Chapter Text
Here's a link to the Tony Bennett version of the song "I Remember You".
It’s 6:30 on a Thursday morning in Manhattan. NYPD Detective Sonny Carisi and Manhattan Assistant DA Rafael Barba are used to being up at this time of the morning, even after a late night. Normally, no matter how tired they are, or how little sleep they’ve had, they ignore it and don’t bother complaining. Their jobs just demand those kinds of hours.
It’s different when they haven’t slept because they’ve been awake all night together, for reasons that have nothing to do with work. Then, they complain quite a bit. Complaining and flirting might seem to be mutually exclusive activities, but Carisi and Barba don’t exactly flirt like other engaged couples. Those who don’t know them might be excused for thinking they’re squabbling. Their colleagues, however, would hear their conversation and tell them to get a room.
“I am nine years older than you are, Carisi. It is unreasonable for you to expect an entire night of sexual gratification when I’m expected to be effective in court the next day. And what about you? You just got a promotion. A Detective First Grade is expected to be on his game at all times. The citizens of New York depend upon you. You should be more concerned about your fitness for duty.”
Although he sounds put out – maybe even angry – Sonny is laughing and trying to kiss Rafael as he ties Sonny’s tie.
“Sorry, not sorry,” Sonny says, succeeding in getting his lips on his fiancé’s because Rafael can’t resist his impish smile.
When their kisses start to heat up, Rafael breaks away and returns to his task, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in warning.
“Anyway,” Sonny goes on, “It’s too late to plead age. I know you too well now. I know you can go all night and still kick ass in court. Plus, it’s all your fault.”
“My fault.”
“I mean, come on. You’re gorgeous. Your body’s just made for sex. Everything about you’s so hot I can’t keep my hands off you. Ergo, your fault.”
“Ergo? Really? Did you just ergo me?”
“I’d like to ergo you right here, right now.” Sonny wishes he didn’t giggle like he does, but he’s given up trying to help it. He’s too happy. Too in love. Too excited about their upcoming wedding.
Rafael scoffs as though in annoyed disappointment, which is the exact opposite of how he feels, and Sonny knows it. “I cannot be in love with a man who would say what you just did.”
“You can and you are. See those presents over there? Those are for our wedding, which will take place in two weeks and two days, because you asked me to marry you. Er—”
“NO. Do not say it again.” Rafael’s fighting a smile, which gives Sonny a warm glow that makes him smile even wider. Rafael finishes fussing with his tie and pats the lapels of Sonny’s jacket. “There. And speaking of those presents, what do you think about peeking at them tonight? We can get started on exchanging the ones we don’t like.”
Sonny shrieks in outrage. “What?! We can’t peek, we have to open them at the day-after brunch! And we are not gonna exchange our wedding presents! People picked them for us. They gave them to us, and when they come to visit, they’ll expect to see ‘em.”
“Why are people sending us presents anyway?” Rafael grouses as he picks up his briefcase from the counter between the kitchen and the dining area. “We said not to. We’re grown men; we have all we need. And I don’t want three George Forman grills.”
Sonny doesn’t start walking toward the door as Rafael expects him to. Instead, he turns around so that Rafael’s momentum carries him into Sonny’s arms. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re cranky,” Sonny mutters against his lips.
“I’m always cranky.”
“Ergo, you’re always cute. It’s why I can’t keep my hands off you.”
Rafael pushes away with another look of disapproval, but this one entirely fails to hide his smile. “I am a fifty-year-old senior prosecutor for the city, county, and state of New York, Detective. I am not cute.”
More unstoppable giggling erupts from Sonny as he pulls Rafael back to him and wraps his arms securely around him. “You are, though.”
“Carisi—” Rafael tries, aiming for a note of warning even as he drops his briefcase and slides his arms around Sonny’s neck. “You are insufferable,” he mutters, and turns the “L” in the last word into a dirty flick of his tongue.
“You asked me to marry you, I sorta got the sense that you like me.”
