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One beer with Stone becomes two beers becomes four beers and by the time Sonny has reached his sixth, Stone is long gone, taking an unwelcome expression of morbid fascination with him. It’s an hour before closing when the bartender stops in front of him, resting her arms on the bartop and pressing her lips together, waiting for him to acknowledge her.
“Is this the part when you tell me you’re cutting me off?” Sonny asks, brows lifting over glassy eyes. He lifts his current bottle, half-empty and half an hour old. “Don’t worry, this was going to be my last one anyway.”
“You’ve been holding that chair hostage since your friend left,” the bartender says. Her name is Tess, she’s from Miami, her hair had been a wavy, dark blonde last week but tonight, it’s in braids. She’s beautiful, Sonny’s always thought so, and it’s always been a little fun to flirt when he’s popped in for a quick drink on his own but this evening, it just feels empty.
“He’s not my friend,” Sonny mumbles, “just a guy from a work.”
“Right.” Tess sighs, glancing at a customer who’s lifted a hand for her attention before offering Sonny a tight smile. “I need you to give up the seat. It’s getting a little too late, he’s not coming. The last time I saw him was when you missed him a few nights ago.”
Sonny’s head snaps up so quickly it makes him dizzy and for a split second, he’s talking to two Tesses when he asks, “What’d you just say? He was here?”
“Yeah,” Tess says, pushing back from the counter as she nods an at her increasingly impatient customer, “he waited all night. You didn’t show.”
“I’ve been busy,” Sonny tells her defensively, “I didn’t know.” He hadn’t known, if he’d known… “You’re only telling me this now?”
“I’ve been busy,” she retorts, rapping her knuckles on the counter before grabbing a billfold from behind her and setting it in front of Sonny. “Stop holding the chair hostage and get home safe, okay?”
Tess is off to accommodate someone else before he can even say anything in return, and Sonny grudgingly digs for his wallet so he can lay a few bills in the fold. He leaves an extra something, to make up for how long he’d held the seat for nobody, for a ghost, for someone he hasn’t seen or heard from in weeks.
But Barba had shown up, a few days ago, Tess had said. Barba had shown up and maybe it’d been because he’d heard about the trial, maybe he’d wanted to catch Sonny here, make sure everything was okay. Everything’s not okay, that’s what Sonny thinks he would’ve told him, but he’ll never know. He’ll never know because Barba had shown up, but Sonny hadn’t so what the hell is he supposed to do with that information?
Take an Uber to Rafael fucking Barba’s place at nearly eleven o’clock at night, apparently. Somewhere in the back of his booze-fueled brain, Sonny knows this is a terrible idea. It’s an idea that can only result in the kind of regret that will seep into his pores, that will stick with him for a long time, and he knows that because he’s already very familiar with that kind of regret when it comes to Rafael. The entirety of their relationship has revolved around regret, around all the things they should’ve done or what might’ve been. He regrets what they hadn’t done and what they aren’t right now.
He regrets that he hasn’t found the courage to hit dial every time he’s pulled up Rafael’s number for the past twenty-three nights; but the phone goes both ways, that’s the reasoning he’s used to keep his phone face down on his bedside table, as if hiding the screen will make it easier to acknowledge the fact that Rafael hasn’t called, either.
Sonny wonders whether Rafael has the same regrets, the same thoughts, and finds himself feeling guilty for hoping so.
It feels like an eternity before the Uber pulls up along the curb in front of Rafael’s building. The driver doesn’t say anything, just grunts when Sonny mutters his thanks and wastes no time in peeling away the second the door to his nondescript Civic slams shut. Sonny pulls his coat tighter around himself, huffing out cold air that he watches disappear just as quickly as it’d left him before letting his eyes trail up the height of the building. It’s not welcoming this time, not like it used to be, back when he and Rafael had come close to actually being happy. Instead, it now looms beneath the dim glow of a nearly full moon, suddenly serving as a reminder that this has to be one of the dumbest ideas Sonny’s had in a very long time.
Dumber than West Virginia? Sonny cringes, banishing the thought and the memory of the way Rafael’s face had fallen when he’d found out what’d happened there.
It’s nearly enough to make him call another Uber. Just go home, he tells himself, just turn the hell around and--
“Sonny?”
His heart practically leaps into his throat at the sound of his name as his gaze snaps down from the roof of the building to find the man who seems to have manifested in front of him out of nowhere. Sonny had already known it wouldn’t be Rafael. He misses Rafael’s voice too much to mistake it for anyone else’s, even for a second.
