his meal.

“Did I overcook the scallops? Or undersalt the risotto? I thought it was missing-“

Barba stopped him with a gentle hand resting over his own, “It was delicious. I’m just full.”

Sonny frowned. Barba never got full. Not that quickly.

“I have dessert?”

“Maybe it can wait,” Barba offered easily, already sliding his chair out to begin cleaning.

Sonny frowned, his fingers grasping Barba’s wrist firmly. He shook his head with wide eyes, realizing that his long fingers wrapped further around his lover’s wrist than they used to, “Sit down. Relax for a few minutes, please? You’ve worked so hard today.”

“Hardly,” Barba scoffed.

“It was supposed to be your day off,” Sonny reasoned. “And you spent the whole thing behind your desk texting Olivia.”

“You don’t-“

“I saw her name, Raf,” Sonny insisted. “Don’t lie to me. Just, let’s enjoy a few minutes together, yeah? We’re always working.”

Rafael rolled his eyes, “We’ll still be together if I’m cleaning the dishes. We’ve been together all day.”

Sonny sighed. The moment was going to be ruined. The surprise spoiled and the chance flown past if he didn’t act quickly. Ignoring the napkin that tumbled to the floor as he hit his right knee, adjusting his grip so Barba’s hand was in his own.

Shock filled the green eyes that stared down at him. Shock that was mistaken for excitement as Sonny grinned like a fool, his own hand shaking, “Rafael Barba, I know it’s crazy. I know I drive you nuts sometimes and you never thought we could coexist in the same office, let alone the same apartment, but we do.”

“Sonny,“ Barba started, swallowing hard.

Carisi, however, continued to roll over the interruption with ease, his rehearsed script coming out beautifully, “We compliment each other, counselor, in ways that are big – ways that could change the world. I want to fight crime with you, make dinner with you, and take long walks in the park with you. I want to grow old together, feeding the pigeons and arguing like an old married couple. I want to share a room with you in the nursing home and win at wheelchair races. I want to spend every day with you, if you’ll have me.”

Barba closed his eyes, his hand limp in Sonny’s as sucked his lips into his mouth, breathing growing heavy.

Sonny pulled out a small velvet box, knowing the ring’s match was hiding safely in the back of a sock drawer, waiting to be worn, “Raf, will you spend forever with me?”

The silence hung in the room thickly, like ice on a tree branch, cracking slightly before it fell to the ground. For a moment, Barba’s lips parted as though he were going to say yes, but his eyes fell as he pulled his hand back suddenly. He shook his head, just slightly, and Sonny felt himself falling onto his haunches. He looked up, blinking back the tears that were already lining his blue eyes.

“You- you’re saying no?” He asked quietly.

“I-I,” Barba stammered, speechless for the first time in his life. “I’m not saying that I don’t love you, Sonny. I just,” he paused again, searching for the perfect words. He needed an eloquent closing argument as he condemned the evening that had been planned for him. “I can’t marry you. I’m sorry.”

Sonny detected the pity in his voice and looked away, forcing himself up into a standing position. He snapped shut the blue velvet box and slipping it forcefully back into his pocket before reaching for the dishes on the table.

“You go back to work,” he demanded, leaving no room for the slightly older man to argue. “I’ll clean up dinner.”

“Sonny,” Barba whispered, reaching out to rest his hand on his forearm.

Carisi pulled back suddenly, standing a little straighter as the plates landed in the sink and he flung open the dishwasher door. “Barba,” he hissed, his voice cracking with the threatening onset of tears and emotion. “I can’t right now, okay?”

“Okay,” Rafael whispered, turning on his heels and sulking into his office.

The door shut lightly and Sonny gripped the edges of the counter, making sure the water was as high as it could be before letting one heart wrenching sob escape his broken and tired body.

So much for the perfect night.

---

The reverberating wails of Jesse’s waking need for a diaper change caused him to sit up straight on the too-short couch that had become his make-shift bed in the last week. Sonny sighed, stretching his arms over his head before standing up. He moved quickly to the baby’s room, but knew Amanda would already be up.

She couldn’t sleep through Jesse’s crying any better than he could.

This morning, however, Sonny made it to the nursery first. He lifted Jesse from the crib cautiously, cradling her to his chest as he turned toward the changing table.