Sonny cooperates fully in all of the hot, nasty things Rafael does with his mouth in response. His lips are warm and he tastes like excellent coffee. Better yet, their hands are quickly in their accustomed positions – one of Sonny’s splayed across Rafael’s ass, and the other in his hair, tenderly cradling his head, while Rafael’s caressed his way to having his on Sonny’s hips.
While Rafael teases his lips with the tip of his tongue, Sonny utters little breathy whines as though relishing Rafael’s mouth so much he’s having trouble holding it in. When they come up for air, Sonny nudges Rafael’s forehead so he’ll look up into his ice-blue eyes. “You do like me, right?”
Without giving Rafael a chance to respond, Sonny goes back to kissing him, and keeps it up until Rafael is breathless and hard. Rafael’s whole consciousness narrows to the taste and feel of Sonny, and the demanding way Sonny’s tongue is taking possession of his mouth. Shit. They’re gonna be late for work.
Soon, Sonny has Rafael moaning and responding to his sinful grinding against him. When he feels confident he’s got Rafael worked up enough not to stop him, he maneuvers them until Rafael feels his back pressed against the counter between them and the kitchen.
Sonny peels Rafael’s clothes from his body, yanking his jacket off and making quick work of his shirt and tie. He immediately starts on Rafael’s slacks, all the while using his mouth to keep Rafael groaning at the sensations he’s creating so he doesn’t try to get them back on track for work. Once he has him naked, Sonny clasps his arms under Rafael’s ass and lifts him, sliding his hips onto the countertop.
Rafael feels like the top of his head is going to come off when Sonny lays him out on the counter and begins to slide teasing, promising licks along his cock. Sonny’s hands are everywhere, stroking Rafael’s chest and arms, adjusting his legs and hips so that he can use his mouth everywhere from Rafael’s cock to his hole.
The first touch of cool, lube-covered fingers to his hole sends a hot shock to Rafael’s dick. He has no idea where the lube came from, but they find themselves fucking all over the apartment, so it must have been in one of the drawers next to where Sonny’s standing. There’s no conscious thought after that; there’s only sensation as Sonny uses his fingers and every bit of skill he has to suck Rafael to a blinding climax while he expertly rubs his prostate from both inside and out.
When his mind returns to his body, Rafael is too spent to do anything but lay there, dizzy and panting, while Sonny kisses him with a self-satisfied smirk.
Rafael’s knees are shaking when Sonny helps him sit up and pulls him gently from the counter. He isn’t entirely sure his wobbly knees would have held him up if Sonny hadn’t turned him toward the counter then, to lean on it so he can put some of his weight on his forearms. Sonny holds him securely, too, as he unfastens his suit pants, positions his cock, and enters Rafael from behind. As he begins to thrust into Rafael, Sonny starts to murmur things so exquisitely filthy into his ear that he actually manages to stroke Rafael to a second orgasm.
Even as it’s happening, Rafael is trying to find the wherewithal to object. But Sonny Carisi is so fucking sexy and can bring Rafael such overwhelming pleasure that Rafael’s body responds anytime he’s even nearby. It’s a problem he’s learned to deal with once they’re at work, but this isn’t the first time Sonny’s made them late getting there. Sonny and Rafael have been friends for several years, and have spent the last three falling intensely in love, together every second they can be. They both know Sonny can seduce Rafael with a look.
Once Rafael is re-dressed, the door is finally locked behind them, and they start down the hall to the elevator, Rafael returns to his current favorite subject, their wedding. Not surprisingly, Rafael’s way of looking forward to it is to grumble about it. Sonny, who understands him perfectly, finds his complaining as irresistible as if he was waxing poetic.
“Why do we have to make such a big deal about getting married, anyway? Good grief, we’re not the daughters of minor royalty in some Regency romance.”
It’s all Sonny can do not to grab his fiancé and pull him right back into their apartment and their bed. “Whine all you want,” he says, throwing an arm across Rafael’s shoulders and kissing the side of his head. Rafael, of course, pushes him away and lifts a hand to fix his still-perfect hair. “I won’t out you to the world, but we both know who’s the romantic around here. And you’re just as excited as me to be getting married.”
