Detective Ryan Davies really hated his job sometimes. Growing up, he'd wanted to be a superhero and as he'd gotten older and realized that wasn't possible, he'd set his sights on working for the police department instead. But instead of helping people and preventing crimes, most of the time he felt like all he did was mop up the mess that was left behind. This latest case was one of the messiest yet. Sighing he put his pen down and reached for his coffee. What he really wanted was a shower. Talking to those two lowlifes this morning had left him feeling like his skin was crawling. He still hadn't decided who he liked least- Steve Johnson, who was all kinds of pathetic, or John Burrows, who made him want to punch him so badly that he'd had to put his hands under the table so no one could see how tightly he was clenching his fists.

Neither man would admit to what had really happened in that alley. Steve claimed he hadn't even been there, which just showed the pure stupidity of the man. The one thing neither of them could deny was that they'd been there. There was far too much evidence against them for that to work, but Steve was sticking to his story, for now. John on the other hand, well, Davies had to take another deep breath just thinking about that scum bag, wasn't denying being in the alley. Hell, he wasn't even denying having sex with Blaine. No, what he was claiming was that it was consensual. The piece of shit was actually trying to say that the boy had wanted it. He even said that Kurt had only gotten hurt because he'd wanted in, had gotten jealous. He said all of this with a straight face, despite a criminal record a mile long that contained an extensive history of rape and molestation of young boys, making such a claim completely ridiculous. He'd had the audacity to even smirk as he'd spoken and Ryan wanted nothing more than to wipe that look off his face, permanently.

In fact, there had been a moment when that smirk had disappeared, only fleetingly, but long enough to tell Davies something. It had been when the subject of the third man came up. When Davies had asked about Lance, John's face had drained of color for a moment and the detective was pretty sure that the other man was scared. He composed himself quickly though and then said that there had been no third man. He'd tried to sound cocky as he said it, but Davies had picked up on the tremor in his voice.

So, after a very frustrating morning, here he sat going over the ridiculous amounts of paperwork that this job always seemed to entail. He knew they had a pretty good case, regardless, but he just wished for Blaine and Kurt's sake that the two men had just confessed, which would save the boys the trauma of having to testify in court. He also really wanted to find the third guy, because as bad as what those two had done, it paled next to what the missing man had inflicted on Blaine. After hearing Blaine's testimony, Davies had had to suppress a shudder at the realization that this had very nearly been a murder investigation. That man needed to be taken off the streets, before he had a chance again, because it was only a matter of time before he would strike again and maybe this time there wouldn't be someone there to rein him in.

He threw his pen down in frustration as the words on the page started to swim in front of him. He decided another cup of coffee was definitely in order before he could attempt to tackle the rest. He got up from his desk and headed toward the front of the station. There was a coffee machine in the staff room, but the vending machine that stood near the front desk was much more drinkable.

Claire, who was manning the front desk today, beckoned him over when she saw him.

"I was just about to call you," she said, smiling up at him as he walked over. "There's a Mr. Anderson to see you." She nodded in the direction of a professional looking man who stood, rather than sat in the waiting area.

Davies thanked Claire and approached the man, who looked very impatient. Davies had been wondering when he would meet Blaine's father, and truthfully, he'd been expecting it to happen a lot sooner. Not that he was exactly looking forward to this meeting, since it was going to be uncomfortable, to say the least.

"Mr. Anderson?" he asked as the other man looked at him. "I'm Detective Davies. I'm in charge of your son's case. Do you want to follow me? We can go somewhere a little more private."

"Yes, I'd appreciate that," Mr. Anderson said, following him down the corridor to an empty interview room. Davies changed the sign on the door to 'occupied' to ensure they wouldn't be disturbed and indicated to the older man to take a seat.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked if you'd like a cup of coffee or something," Davies said, remembering his manners.

"No, that's fine. I would prefer to get this over quickly. I have some important things to deal with at my office," Anderson said, and Davies suppressed the frown he could feel starting to form. "I just wondered what point you were at in the investigation and whether we could implement some kind of damage control."

Davies was a little startled. This was not how he'd imagined this meeting going at all. He'd been worried about having to deal with a distraught father, possibly an angry one, but in his wildest dreams would he have expected an… irritated… one.