“Come here, little one,” he cooed, trying to calm her as he reached for a clean diaper. Nieces and nephews meant he was well trained, and within moments a wet diaper was exchanged for a clean, dry bottom, and Jesse was back in his arms, swinging through the air before being cuddled tightly to him.

He turned, catching sight of Amanda in the doorway, easily handing off the infant.

“She’s probably hungry,” he observed out loud, breaking their silence.

Amanda sighed, “Carisi, you know you’re welcome here any time, but when are you going to kiss and make up with Barba? You’re not supposed to know my kid’s morning routine.”

“I don’t know it,” he countered harshly. “Besides, all babies have the same routine, ‘Manda.”

“It’s been a week.”

“I can’t yet.”

“You need to – work is getting awkward,” she moaned.

Sonny shook his head, speaking more firmly to make his point, “I can’t.”

“You know,” she sighed, adjusting Jesse to run a hand over her hair. “You haven’t even told me why you aren’t sleeping at home.”

Carisi sighed, shaking his head and nudging around her, making his way to the bathroom, “I’m gonna shower and head to the precinct. I promised the lieutenant I’d go in with Fin today.”

Amanda watched him walk away, her shoulders slumping as she glanced back to Jesse. She smiled sadly, “They’ll fix it, baby girl. They’ll show us all that love prevails.”

---

The precinct was abnormally quiet -even for a Saturday. Carisi used the brief break in action to catch up on paperwork. He’d already flipped over the framed photo that sat by his computer – the smile that reached his eyes as he stood with a composed and collected Rafael atop of the Empire State Building too much to bear. Fin was keeping his distance, the foul mood Carisi was exhibiting was apparently contagious and causing him to avoid contact at all costs.

Sonny couldn’t blame him, either. His disdain for all things that were associated with Barba was causing him to snap at the simplest questions about previous cases.

The minutes faded quickly and he was starting to debate a hotel room for the night. Amanda clearly needed her home back and he couldn’t call Barba first – it was up to his boyfriend to apologize for the ruined night and explain why, after they had lived together for almost a year and been dating for even longer, a proposal was so off base.

It just didn’t make sense.

He started to clean up his desk when the door to the squad room pushed open. Carisi cursed silently, forcing himself to put on a soft, welcoming grin as he looked up, “Can I help-“

He stopped, blue eyes meeting green. At first, he wanted to yell, give Barba a piece of his mind. Next he wanted to cry, not realizing how much he’d missed the presence of his best friend. He settled on staring blankly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of any reaction at all.

“Can we talk?” Rafael asked quietly, stopping just shy of Carisi’s desk.

Sonny frowned, “Is there really anything to talk about?”

Their hushed tones may have drawn Fin’s attention, but the other detective kept his head down, buried in something far more interesting on his laptop.

“I need to explain,” Barba sighed.

Carisi swallowed hard, taking in his lover as he pushed back from the desk. Rafael looked like he had aged ten years in a week. His green eyes were lacking their normal shine and sunken in from exhaustion. His hair was unkempt and his normally pressed clothes were wrinkled and plain. In fact, the last time Sonny had seen Barba wear jeans and a hoodie outside of their apartment had been a midnight run to the pharmacy when Sonny had gotten a nasty case of food poisoning and needed anything to relieve his symptoms.

He noticed the flexing and releasing of a fist; one of Barba’s few tells that he was nervous.

Sonny licked his lips before nodding, rising quickly and leading the way to an empty interrogation room. He shut the door behind them, sitting on the edge of the table as Barba took the chair.

“So,” Carisi started, their discomfort thick with the tension hanging in the room. His hand gestured toward Barba palm up, inviting him to begin the conversation, “Talk.”

“I said no to your proposal for good reason,” Barba started quietly.

“What good reason? You didn’t like the scallops? I’m too tall? Explain it to me, Barba,” he pleaded, tone shifting from anger to despair. “Because all I’ve ever done is love you, and all you ever do is push me so far away I might as well live in Antarctica.”

Barba sighed, dropping his head to his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. He looked up, a single tear falling down his cheek, “I can’t marry you because I can’t give you everything you want.”