“Leonard.” He lets out a short laugh, born more of the surprise than any real humor at finding the building’s doorman here to greet him. This isn’t new, Sonny being here, not really; but it’s been long enough since the last time Sonny’s needed to be let up that Leonard’s friendly smile is still laced with a hint of uncertainty.
“You doing okay?” Leonard asks, tilting his head, giving Sonny a curious once over. It’s plain to see Leonard knows he’s drunk, or at least been drinking, but the man’s always been a consummate professional. He doesn’t ask questions, never has. That’s one of the things Rafael has always liked about the guy. “I saw you standing out here, it’s freezing. Is Mr. Barba expecting you?”
Sonny doesn’t want to lie. He doesn’t want this to backfire on them both, doesn’t want Rafael to make a fuss and get Leonard in trouble if this goes south but then again, Sonny doesn’t think Rafael would do that. Leonard’s been here forever and will be long past a good number of tenants in this building, Rafael had said once, he’s nearly more iconic than the building itself.
So he nods and says, “yes, he’s expecting me” and just like that, he’s on an elevator up to the third floor. Sonny has to brace a hand against the wall and shut his eyes tight, even for the short duration of the journey, and when the bell sounds to signal his arrival, he thinks he just might throw up on his own shoes. He isn’t sure whether it’s the nerves or the alcohol that has his stomach in knots now, but he’s come this far.
They’d come so far. If he doesn’t do this now, Sonny knows he’ll let every opportunity from this point forward slip right through his fingers.
For nearly half a minute of silence after he’s knocked on Rafael’s door, Sonny thinks maybe this has all been for nothing after all. Maybe Leonard had alerted Rafael of Sonny’s sudden appearance. Maybe Rafael had seen him through the peephole and decided this wouldn’t be worth the time. Or hell, maybe Rafael’s just asleep. All these possibilities pass through his mind one by one, slowly, like they’re trying to give him a final warning to turn around while he still can but before he can heed it, Sonny hears the rattle of locks being undone and watches the doorknob turn.
And then, there he is.
His hair’s a little longer than the last time Sonny had seen him, maybe even a little grayer. He’s wearing sweatpants and a faded Harvard Law shirt that show off the belly Sonny has spent hours worshipping in the past. That shirt is exceptionally soft after decades of wash and wear, Sonny remembers wearing it himself a few times, and he has to actively stop himself from reaching out to tug at the hem like he used to do when he wanted Rafael to take it off.
God, Rafael is beautiful. No matter the time of day, no matter the clothes, no matter the situation, Rafael is always so effortlessly beautiful. Sonny’s never thought that about anyone else, he’s never been moved to silence just looking at someone in sweatpants.
“Detective?”
The formality of the title shakes Sonny from his brief reverie, and he scowls. So they’re playing that game.
“Counselor,” he slurs, a hand blindly grasping for the door frame to hold himself upright as he shifts his weight just slightly forward. It takes time for him to process the change in Barba’s expression, from outright surprise to confusion to mild disappointment. He’s not sure what to make of it. “You gonna let me in or what?”
“It’s not ‘Counselor’ anymore,” Barba reminds him, as if it even bears reminding, but he steps aside to hold the door open all the same. If Sonny wasn’t watching him with such scrutiny, his hesitation wouldn’t have even been noticeable. “It is past eleven at night, you know, but sure. Make yourself at home.”
This could have been his home once, Sonny thinks, not without bitterness. He just barely manages not to stumble his way inside, his eyes catching the nearly empty glass of scotch sitting on the coffee table in Barba’s living room next to a discarded pair of glasses. He can see the dim glow of the television casting light and shadow against the wall, but the volume is soft enough that he can’t make out what’s being said. He doesn’t know why he’s trying. He doesn’t care about what’s on TV.
Sonny looks over his shoulder at Barba, who’s watching him with clear trepidation. If his sweatpants had pockets, Barba would be putting his hands in them, Sonny’s sure of it; instead, Barba clenches and unclenches his fist, a sign of what Sonny knows to be his growing anxiety, but stops once he realizes he’s been caught. The exhaustion shows now, in bags under Barba’s hooded, tired eyes and a grim expression that makes him look much older than he really is.
He’s still the most beautiful person Sonny’s ever seen.