“That’s not romance,” Rafael argues. “It’s pragmatism. I don’t deserve you. Before you realize that, I want to put as many legal impediments as possible in the way of you getting rid of me. So yes, I’m eager to do what it takes to make sure you’re stuck with me.”
When they board the empty elevator, Sonny’s not surprised that Rafael turns to press himself against his chest. He doesn’t hesitate to lean in and meet Rafael’s lips halfway. Rafael’s arms are inside Sonny’s jacket, his warm hands splayed over his back, while Sonny’s arms are on the outside, wrapped around Rafael, holding him close. Their kisses are soft and tender, completely straightforward in a way their flirting never is.
Rafael murmurs his love to Sonny in Spanish, so sweet and sincere that most people who know him wouldn’t believe him capable of it. It’s one of Sonny’s favorite things about Rafael, this wholly soft side of him that belongs to Sonny alone. That Rafael trusts him enough to be this vulnerable tells Sonny more than words or even kisses how much Rafael loves him.
There’s nobody else leaving for work this early and it’s a slow elevator, which means that Rafael has time to kiss Sonny quite thoroughly. When the doors open, he’s swiping the back of his hand across his lips while Rafael smirks.
The walk to the subway and the ride to Chambers Street Station are less physical and the conversation gradually becomes more geared toward the coming workday, but when they reach the already-bustling Foley Square, Sonny realizes he’s not quite ready for the perfect night (and morning) they’ve just spent together to be over.
He turns to Rafael on the corner where they have to part ways, not letting go of his hand. With an expression of pure adoration, he looks into his fiancé’s deep green eyes. “Do you know how much I love you? How much I wanna be your husband? ‘Cause you deserve to know how perfect you are. So hot, so brilliant, so much fun to be with, so good at blow jobs—”
Sonny feels another of those familiar blooms of warmth in his chest at the way Rafael crinkles his nose when he laughs.
“I do know,” he answers, “And I love you, too. That’s why I asked you to marry me. Because you’re beautiful and you let me give you blow jobs.”
“We’re terrible.”
“Yes. Also late.”
Rafael gives Sonny a last peck on the lips. With a smile and a final squeeze of his hand, he turns and begins walking toward the courthouse. Sonny watches him for a few steps before he turns back around. “Quit staring at my ass and get to work, Detective. The people of Manhattan are counting on you.”
“It’s a great ass, Counselor. The people of Manhattan will understand.”
With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Rafael turns back toward the courthouse. Sonny can hear him chuckling as he, himself, turns toward the precinct house to begin his day.
Rafael is still grinning when he reaches the doors to the courthouse, happier than he’s ever been and unable to hide it even at the risk of losing his beloved reputation as a heartless prick.
* * *
The early afternoon arraignment docket is a zoo, as usual.
Barba loves it. He knows he’s good on his feet, and he enjoys the hell out of a challenge. It’s why he’s happiest when the defendants are represented by someone good. He understands that the public defenders are overworked and underpaid, which is why, for the most part, they’re young kids not far out of law school. He doesn’t take it easy on them – he can’t – but he just can’t expect them to have the creativity and boldness he gets from experienced, private counsel.
It’s why he and Rita Calhoun are such good friends. Rita’s the best there is. With Rita, he can’t let his guard down until the bailiffs actually slap the cuffs on the defendants and haul them away to prison.
One might expect them to hate each other, given that they’re fierce opponents whenever they work together. But the day they met – and clashed ferociously in court – they’d found themselves face to face in the hallway afterward, both smiling broadly.
“I’m either going to kill you or marry you,” had been Rita’s first private words to Rafael.
“I’m too busy to die right now, and marriage is off the table, but I’d love to buy you a drink.”
“Fair warning. I have expensive taste.”
“Definite point in your favor. Let’s go,” he’d responded, and they’d turned toward the door.
They’d ended up having dinner together, too, even though both of them had a ton of work they should’ve been doing. Rita wasn’t surprised to learn that Rafael’s sexual preference skews mostly male, but Rafael was surprised to learn that Rita is actually married to Matthew Aronson. Rafael had been wildly impressed, which clearly pleased Rita, although she made him laugh with several sweetly hilarious anecdotes about the difficulties of living with a renowned painter.
