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Rafael sips his scotch as he takes in the hubbub around him. The assembled cops and brass are celebrating a promotion, though he’s not 100% sure whose. Some rising star who’s just made lieutenant, apparently. It’s undoubtedly a good networking opportunity. Though in all honesty the only reason Rafael stopped by the bar is that Detective Carisi asked him to.
Detective Carisi, with those big pleading eyes that Rafael can’t say no to. Just like he can’t say no to the possibility of spending time alone with the detective, huddled over their drinks at a small table in the corner of this grimy cop bar. If Rafael had more sense, he would have stayed in his office working. That would have been the rational thing to do. Because he knows he’s not going to start something with someone he works with.
In his naive past, Rafael had been open to mixing business with pleasure. But then he discovered the downside of dating and dumping the beat cop son of a powerful Brooklyn precinct captain. He’d suddenly found himself pulled off high-profile cases and placed on sure losers. He’d still managed some wins against the odds - he’d secured the conviction of those johns, after all - but it was clear that he had to get out of Brooklyn and fast in order to salvage his career.
After his transfer, Rafael had instituted The Rule: no dating anyone connected in any way to work. A rule that was very clear cut, but very lonely. How are you supposed to meet someone not connected to work when you spend all your waking hours working?
And so now he’s at a social function where he doesn’t really want to be, waiting for a detective whom he’d definitely like to fuck, but knowing that he’s never going to do so, even if said detective were so inclined. The only thing he’s going to leave the bar with tonight is a hollow disappointment.
“Barba! There you are!”
Rafael is saved from his introspective wallowing by the detective’s arrival. Carisi plunks a fresh scotch down in front of him and slides into the opposite seat with a glass of beer.
“Detective.”
“I’m glad you made it, Counselor.”
Carisi gives one of those smiles of his that’s a bright ray of light, and Rafael melts a little on the inside. But that won’t do. The Rule was made to ward off the temptation of just such smiley detectives. So Rafael schools his expression into grumpy indifference.
“Yes, I made it far in advance of you, actually. Try to be on time for your own invite next time, Detective. I thought you had stood me up.”
If anything, Carisi’s smile only grows wider, the barb bouncing off of him like he’s made of Teflon.
“Nah, you know I’d never stand you up, Counselor.”
Rafael doesn’t doubt it for a moment. Carisi’s unyielding loyalty is something that he never asked for and is pretty sure he doesn’t deserve. But it encases him like a security blanket, this assurance that the detective will be there for him no matter what.
“So what made you keep me waiting, anyway? You’re the one who wanted company at this soirée.”
If he focuses on the detective’s flaws, maybe Rafael can ignore his obvious charms.
“I swear I left the precinct with time to spare, Barba. But then I heard whimpering, and I found an injured puppy left in a box outside. I took him to animal rescue, and they think he’s gonna make it.”
Rafael downs the rest of his original scotch as Carisi begins to show him photos of the puppy on his phone. Goddammit. His powers of resistance are no match for this man who rescues baby animals.
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices someone approaching their secluded table. Oh fuck, he thinks as he realizes it’s the man who precipitated his flight out of Brooklyn.
“Oh fuck,” Carisi mutters a second later.
Tom Morrissey is wearing his dress blues. Of course he is, his dad probably wrangled him a prominent role at today’s promotion ceremony. He comes to a stop right in front of them.
“Sonny. Rafael. I didn’t realize the two of you knew each other.”
Rafael hadn’t realized that the other two knew each other either. He spares a glance at Carisi, whose face has clouded over. He is apparently unhappy, for his own unknown reasons, to see Tom Morrissey here.
“Hello Tom, it’s been awhile,” Rafael says with as much politeness as he can muster, since it’s becoming clear that Carisi’s only offering is going to be a baleful glower.
“Yes, it has been. You too, Sonny. I don’t think I’ve seen you since you left Brooklyn. We never even got a proper goodbye, you transferred so quick.”
“Yeah I wonder why that was?” Carisi shoots back with a bitter sarcasm that Rafael has rarely heard from him.
“Now now, there’s no need to get personal about it,” Tom says in a treacly tone that has an edge of mockery to it.
“Oh so now I’m the one making things personal?”
Carisi’s voice is rising and his face is growing flushed. From an anthropological perspective, Rafael is curious to see where this confrontation leads. But from a professional perspective, he’s not about to let Carisi get baited into making a scene at a work gathering.
“Tom, Detective Carisi and I were in the middle of something, actually. Time sensitive, about a case,” Rafael lies smoothly. “I don’t mean to be rude, but could you give us some privacy?”
Though he looks a bit peeved, Tom gives a curt nod and stalks off towards another group.
“You want to tell me what that was all about?” Rafael asks once Tom is out of earshot.
Carisi sighs and takes a drink of his beer.