Sonny wants to fix this, fix Rafael, but he can’t even fix himself or what happened with Mia or any single damn thing in his life so he isn’t sure how the hell he expects to do anything right at this point. So he decides to cut to the chase because if Rafael’s going to kick him out at some point, it’ll be easier if it’s sooner rather than later. “Tess said you were there.”
“Tess wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
Those words feel like a blow to the guy. “Mia was raped.”
Rafael sighs, lowering his head. “I know. I know. I’m sorry, I really am.”
“How?”
The answer doesn’t come right away and when it does, Rafael almost sounds sheepish. “Liv. I called to see how everyone was doing.”
Bullshit. Sonny wants to call him on it, make Rafael admit the reason he’d called was to see how one person, in particular, was doing because he’d been too much of a stubborn asshole to find out firsthand. It makes his chest tight, knowing Rafael would rather talk to Liv than talk to him, that it’s been so easy for Rafael to pretend like everything between them had meant nothing at all. It’s infuriating, too, to know that it hasn’t been working and yet, Rafael has still refused to make any real sort of contact.
Pot calling the kettle black, a small voice in the back of his head sings.
Sonny buries it, lets his frustration and the booze flowing through him drown it. “You should’ve been there.”
“I was,” Barba says slowly, his frown deepening and fingers twitching outward, toward Sonny, like touching him will somehow put them on the same page. “We just went over that. Maybe you should take your coat off, sit down. I can get you a glass of water?”
“I’m not talking about fucking Forlini’s and I don’t want a glass of water,” Sonny snaps, one hand waving wildly through the air. “I’m talking about you, about the case, about Mia. You should’ve been there, not Stone, not someone who can’t even begin to understand what the hell it means to be part of our family. It should’ve been you. Even Teresa asked me why you couldn’t be involved, you know that? You know what she said to me? ‘Rafael helped Tommy out, why can’t he do that for Mia?’ If it’d been you-- God, if it’d been you, it would’ve gone so differently. I know it would have because I trusted you, we all trusted you, but you fucked up and now the rest of us have to suffer.”
“Sonny.” Rafael doesn’t yell, doesn’t even raise his voice, but that only fuels Sonny further. It’s a fight he’d come for, even if he hadn’t realized that until right now, and he’ll pry one out of Rafael if that’s what it takes.
“Don’t,” Sonny says, taking a step forward, and he’s caught between angry and heartbroken that Rafael feels the need to take a step back. “It should’ve been you. Instead, you’re, what? Sitting at home drinking and marathoning bad movies while circling ads in the Classifieds?”
“Saving links on my iPad, actually,” Rafael says, and it’s nearly under his breath and he’s still avoiding eye contact, but Sonny still hears it. They’re getting somewhere, then, he’s struck a nerve.
“Fuck you,” he snarls, spinning on his heels a little too quickly. He stumbles into the wall, one shoulder connecting hard with the edge, and the shooting pain is almost comforting. At least he feels something other than the guilt that’s starting to take over from barging into Rafael’s apartment like this, berating him, baiting him. The emotional whiplash is giving him a headache, or maybe that’s the eight beers really catching up to him now, but he’s starting to think maybe it’s not a fight he’d wanted after all.
He just wants answers. He wants closure. He wants to try to start repairing the gaping hole Rafael had left behind when he’d walked away from the DA’s office. SVU. Their relationship.
“You didn’t have to leave,” Sonny adds, his voice lower now. “That was your choice.”
“You mean I didn’t have to leave without saying goodbye,” Rafael gently corrects. Sonny hates that he’s right but doesn’t offer a retort. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me, after the trial.”
“You told me not to come,” Sonny says, turning to search Rafael’s eyes, desperate to find something, though he’s entirely certain what he wants to find. “You told me to stay out of it, you did, I was giving you your space.”
“I asked you not to come because I didn’t want you to see me on the wrong side of the stand. Because I knew I wouldn’t be able to get up there and admit to what I did with you watching. You think I wanted to look you in the eyes, knowing you’d look at me like-- like you can’t get it out of your head that I unplugged that baby when I think about it every single day?” Rafael shakes his head, biting down hard on his bottom lip. His nose twitches as he takes a breath to regain his composure. “It’s the same way everyone else looks at me, Sonny, and you’ve never looked at me like that. You’ve never looked at me the same way everyone else does. So yeah, I was selfish. I asked you to stay away, and I regretted that every second you weren’t there.”