Today, Rafael has his hands full with two huge cases in addition to the multitude of less newsworthy and politically important ones. Rita represents one of the defendants, while John Buchanan represents the other.
Rita kicks Rafael’s ass. Her guy gets released on his own recognizance.
Buchanan, however, takes a really strange tack to try to keep his client out of jail, and ends up confusing the judge. Never a good idea. Confused judges are conservative judges, and Rafael takes advantage of that. As soon as he sees the judge’s concern and hesitation, he lays out a nightmare scenario that actually makes the judge blanch.
Buchanan’s guy goes to the Tombs to await trial.
Rafael doesn’t have much time after court to chat, but Rita’s waited for him, as he knew she would. Rita has her own practice, so she determines her own hours and workload. Besides, their second favorite joint activity (after checking out men) is dunking on John Buchanan. They both respect Buchanan and neither is dumb enough to underestimate him. It’s just that he gives them so much material to work with that they can’t keep from roasting him.
“What the actual fuck was that argument he was making?” Rita mutters, quiet enough that only Rafael can hear. Everyone in the busy hallway can see her snide expression, though.
“I don’t know, and neither does Judge Wassler,” Rafael responds, pushing the door open and holding it for Rita to exit. “But damn if Buchanan didn’t give it a hell of a try. You gotta admire his conviction, fake as it had to have been.”
“No, I don’t. Anyway, enough about him. I got a new client today, picked him up right before SVU was about to violate his rights by questioning him after he invoked.”
“OK, well, I haven’t been briefed, so I can’t –”
“Not the point. The point is, I saw Carisi as I was leaving. He looks so exhausted and blissed out it damn near made me blush, which is something I haven’t done since sixth grade. For fuck’s sake, Barba.”
“For fuck’s sake what? I’m not sure what I’m being chastised for here.”
“Oh, puh-leeze. Whatever you did to him last night, he looks like he just got a puppy from Jesus. And you’re not much better. It’s indecent.”
“I heartily apologize.”
“You do not.” Rita says snappishly.
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“Ugh, happy people are gross. Thank God Matthew and I are miserable.”
Rafael lets out a loud burst of laughter.
“Oh, you find marital anguish amusing, do you?”
“Rita, I love you. You’re the only person I know who’s more cynical than I am. You’re also forgetting that I’ve seen you and Matthew together and I know for a fact that you’re happy as hell.”
“All right, fine. But I still disapprove of the two of you walking around all glowing and… sated-looking.” Effecting an overdramatic shiver, Rita gives Rafael a quick shove with her shoulder as they walk down the street.
* * *
“No, Carisi. That is not an option. Bringing your fiancé on your bachelor weekend violates the Geneva Convention or something.”
“Dodds is right,” Fin Tutuola piles on. “Besides, you’re marryin’ Barba. I can’t even imagine Barba drunk in Vegas.”
Sonny leans back in his chair, offended. “That’s ‘cause you only see him at work. He’s a lot of fun! He—”
“No, Carisi,” Amanda Rollins breaks in, putting a hand up to stop him. “We are going to Vegas to get shitfaced, lose money, and ogle men.”
“And/or women,” Mike Dodds interjects.
Rollins nods, acknowledging the point. “We are going to Vegas to get shitfaced, lose money, and ogle people we find sexually desirable,” she amends. “The ogling is critical, and you can’t do it with your fiancé right there.”
“Yeah, but I only wanna ogle him,” Sonny complains, causing the entire room to erupt in groans.
“Oh, man, that’s pathetic,” Dodds laments, shaking his head.
“Well, I think it’s sweet,” Olivia Benson says, joining the group and patting Sonny’s shoulder. “I also think we have work to do. What’s the plan for the McGruder arrest?”
Sergeant Dodds stands up straight and begins to answer as though he’s giving a book report in a middle school class. “It’s going to be tricky. We’re going after him at his base, so we can take down the whole operation at the same time. It’s up on West 47th near Times Square, which means a shitload of traffic and civilians everywhere. That’s one of the reasons we’ve decided to go in at midnight.”