“Sure you can,” Sonny countered.

“I can’t. I can’t give you years of growing old together, or feeding pigeons, or even arguing like a married couple,” he lamented. “There won’t be wheelchair races in the old folks’ home.”

Sonny frowned, reaching forward to use his thumb to brush a new tear from Rafael’s cheek. Rarely did his boyfriend cry. Rarely was such emotion evident in their world. The feel of Barba’s skin below his thumb sent chills down his spine, and his shifted on the table to sit right in front of him.

“I don’t understand,” Carisi whispered. “Do you just not want those things with me?”

“Of course I want them with you,” Barba countered.

“Then what’s the problem?” Sonny asked, his shoulders rising into a shrug as he kicked his feet forward, shoe nudging Barba’s knee to get him to look up.

Barba swallowed hard, blinking a few times to steady himself before speaking again, his voice shaking as he reached out for Sonny’s hand. “I wasn’t feeling like myself, so I went in a little early for my physical,” he explained quietly. “Do you remember that day in court when I kept dropping things? My pen first, followed by the folder I was presenting as evidence?”

“The Hernendez case?”

“Yes,” Barba murmured. “I noticed my clumsiness and muscle twitches. Nothing major, I figured I wasn’t getting enough sleep and relying too heavily on caffeine, but it was more than that.”

Sonny realized it was his own turn to let out a sniffle, attempting to prevent his own crying. He released his grip on Rafael’s hand to wipe his own stray salty tear away. The presence of Barba had been almost too much after a full week away, but the realization that something was wrong – that Rafael had been suffering and going to doctors alone without seeking out the help of those who loved him – was tearing him into a million tiny pieces.

“Why didn’t you let me know? I would have gone with you, been there for you,” Carisi started quietly. He stopped himself, though, shaking his head. He couldn’t change what had already happened, they simply had to look forward. “Just, tell me. Please?”

“ALS,” Barba mumbled, his voice swallowed by fear and deep sorrow. “Lou Gherig’s disease. It will be a slow, painful deterioration of who I am.”

“How long?” Sonny asked easily, his tone matter-of-fact and resigned. Though, he looked away from Rafael, composing himself for the rest of the conversation.

“Could only be a few years, could be as many as ten or so. They can’t say for sure.”  

Sonny sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair before turning back to Rafael. “You realize I don’t need wheelchair races or pigeons, right? I need you,” he insisted, taking Rafael’s hand again. “No matter how many days we have together.”

“I can’t give you a real marriage,” Barba insisted, his voice holding a strength neither of them knew he still possessed.

“Yes you can,” Sonny insisted again. “You can give me love, and I’ll give you the same. You give me the most vulnerable part of you. I’m not just here for the sunshine and the butterflies, Raf. I’m here for all of it.”

Rafael shook his head, “You deserve more.”

“First, you deserve more than you’re giving yourself,” he said firmly, squeezing Barba’s hand tightly. “And second, I don’t want anything more or less. I want you and only you, whatever that means.”

Rafael looked up slowly, lifting Sonny’s hand to his lips and peppering it with gentle kisses.

“Can we try this again?” Sonny asked quietly.

Barba looked perplexed, but shrugged, letting Carisi take the lead.

Sonny slid off of the table, stepping to the side and falling to his knee, Rafael’s hand coming to his mouth. He returned the favor, kissing each finger before reaching up to wipe away another tear that Barba didn’t seem to know had fallen. Sonny smiled gently, relaxing into the moment.

“Rafael Barba,” he murmured. “I love you more than anything, and all I want is to be with you for as long as we may have, the good and the bad.”

Barba sniffled, and Sonny chuckled awkwardly.

“Sonny, just get it over with already,” he pleaded.

“Will you marry me?”

The silence that filled the small interrogation room was no longer heavy and damp, but filled with hope. Barba let his eyes meet Sonny’s again, this time holding the slightest sparkle. The world froze around them, and suddenly the location didn’t matter. Neither did the week of separation that had just plagued them both. Sonny swallowed hard, “Please?”

Barba laughed, “Of course, Sonny.”

“That’s a yes?”

The prosecutor nodded, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, but closer than it had been in weeks.