“Right after I started at Brooklyn SVU, Tom and I had a one-night stand. When I turned him down for a second one, I suddenly found myself demoted to traffic duty. I’m sure Tom had his dad arrange it. How fucking vindictive is that? That’s why I transferred from Brooklyn to Queens.”
Rafael starts chuckling, he can’t help it. Carisi gives him a wounded look.
“Really Barba? You’re gonna laugh at my hook-up woes? What Tom did really fucked me over. I’d been hoping to build my career at Brooklyn SVU, but instead I had to keep borough-hopping.”
“I didn’t mean to mock,” Rafael clarifies. “I was laughing because of the irony. Turns out Tom has an MO.”
Carisi’s brow crinkles in confusion, then his eyes widen in understanding.
“Wait, are you saying that you and Tom Morrissey had a thing too?”
“Yes. We dated for a few months, actually. After I broke up with him, he pulled the same retaliatory shit, and I found doors closing to me at the Brooklyn DA’s office. That’s why I requested a lateral to Manhattan.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I wish I were. That debacle is why I instituted a rule for myself of not dating anyone from my professional sphere. There’s too many complications. Too much risk.”
“Hmm.” The detective traces the lip of his glass. “Is that rule hard and fast?”
“Yes. Otherwise what would be the point of having it? I’m not going to risk my career again for a sweet smile and seven inches.”
Carisi snorts at that.
“No chance Tom’s seven inches. That’s what he told you? Geez, the guy’s even more insecure than I realized.”
The fact that they both have the frame of reference to quibble over Tom’s size makes Rafael cringe.
“Please don’t remind me of the awkward fact that we’ve slept with the same guy.”
“Don’t blame me,” Carisi responds with a shrug. “You’re the one who brought up Tom’s attributes.”
The detective turns reflective.
“You know what you said about your rule? Maybe the issue with Tom wasn’t that he was connected to work.”
“I think my career’s downward spiral in Brooklyn would suggest otherwise.”
“Hear me out,” Carisi says, like he’s trying to sell Rafael on one of his unsolicited legal theories. “I presume you didn’t know Tom well before you started dating?”
Rafael nods guardedly, unsure of where the detective is going with this.
“That means you didn’t know his character, and so you couldn’t have anticipated that he’d go all vengeance is mine on you after you broke up with him. But with someone you already know, you could feel more confident that they’d handle a break up professionally.”
“Meaning less risk of damage to my career.”
“Exactly.”
“So you’re saying that I should date someone from work who I already know?”
“Not that you should, but that you could, if you wanted to.”
Apparently Carisi’s insatiable need to give his opinion on everything extends even as far as Rafael’s personal life. But that doesn’t mean that Rafael has to takes his advice. And the last thing he needs is Carisi trying to set him up with someone else.
“You make a compelling case, Detective, but a rule’s a rule.”
“It’s set in stone then?”
“Pushy tonight, aren’t we? What, you have a candidate in mind for me?”
Before Carisi can answer, his phone rings.
“Sorry I’ve gotta take this, it’s Rollins.”
Rafael tries to tamp down his disappointment at the fact that Carisi is likely being summoned back to work.
“They found the body where? Wait hold on, lemme write down the address.”
Carisi pulls a pen out of his suit pocket and looks around for something to write on. Rafael slides a stack of paper napkins across the table for him to use. The detective scribbles hurriedly before hanging up.
“I’m really sorry Barba, but we caught a case and the squad’s short-handed, so they need me on scene.”
“Well I’ll just have to suffer through the rest of this event without you then.”
The detective gives a knowing smile.
“See, I knew you like having me around, Counselor, even if you won’t admit it.”
“I guess your presence makes these sorts of gatherings marginally less excruciating,” Rafael offers, unwilling to concede anything more.
“Marginally less excruciating. That’s everything my ma always hoped I’d grow up to be, back when I was a kid on Staten Island.”
Carisi’s eyes twinkle as he teases, and Rafael rolls his eyes. But he can’t help giving his own smile.
“Did your mom hope for you to grow into a wise-ass as well, hm? Go on then, protect and serve, Detective.”
A few minutes after Carisi’s departure, Rafael finishes his second scotch and his bowl of mixed olives. He decides to make his own escape before he has to engage in any banal small talk or, worse, speak with Tom Morrissey again.
When he reaches for a napkin, Rafael realizes that there’s something written on it. He wonders briefly whether it’s the crime scene address. But no, the detective had already grabbed that. He leans in closer for a better look.
Let me be your exception? is scrawled across the napkin in Carisi’s looping script. I have impeccable qualifications.
After a stunned moment of silence, Rafael takes the napkin and surreptitiously sticks it in his suit jacket, behind his pocket square.
Maybe it’s time for a reassessment. They do say there’s at least one exception to every rule. . .