There. There’s that regret. Knowing Rafael has been carrying it with him, bearing such an unnecessary weight on his shoulders when it could’ve been a problem so easily solved, doesn’t bring Sonny nearly as much satisfaction as he thought it might.
“Rafael...” He trails off, shoving his hands in the pockets of the coat he hasn’t thought to take off yet so he doesn’t do anything so idiotic as reach for Rafael. He can’t do that. If he lets himself, he’ll never want to let go.
Before he can try again, Rafael speaks again, shaking his head with a helplessness Sonny can’t recall ever seeing before. “You know, I stopped to buy a hot dog a few blocks down the other day, and the vendor recognized me from the papers. He told me he wouldn’t serve a baby killer and if he had anything to do with it, none of the other carts would, either. So when you say it was my choice… McCoy just did the kind thing, Sonny, he let me resign. He let me pretend that I was leaving because I was ready to move on, let the job go.”
Rafael pauses, a hoarse, harsh laugh escaping him, a wretched noise that forces Sonny to glance up to find tears in those stupid eyes, those beautiful eyes that should be framed by laugh lines, not the downward pull of misery. “I wasn’t ready,” Rafael admits. “I wasn't’ ready to walk away, from the job, from you, from any of it. I thought maybe if I didn’t say goodbye, it would mean things wouldn’t ever really have to end between us. I know that’s ridiculous. I know it was ridiculous to show up at Forlini’s the other night and hope you were there. I know I should’ve called, and I’m sorry. Sonny, I’m so sorry.”
Silence fills the air between them while Sonny tries to think of something to say through the incoherent, scattered flow of thoughts running through his mind. Rafael seems to sense it, Sonny’s distinct inability to form real words, and clears his throat, flicking his wrist dismissively before bringing two fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any right to dump this on you or ask for your forgiveness. I know I lost that privilege. I know I screwed up with you, I keep screwing up with you, and you deserve better than that. You always have. I can finally say that, after everything. Now that I’ve already lost you, I can say it.”
“You haven’t lost me,” Sonny says, flinching when Rafael scoffs. He isn’t sure why that’s what he’s taken away from everything Rafael has said tonight when all of it has been so significant. Tomorrow, he thinks, he’ll reflect on all of this and feel every word like heartbeat skipped but for right now, what has suddenly become so important is to make sure Rafael knows he isn’t alone.
Because now he knows Rafael doesn’t want him to be alone, that he’d wanted to be there for Sonny, that he’d wanted Sonny to be there for him. These aren’t things Rafael Barba would admit just to make Sonny feel better, Rafael has never been the kind of person to say things he doesn’t mean for the sake of sparing hurt feelings. This is real, true, possibly the most genuine and open they’ve ever been with each other in the entirety of their time spent together.
“I’m right here,” Sonny continues, “you haven’t lost me.”
Rafael lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through silky hair. Sonny wants to be doing that, stroking Rafael’s hair, letting himself indulge in the warmth of Rafael’s body while they relearn how to take care of each other.
“It’s late,” Rafael says. “You’re drunk. I shouldn’t even-- It wasn’t the time to have this conversation, that’s my fault.”
Sonny closes the gap between them in two long strides and cups Rafael’s cheeks in his hands, his thumbs brushing over days old stubble. Rafael doesn’t move out of his grasp but his shoulders stiffen and his gaze remains downward, staring at his bare feet on wooden floor. They’re close enough now that the tips of their noses touch, he can feel the puff of air that leaves Rafael’s lips with another softer sigh.
“You’re drunk,” Rafael says again, weakly, nearly in a whisper. One of his hands rest now on Sonny’s hip, the other still hangs loosely at his side.
“Not that drunk,” Sonny argues, drawing his nose across Rafael’s soft jawline, letting it come to rest just under his ear. He lowers his voice, unable to stop himself from brushing his lips against Rafael’s earlobe, earning a shiver that makes Sonny smile. “I’m not that drunk, Rafi.”
“You showed up at my apartment at nearly midnight,” Rafael counters. He’s still trying to wrestle with reason, still trying to root himself in logic, but that’s what’s always gotten them into trouble.
“You’re thinking too much,” Sonny tells him, drawing back just slightly. He tips Rafael’s chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. For a moment, Sonny can only stare. He’d begun to let himself believe he’d never get this chance again, to hold Rafael in his arms, to touch him, to tell him all the things he should’ve said before everything happened. “See, it’s easy. I’m still in love with you. And I think you’re still in love with me, too. If I’m wrong, you can tell me to get the hell out right now and I’ll never come back. Am I wrong?”