Sonny stood up, tugging his fiancé with him and wrapping his arms around his waist before kissing each eyelid, landing delicately on Rafael’s lips. Any smile was bound to mend even some of the brokenness that had invaded their perfect world.

“I’ll always love you,” Sonny reminded him, pulling out of their kiss after several moments. “No matter what.”

Barba kissed him again, letting the moment linger in the air like the scent of the brown butter scallops still filled their apartment.

“I’m going to hold you to it.”

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New Post has been published on http://www.buildercar.com/repeatedly-crossing-europe-in-a-1973-plymouth-roadrunner/

Repeatedly Crossing Europe in a 1973 Plymouth Roadrunner

A former World Champion AHRA Super Street and NHRA Super Gas drag racer with time on his hands and wanderlust led to the most unlikely outcome of road tripping through Europe in a 1973 Plymouth Roadrunner. Three different times. Al Young didn’t start out thinking he’d joy ride in Europe and former Soviet Bloc countries with a muscle car when he started his quest for a simple project.

The now-retired school teacher from Seattle never liked idle time, especially those three months during the summer students and teachers typically enjoy, which led him to campaign a 1970 Challenger running AHRA and NHRA Northwest division Super Comp, Super Gas, and Super Street. The Challenger started as a drive-to-the-track car, ending up as an 8-second full tube chassis racer over almost 30 years, progressively running faster classes, ending his driving career with an AHRA Super Street World Championship in 1981, and three NHRA Pro ET Division Championships.

With retirement came more idle time, but a plan. He loved his old 1973 Plymouth Sebring Plus daily driver even more than his Challenger. He always wanted to build his own car, a car he knew inside and out, where everything is modified and improved to perform better. Also, he and his wife Vicki wanted to see the USA. As he says, “Driving to national events you never see anything.” When a beat 1973 Satellite became available he put his plan together.

The Original Plan

Vicki and Al wanted to see the USA in a muscle car. Al specifically wanted to take a long road trip following Route 66. His retirement funds were limited, but his imagination wasn’t. The car needed to be bulletproof, with backup for the electronic ignition, fuel delivery; both clutch and electric fans, and the electrical had to be easily accessed, which meant it couldn’t be hiding under the dash. Redundant components and electrical systems would keep repair times to a minimum on the road. Vicki had a couple of requirements of her own. Air conditioning and not a typical hard bench seat were her conditions. Since this wasn’t going to be an all out performance car, Al wanted to stay away from big block, long stroke engines which typically create more heat. Says Al, “It couldn’t be so exotic that I couldn’t find a part in Tulsa.”

The Car

The 1973 Sebring Plus he found in 2007 fit his budget. “It originally cost $500, and I overpaid,” says Al. “It was hammered—a drunk must have liked to hit guardrails with it.” But he could fix the roached parts easier than he could step up for a more expensive alternative. “On a teacher’s salary I didn’t have a lot of money so between parts I had and my own skills I felt I could make it nice,” he says. Al also wanted it to be a Roadrunner clone, and so he started collecting what he needed to begin the three-year process. “Ever since I was a kid I always wanted to build my own car, and this was perfect because it was a heap,” he adds. “I could rebuild it the way I wanted.”

The Engine

Al is quick to say this is not your typical engine buildup. He’s been fast and had quick cars. His Roadrunner would need to be something else. Says Al, “It had to be bullet proof, and my bracket racing really helped. The biggest thing was a solid engine and trans.” He stared with a standard bore 318ci engine he’d pulled out of a Duster 30 years before. “It’s odd to build a motor so that you can’t hurt it, but that will also perform,” he says. The 318 has thicker walls than a 340, making for a sturdy foundation. But he did use 340 iron heads, ported and polished with 2.02 intake and 1.60 exhaust Manley stainless valves by DG Performance. Compression is 9.2:1. He’s running a Comp Cams hydraulic 252H cam with .425 lift and 252 duration. “If I put Harland Sharp rockers in it, what’s going to happen if I break one,” he asks? “A stamped rocker is much easier to fix and I can find a stick welder anywhere.” Intake is an Edelbrock Streetmaster topped with a 600cfm Holley 4160 carb. Says Al, ”Headers were out. You’re going to bottom out somewhere.” So 360 Police Pursuit exhaust manifolds ceramic coated by Performance Coatings handle exiting exhaust, with 2 ½-inch dual exhaust tucked tight and Flowmaster mufflers.