He spends ten minutes explaining the plans the team’s made with the local precinct, putting together logistics and making sure they’ll have enough of the right kind of personnel. Their target is a bigtime pimp who commits hideous crimes against the prostitutes in his organization to keep them in line.
In the early afternoon, when most of the planning is done, Sonny reaches for his phone. Picking it up from his desk, he sees the picture of himself and Rafael that serves as his screen background. As always, it makes his heart speed up a little. It’s a little hard to tell whether his deep feelings make him want to sing and dance or burst into tears, but that’s nothing new. He’s never known what to do where Rafael Barba is concerned. All he knows is he’s so fucking in love it’s a miracle he can ever think about anything else.
Sonny:
Takedown on West 47th at midnite. I’ll B rly late.
He’s still looking down at his phone when he sees the telltale dots that let him know Rafael’s typing a response. He likes to think Rafael checks every text immediately to see if it’s from him, the way Sonny does. He doesn’t know that for sure, because Rafael would never admit it, even if it’s true. But he likes to think so.
Rafael:
McGruder?
Sonny:
Yeah
Rafael:
Thanks for letting me know. I’ll stay at the office and work then.
Rafael:
Please be careful.
Sonny:
10-4 😘❤
Sonny grins down at his screen. He loves to pepper his texts with abbreviations and emojis. Sure, abbreviations are less work to type and emojis are fun, but the best thing about abbreviations and emojis is how much Rafael hates them. If he had more time, he’d probably keep texting until Rafael complained. Unfortunately, that’ll have to wait.
* * *
As always, it seems to take forever for all of the parts of the team to be in place. It’s the boredom of a long, interminable wait followed by a few, gut-wrenching minutes of way too much excitement that happens way too fast.
At one a.m., after an incredibly frustrating series of delays, Sonny and Mike Dodds are finally checking the placement of one another’s bulletproof vests in preparation for the takedown.
“Good to go,” Dodds tells Sonny, slapping him on the chest.
“Okay, then. Let’s get this over with.”
“Lookin’ forward to getting home to the hubby, huh? Lucky you. All I got waiting for me is a hot shower and a cold bed.”
“I know. I’m a lucky son of a bitch.”
Once Dodds finally gets the word that everyone’s in place, he gives the order and the teams breach every entrance to the tall, brick apartment building simultaneously. Sonny and Dodds are on the front door, and they immediately race up the stairs to the apartment on the top floor that their informants have all agreed is Cyril McGruder’s flat.
There’s so much noise and activity in and around the building, McGruder has to know something’s happening. Half the building’s probably called him by now to report that they’re being raided. So Sonny and Dodds are careful about their positioning, and the positions of the other cops arrayed around them. Dodds stands to the side of the door and bangs it several times with his huge fist before loudly announcing them.
“NYPD! Cyril McGruder, we have a warrant for your arrest! Open the door!”
It’s not surprising that McGruder doesn’t answer. Dodds tries twice more to get him to come out, but it’s obvious he’s going to make them go in after him. A heavily armored uniformed cop uses a battering ram to break in the door, then moves aside as Sonny and Dodds go in, followed by the rest of the team.
They find McGruder, an overly-muscled white guy with an expensive haircut, shirtless and sweating behind a desk as he busily tries to delete files from his computer. The desk is situated so that McGruder’s back is to the window and he’s facing the door. One side is up against a wall, so there’s only one pathway to get to McGruder.
“NYPD!” Sonny shouts, Glock aimed dead center of McGruder’s chest. He advances into the room until he’s six feet from the guy. There’s no way he’ll miss if he shoots. “Put your hands up!”
McGruder just keeps clicking away with his mouse. Sonny shouts again and moves another foot closer. When all McGruder does is flick a panicked glance up at the tall detective screaming at him, Dodds steps up next to Sonny, who takes a couple steps toward the edge of the desk to approach him.
That’s when McGruder picks up the baseball bat that’s been lying across the desktop and stands.