"I've actually been interviewing the two men we have in custody this morning," he informed the other man.

"And how did that go?"

"Well, one of them is claiming that he wasn't there, despite the fact that every piece of evidence we have disagrees with him."

Mr. Anderson merely nodded at this information.

"The other one, he, um…,"Davies trailed off, not exactly sure how to approach this. He didn't want to trigger this man's indignant anger, a reaction he knew he would have upon hearing that his son's rapist was trying to say that he 'wanted it'. Seeing the impatient look on Mr. Anderson's face, however, prompted him to continue despite his own misgivings.

"He is saying that the sexual act between himself and your son was consensual."

He saw a flash of something in the man's eyes that he assumed was anger, but his next words shocked him to the core.

"Do you think that there's a possibility that he could be telling the truth?"

Davies knew that if he'd been drinking the coffee that he'd been going to fetch, then he would have probably just spat it all over the table in shock. Did this man seriously just ask if he thought his son had consented to what had happened in that alley? Had he even seen his son since the incident? Even without the visible injuries the boy had sustained, just the look in his eyes told the awful story of what had happened that night.

Did this man seriously think his son would lie about something like that?

"Excuse me?" he managed to splutter out after a few seconds.

"Look, Detective Davies, I'm sure you know about the lifestyle choice my son and that other boy have made. Such a lifestyle brings with it certain repercussions. How do we know that this wasn't something that just got a little out of hand? Blaine knows how much I disapprove of this phase of his, and maybe he was embarrassed or ashamed of what the consequences of his actions would be."

"I'm sure your son feels ashamed." Davies was quite proud of how even and measured his voice sounded, considering how angry he was right now. "Most rape victims do." He saw the way the man flinched at the word rape and was pleased he'd hit a nerve. "I have absolutely no doubt that what your son told me is true." Just as you should, he silently added. "We have a very strong case against both the men involved and I'm sure the prosecutor will agree."

"What if we keep the sexual aspect out of it?" Mr. Anderson now seemed to be taking the damage control approach. "Could the case still go ahead?"

"I don't understand why you would want us to do that. The more we charge these men with, the longer their sentences will be," Davies tried to explain.

"But it is possible?" Anderson pushed.

"I'm not sure, maybe." Davies knew he was openly frowning now, but he didn't care.

"What about the press?" Anderson's next question also took him by surprise. "Have they expressed an interest in the case yet?"

Davies once again wasn't sure how to answer, because the truth was that the media had expressed an interest when they thought the crime had been a gay bashing, but once the sexual assault had come to light, things had changed. Apparently middle-America wanted to hear when innocent young gay men were beaten for their sexuality. This was something people could rage against with righteous indignation. However, when it turned out that a gay man was raped, well, it wasn't quite so sympathetic a story, because deep down some of those same people thought maybe, just maybe, that same gay boy wasn't quite so innocent when it came to this sort of thing.

Davies, of course, didn't want to say any of this to Blaine's father because it seemed he shared some of those same views. The young detective found that he really didn't want to give this man any reason to think that he was right. So he chose to lie instead.

"No, there's been no media interest."

Mr. Anderson breathed out a sigh of relief. "Well, that's good. Maybe we can keep this thing contained after all. I would hate anyone's life to be affected by it long-term."

Davies had never wanted to punch someone other than a suspect so badly in his life. Did this man seriously think that everyone was going to come out of this unharmed? That either of those boys weren't going to be dealing with this for the rest of their lives?

"Well, thank you for your time," Mr. Anderson said, as he stood up. He clearly thought that he was done here.

Davies decided that he needed to make one little effort to try and make Blaine's life easier.

"I gave your wife a number for a very good therapist. I hope you will be able to arrange something for Blaine…I… I think he would really benefit from it."

The sneer that the other man made at the word 'therapist' was enough of an answer.

"Um, yes… well, I don't think that will be necessary. I'll be in touch about the case." He offered his hand to shake, and Davies took it because that was his job.

As soon as the door shut he sank back down into his seat and was surprised to note that his hands were shaking. He had originally been planning on getting another cup of coffee, but he didn't need the stimulant anymore. Looking at his watch, he saw he only had two hours left of his shift. He was pleased because all he wanted now was a large glass of whiskey.