Drivetrain and Suspension

The automatic transmission was custom made by friend Pat Blais of Blais Torqueflites, “The best in biz,” says Al. “We used a 904 instead of 727 because it has less rotating mass with a 2.76 first gear set to it. It’s made into a ‘999’ with Kolene steel plates and Raybestos Hi Energy friction discs.” It’s finished off with a Mopar factory hi-stall converter and a B&M Mega Shifter. With 2 5/8-inch U-joints and an 8¾ Suregrip rear with 323 gears, the rearend is stout. For insurance Al carries extra bearings. All the steering is by Firm Feel out of Vancouver, Washington. Heavy-duty torsion bars, sway bars, and Bilstein shocks take care of the suspension. Says Al, “We actually wore out a set of Bilsteins going thru Albania.” Brakes are factory 11.75-inch drilled discs with factory 11-inch drum brakes in back.

Building

As the Roadrunner came together Al found some Chrysler Crossfire 6-way heated bucket seats, and purchased a Nostalgia Air AC system because it mounts under the dash for easy access. While he banged out or replaced some of the sheetmetal, Skeeters Auto body in Seattle did the final finish and paint. 17- and 18-inch Ion 625 wheels with Hankook V12 Evo tires round out the rolling package. A Champion aluminum radiator and InduraPower lithium ion battery found space under the hood. The redundant systems incorporated into the Plymouth are a switch-controlled ignition and backup ignition, with two MSDs, two coils and two wiring harnesses; electric and mechanical fuel pumps; electrical and mechanical fans; and stock through-the-dash electrical and bypass electrical systems to avoid working upside down under the dash in 100-degree heat.

Rubber Meets the Road

After the Roadrunner was finished, Al hammered it to beat on weak components and fix the bugs. “I raced the car for a year before taking a trip,” says Al. “I blew 200-pounds of nitrous through this motor trying to blow it up.” He admits he was having second thoughts about the 318 block, thinking he might build a 340, so the little 318 was expendable to him. But guess what? This engine is bulletproof. “I was determined to blow the motor up so I continued putting nitrous thru it,” Al says. In the end it has been a reliable engine that Al feels really woke up from the modifications.

Seeing the USA

In 2011 the Young’s and their Roadrunner were ready for a long road trip. “That was my big dream to build something for Route 66,” says Al. “We went down to New Orleans, across the Dakotas, and cut down following the Missouri and Mississippi rivers, eventually tying into Route 66.” Total miles travelled: 8000. Problems were reduced to percolating gas in hot weather, and a melted shift cable nestled too close to the exhaust.

The next year Vicki and Al travelled to a nephew’s wedding in New York from the southern route through Nashville, Montgomery, Atlanta, up to Niagara Falls, before heading home to Seattle. Total miles travelled: 8000.

The third trip in 2013 was 7000 miles down the coast from Seattle and back through Glacier National Park in Montana and British Columbia. “Then we ran out of places to go,” says Al.

Europe or Bust

What would have seemed far-fetched a few years earlier was now being seriously investigated. “Europe sounded great, we had become accomplished road people,” says Al. What seemed like an exciting extension of Al’s original intent to travel Route 66 quickly iced over when he discovered the tab to ship the Roadrunner to Europe. “It costs $11,000, and I just can’t afford that,” says Al. He adds if it weren’t for the cost of shipping, travelling Europe by car is the absolute cheapest way to go. “We ended up going to 34 different countries and I tried to figure how much it would have cost us to fly to 34 countries and it would have been astronomical any other way but driving your own car,” says Al. “Travelling by train you have to live out of a suitcase, but with a 1973 Plymouth trunk big enough to hold five people we never worried and just threw stuff into the trunk.”

The New Plan

When Al was drag racing his sponsor for 30 years was Bardahl. Remember Bardahl? They’re an additive company like STP or Justice Brothers. Still based in Seattle, a determined owner and fights with the Feds over distributorships led to Bardahl reducing US sales to become one of the leading lubricants in over 90 different countries. Many new cars built outside of the US contain Bardahl products. Bardahl founder Ole Bardahl (1902-1989) was inducted into the Motorsports Hall of Fame of America in 2014.