“Put it down!” Dodds yells, but McGruder just takes a batter’s stance and locks eyes with Sonny.
Soon there are a whole lot of voices shouting to the pimp to put down the bat he’s brandishing, and threatening to shoot him if he doesn’t. Sonny doesn’t bother to add to the clamor.
Dodds orders three of the cops to pull the desk away from where McGruder’s standing. It’ll facilitate the takedown, and if there’s a gun in a drawer or somewhere, that’ll keep it away from him. With only a baseball bat, he should be able to see that he has no choice but to surrender.
Except he doesn’t. McGruder was already panicked, and his eyes go wide as he sees his desk flung halfway across the room, leaving him standing alone and unprotected. He backs up, taking a desperate look out the window.
Sonny sees what he’s thinking. “Hey, no – don’t even think about it. Even if you didn’t kill yourself jumpin’, you can see all those cops out there. C’mon.” Sonny releases his two-handed grip on his Glock, holding his left hand up, palm out, and pointing the Glock in his right safely to the ceiling. “I’m not gonna shoot. There’s no reason to. Just put down the bat and this is over. Okay? Nice and easy.”
It happens in a split second. McGruder steps toward Sonny, plants his foot, and swings. There’s no warning, no time to duck. The bat makes solid contact with the right side of Sonny’s head and Sonny goes down hard, body entirely limp because he’s out before he even starts to fall.
McGruder is hit with no fewer than eight bullets, the force of which throws him back against the windows. The glass is shattered by gunfire before he even hits it, so he tumbles out, head first, to land with a sickening wet thud on the front stoop of the apartment house.
* * *
Dodds is at Sonny’s side immediately. He’s already shouting into his phone for the paramedic crew that’s been stationed nearby in case of injuries. The second he hears confirmation that they’re on their way, he tosses his phone to the side, because he’s got his fingers on Sonny’s neck where his carotid pulse should be, and he’s not feeling anything.
He immediately pushes at Sonny’s shoulder to roll him over to his back and, with the help of Fin Tutuola, gets Sonny positioned with his neck extended to open his airway. Dodds again feels for a pulse while Fin roughly pulls the tabs on Carisi’s bulletproof vest.
As Dodds is concluding that Sonny’s heart isn’t beating, he hears Fin say, “He ain’t breathin’.”
“No pulse,” Dodds calls out as he grabs the bottom hem of Sonny’s vest. Fin gets the idea and helps him tear the vest over Sonny’s head, then moves in next to Sonny’s chest. He’s already doing chest compressions as Dodds bends down and gets into position to give him rescue breaths.
“C’mon, Carisi, don’t do this. I do not wanna fuckin’ tell Barba I let you get killed. Breathe, you motherfucker!”
Fin finishes his first compressions and Dodds seals his mouth over Carisi’s to blow in as much air as he can.
They’re on their sixth or seventh series of compressions and breaths when the paramedics arrive. Within seconds, the first paramedic has torn open Sonny’s shirt and cut off his tie, and her partner is handing her the pads for the heart monitor/defibrillator device.
Dodds is too freaked out to pay much attention to what they’re doing. All he’s thinking is that Sonny Carisi absolutely cannot die. Not here. Not like this. Not when Dodds was supposed to have his back. He hears Fin on the phone and knows he has to be talking to Benson, but it’s all garbled and it seems a long way away.
In the haze of noise and commotion, Dodds realizes that the heart thing is beeping now. He sees one of the paramedics put an oxygen mask over Carisi’s face. He can’t see Sonny’s chest moving, but suddenly there’s condensation on the inside of the plastic mask, and Mike Dodds can breathe again himself. He and Fin exchange a long, wide-eyed look.
Benson and Rollins show up at some point, Mike’s not sure when, and they both look about as horrified as he feels. Benson asks him what happened, which actually helps, because it makes him focus, and lets him fall into the familiar role of cop instead of just standing there watching a bizarre event that he can’t convince himself is really happening. He reports to his Captain, who tells him she’ll secure the scene as much as possible and orders him to clear the way for the gurney that’s on its way up the stairs.