Rafael swallows hard, his free arm wrapping around Sonny’s waist, pulling him closer, and he shakes his head. His eyes dart between the floor and Sonny, and there’s a hint of a quiver in his voice when he answers, “No. You’re not wrong.”
It’s the invitation he needs, the invitation Sonny realizes now he’d really come here for in the first place. It wasn’t a fight, it wasn’t an apology, not even closure or an explanation. All he’d wanted was Rafael, this is all he’s wanted for years now.
He leans in, letting their lips meet, a low moan escaping him when Rafael’s lips part to welcome Sonny’s tongue. There’s heat emanating from Rafael’s body, from that body Sonny has spent so much time mapping out and memorizing, and the stirring in his pants is indicative of just how badly he wants to relearn every possible new curve of this man.
“I need you,” he murmurs, letting a hand travel downward as he grinds his hardening dick against Rafael’s thigh. It’s a little fast, maybe, but they’ve already been down this road many times before. “Rafi, I need you, I need to be inside you. Please?”
The tension that’s just started slipping from Rafael’s shoulders returns, the movement of his lips stops, and Sonny frowns when his hand reaches Rafael’s groin to find him soft. Pulling back, equal parts worried and confused, Sonny is stunned at what he finds.
Rafael looks... heartbroken.
“Rafael?” Sonny peppers kisses over Rafael’s cheek and temple, wrapping his arms around Rafael’s waist. “Is it too fast? I’m sorry, I’m not trying to pressure you into anything, I just thought--”
Rafael smiles, but it’s forced, tight, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. He presses a finger against Sonny’s lips, effectively hushing him. It takes him a few seconds to find the words he’s searching for, it seems, or at least to find the way right way to say them. “Listen to me. If you need to fuck me to feel better tonight, that’s okay.” He taps his finger against Sonny’s lips when Sonny starts to speak, shaking his head. “No, listen. I love you.” His smile grows wider, more genuine, if just a touch sad. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to say that to you again. I love you. It’s beyond words. Maybe you won’t remember that in the morning, maybe you came here because you needed to feel something again. That’s okay, too. So…” He takes Sonny’s hands in his, taking a few steps toward the bedroom. “If you need this, you can have me. I just want you to know I understand.”
Frowning, Sonny tugs at Rafael’s grip, effectively stopping them from edging closer to the bedroom. “No. Stop, no, Rafi--” He feels sick to his stomach, horrified that Rafael could think even for a second that’s what this is, but Sonny can’t help but be horrified at himself, too. Walking in here, yelling at this man he loves, demanding Rafael admit he still loves Sonny back then trying to take him to bed, what the hell had he been thinking?
He hadn’t been thinking. From the second he’d seen Stone sitting in that chair, Sonny had lost his ability to think clearly. It should have been obvious, he shouldn’t have needed eight beers to come here and have this conversation. Now, Rafael looks something akin to miserable, and the guilt threatens to eat Sonny alive.
“The couch,” he murmurs, moving his hands to rest on Rafael’s shoulders, his thumbs brushing gently over collar bones and soft skin. It doesn’t come close to encompassing anything of what he really wants to say, but Sonny’s thoughts have cleared enough now that he knows it can wait. They’re together now, that’s what matters.
Rafael lifts an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching as he relaxes again under Sonny’s touch. “The couch?” he echoes. “What about it?”
“I’m going to take off my coat, I’m going to take you up on that glass of water, and we’re going to sit there on that couch watching stupid infomercials until we fall asleep in each other’s arms,” Sonny says, authoritatively, as if there’s absolutely no room for argument and frankly, there isn’t. He doesn’t think Rafael will put up much of a fight, either.
Proving his point, Rafael lets out a soft, surprised laugh, briefly bumping his nose against Sonny’s before nodding. “That sounds good. The couch is good.” He pauses and a worried crease appears between his brows. “And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow…” Sonny narrows his eyes then shrugs before catching Rafael’s lips for another kiss. “All I know about tomorrow is that I’ll still love you. We’ll worry about the rest when it comes. Deal?”
Another kiss, another short but perfect kiss. There’s so much time they need to make up but at least now, they can start again.
“Deal.”