Al contacted Bardahl, ran the idea of driving the Roadrunner throughout Europe stopping at distributorships here and there as a sort-of promotional tour, and guess what? They loved the idea. So Vicki and Al pulled out a map and Bardahl’s list of distributors and put together a proposal for touring Europe in a 1973 Roadrunner muscle car. “We wanted to go to all of these countries and it ended up being 8000 miles,” says Al. “We didn’t even plan on it taking 45 days, either. It just turned out this way to hit all of those countries. Plus my wife didn’t want to spend every day in the car; she wanted to see the Vatican, the Prado Museum in Spain, and places like that.”

Al’s wife is part Scandinavian, and she also wanted to visit where her ancestors were from. It so happens that Sweden is the home of the Power Big Meet, the largest American car show in the world. Like 20,000 cars large! Located in Vasteras, it seemed the perfect blend of cars, culture, and clan. The plan was to fly to Amsterdam, then take the train to where the Roadrunner would be waiting in Rotterdam, Netherlands, the largest port in Europe. At the port they’d load up the Roadrunner, fire it up, and drive off. Shipping would take 45 days, stopping at many US ports from Seattle before going through the Panama Canal, headed for Rotterdam. “I planned it so that in every country there was a distributorship I could stop into or drive by,” says Al.

How Is It Travelling in Europe With a Muscle Car?

“The car was the ticket,” says Al. “When we came into a town it was like the circus was in town. Every hotel wanted us to park in the front, in front of the Lamborghinis; and at every restaurant there was no parking but they made space for us, it was crazy.” Vicki and Al’s safety net was the distributorships in every new country they entered. “I had hosts,” says Al. “Unless you have a reason they won’t let you go to all of these different countries because they suspect you’re going to sell the car and they won’t get their tax. We had to get a Carnet, which is a passport for the car stating the reason why you’re travelling around with this unusual car. Bardahl provided us with the reason for having the car go through all of these countries.

“Most all of the gas in Europe is 100-102 octane so my motor loved it. I’m only running 9.2 compression so the fuel was good, and it usually ran from $7-$9 a gallon. Gas stations were everywhere and very clean, but you do pay a Euro or two to use their restrooms. Rest areas are very clean but not as frequent as in the US. Burger Kings are everywhere, though we always ate local food and it was so good. American companies are everywhere. Everyone was very nice and they always wanted to sit in the car, and were always polite to ask if they can take a picture. It made a lot of peoples’ day and really made our day. In the 21st century it’s the universal language to have a hot rod.

“The small villages are small villages, and the big towns are pretty cosmopolitan. Once you’re past the border, police are always curious about the car. Most of the time they just want to stop you to look at it. In the eastern part of Europe — Bulgaria, Serbia, Poland, the Carnet came in handy because the border guards are still Soviet bloc. With an American muscle car all eyes are diverted to the car and there was never a problem. I’m Asian, so if you look at me to try and figure me out you’d probably be 80-percent wrong, but if you look at my car and try to figure who I am you’d probably be 80-percent right because when you see my car you see my soul.  If my car stereotypes me you almost would hit who I am perfectly.”

Our map shows the routes Vicki and Al took, and that’s the other curious thing about this caper, there was more than just a single European trip. The first, in 2014, went so well that Bardahl asked Al if he’d do it again in 2015. “Bardahl asked us again to go — it’s very hard to turn this down,” says Al.

The 2015 Trip

So a second trip was launched for 2015. This one would take Vicki and Al into former Soviet bloc countries which today, just two years later, would be a bit dicier to do. “I didn’t bring a gun, and didn’t bring nitrous with me because they would think it was a bomb,” says Al. “If they saw two 10-pound bottles they’d be running. In all it was really safe driving these three years. Day or night there would always be a crowd around the Roadrunner, so I never worried about theft because it was just too high profile, plus I disarmed the MSDs. Freeways are good, the Autobahn is overcrowded.