It’s good to have a task. It’s better that, when he reaches the doors to the rickety old elevator, they’re already opening to reveal two more paramedics with a gurney between them. He immediately starts barking orders and shoving people out of the way, making a path for them.
It’s only when they get back to the apartment and into the room where Sonny is lying on the floor, white and still, that Mike is again relegated to helpless bystander. It’s excruciating. Carisi is a good cop, and a better friend. Mike hadn’t been at all sure that he wanted to work SVU when he arrived, and finding a guy he clicked with as easily as he had with Carisi was a welcome surprise. Now, they’re in each other’s confidence, thick as thieves. He was genuinely happy for Carisi when he and Barba had finally admitted the attraction everyone else could plainly see, and honored when Carisi asked him to be his Best Man at their wedding.
Shit. Barba. Mike’s always been more than a little afraid of him, but this? Barba’s going to kill him, and there’s no point running. Mike knows without question that there is no spot on Earth Barba won’t find him if Carisi dies.
Dodds gets to be the one to ride to Lenox Hill with Carisi in the ambulance. He’s not a praying man, but he knows Carisi is, so he introduces himself to God and says he’s calling for Carisi. It seems to work; he doesn’t get struck by lightning, and the paramedic says Carisi’s hanging in there.
The other piece of good news is that Captain Benson volunteers to go to their apartment and tell Barba what’s happened. The little kid in Dodds had somehow expected her to make him do it, since it was his failure to look out for Carisi that got them into this situation. But Benson and Barba are tight, and she’s already told Dodds – twice – that this clusterfuck isn’t his fault.
It’s going to take Benson a while to get to Barba’s place, and she wants to notify him immediately and in person, so she’s not among the group of anxious, restless cops in the ER waiting room at Lenox Hill. That means Dodds has to call her to pass along the sketchy information the docs provide.
It’s a very bleak call.
Carisi’s been gravely wounded, and the suspect is dead. The next several hours in the waiting room give Dodds plenty of time to ruminate on how this takedown, of which he was supposed to be in charge, went so completely tits-up.
* * *
Rafael’s awakened by the sound of Sonny’s key in the front door. He’s instantly up, out of bed. It always feels wrong to be peacefully lounging in bed when Sonny comes in after working all night.
Except it’s not Sonny. It’s Liv. There’s blood on her clothes and she looks like she’s about to be sick.
“Liv, what…”
“Sit down.”
“What happened?” Rafael’s mind, of course, goes instantly to Sonny. He feels an iron band tighten around his chest, hard and deadly cold.
“Please, Rafael, sit down. Sonny’s alive, but he’s hurt.”
The force of those words, especially when Olivia’s face is so grim as she says them, is a physical blow. Rafael collapses, rather than sits, into the closest chair.
He knows that he does not want to hear what Olivia’s about to say. It’s bad, or she wouldn’t be here, looking like she’s on the ragged edge. Somehow, he already feels as though his life is irreversibly changed, already hates it. He actually sweeps his eyes around the apartment he and Sonny share, consciously thinking that he’s taking a last look at the life they knew. He takes the deepest breath he’s capable of with the heavy constriction in his chest and watches Olivia take a seat on the edge of the couch.
“Tell me,” he finally utters.
“We put together a takedown last night in the McGruder case.”
“Sonny told me.”
“It was McGruder. He wasn’t coming willingly. He was frantic, and Carisi was trying to talk him down, but the guy lost it. He had a baseball bat, and he—” Her voice breaks.
Rafael wants to encourage her to fucking tell him already, but finds that he can’t choke out any words.
“It’s bad, Rafael,” Liv tells him in that deeply sympathetic tone Rafael suddenly realizes he hates. She’s giving him that look, too. The one she gives victims. He already wants to scream, and she hasn’t even told him anything yet.
“Sonny took a hit directly to the head. The bat fractured his skull, and his brain is— Well, he was unconscious immediately, and as of fifteen minutes ago, he was in CT.”
Rafael swallows painfully before croaking, “Is he going to live?”
“They don’t know, Rafa. I came to get you because... they don’t know.”