There was always the potential for a little drama crossing through former Soviet bloc countries, but luckily “situations” were rare. “As a favor to one of the distributors as we were leaving Serbia I stopped by one of his friend’s residence,” says Al. “There was a car club there, with a Shelby Mustang and some really cool American cars. We made good friends, and as I was leaving one of the guys says we’re about 30 miles from the Hungarian/Serbian border, and if I have any problems just give them his name, Igor Javanovich. I thought it was kind of weird because normally you don’t worry about leaving a country, it’s getting in that might be a problem. So we get to the border and this Soviet bloc guard sternly asks for my papers. He starts asking lots of questions and demands we get out of the car. He wants my insurance card, passport, drivers license, everything. He makes us wait in this office where there’s a woman behind a desk that is just as severe. She kept asking what I wanted, and I told her I was just trying to cross the border. So finally I tell here I know Igor Javanovich, that I was a guest at his house. With that said, she walks out to the border station and there’s some sort of altercation with the other guard. Then she comes back with all of my papers, puts them in my hands, and says, “Go!” I was rescued by hot rodders!”

One More Time

With the success of the second European trip, Bardahl was interested in another in 2016. So were Vicki and Al. Says Al, “We went to the American Speed Fest in Brands Hatch, England; Scandinavian countries, France, and it was just great. We drove a little less at 6800 miles total. In Norway we went to fjords half way up into the country, and it was so beautiful.

“One time we exhibited the car near Paris and it sat right next to a Lamborghini. The crowds are all around the Plymouth and no one is by the Lambo. The locals explained that they like the Plymouth much better because they could work all of their life and never get that Lambo, but work a couple of summers and you could buy a Roadrunner as a teen and blow the doors off of the Lambo. We are so lucky as young people in America to be able to build a car that’s fast. In Belgium it’s a few hundred dollars to race a car, but here for $30 I can take it to Bremerton or Seattle to the racetrack and go as fast as I can go in the quarter-mile all day long. We’re so lucky.”

So are the Young’s. They plan on taking life easy this year, but Al is already talking about more road trips to come. “I love to drive, and Vicki has shown me the world through her knowledge of the great places to visit—she’s the tour guide and I’m just the driver.”

What was the most frequently asked question? Do you know Vin Diesel?

Basque police in northern Spain, getting their questions answered by Al Young during the first trip in 2014. Vicki and Al spent two nights in the cities of Salamanca and Sebastian in Spain, before making their way back to Rotterdam then returning home to Seattle.

With over 20,000 American cars in attendance the 2014 Power Big Meet in Vasteras, Sweden, is the largest car show in the world, and the Young’s were excited to be able to participate. Staying three days, they then headed to the Rostock ferry at the bottom of Sweden headed toward Germany.

Two symbols of American industrial brilliance, a WWII Sherman Firefly tank and Roadrunner muscle car, at the site of the battle at Normandy Beach in France. This museum honoring those who died in one of the bloodiest battles of the war at both Normandy and Omaha Beaches is located not too far from the historic city of Caen.

The coastal roads from Mostar to Dubrovnik in Croatia are easy to traverse and safe, and of course the views are spectacular. This was shot during the Young’s 2015 road trip driving from Italy through Croatia to Albania.

Bundesministerium für Finanzen (BMF) customs agents in Austria checking the Roadrunner out, along with amazement at the expanse of storage available inside of a 1973 Plymouth trunk. Al says most all of the police and border agents were extremely nice and very curious, though some in former Soviet bloc countries could be a bit stern—until he popped the hood.

Near France’s border with Belgium is the city of Lille, with art museums like the Museum of Modern Art just a few minutes away and the Louvre Museum less than ½-hour from Lille. The Roadrunner is displayed at a Bardahl distributorship in Lille in 2014, with the Lamborghini playing second fiddle to American muscle.

A heavy downpour slowing things down a bit just outside of Sofia in Bulgaria, from the 2015 trip. Roads in Bulgaria tend to be bumpy and pot-holed, but most of the sights worth seeing can only be accessed by car. Sofia is the capital of Bulgaria, and is as cosmopolitan as any city in Europe with over 1.25 million population.

Al started with a 318 block for its thicker cylinder walls helping to make for a solid foundation. Note the two MSD boxes, two coils on the firewall, and multiple wiring circuits so if any failures occurred Al could switch to a second component or circuit without roadside repairs.

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