Work Text:
2004
Barba glanced up at the sky, which was a dark, almost purple color, and winced at the crack of thunder that shook the nearby buildings. He glanced over his shoulder. “Sonny, come on,” he urged, darting underneath the overhang of a bodega to avoid the rain that was sure to start pouring down soon.
Carisi followed at a much more leisurely pace, his expression slightly amused. “That depends,” he said, his hands in his pockets. “Are you gonna answer my question?”
Barba rolled his eyes. “No,” he snapped impatiently, and Carisi stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow at him.
“No, you won’t answer, or no, you won’t marry me?”
Barba rolled his eyes again and huffed a sigh, taking a step out from under the awning, his hands on his hips. “You are a twenty-four year old cop who’s been dating a prosecutor six years your senior for all of six months,” he said impatiently. “Just because Massachusetts legalized same sex marriage doesn’t mean we have to do something impulsive like go and get married.”
He would’ve said more, his logical argument clearly delineated in his mind, but a burst of lightning too close for comfort made his eyes widen, and he instantly turned to head in the opposite direction. Carisi grabbed his arm. “Not that way,” he said, tugging Barba towards the source of the lightning. “C’mon.”
“Are you an idiot?” Barba hissed. “Do you want us to get hit by lightning?”
“Lightning never strikes the same place twice,” Carisi said confidently. “We’ll be safe here.”
He stopped and turned towards Barba, his expression soft, and Barba sighed again, reaching out to rest his hands on Carisi’s hips. “Why are you so eager to marry me, anyway?” he asked quietly.
He’d asked Carisi similar variations on the question ever since the young patrol cop had started pursuing the Richmond County ADA, unable to understand every step of the way what the overly enthusiastic younger man saw in him. Carisi grinned, his dimples creasing his cheeks. “Because I love you,” he said. “And because I want to be able to show the whole world that.”
Barba let Carisi tug him closer, unable to stop the smile that spread across his face. “Fine,” he sighed. “Then I will marry you.”
Carisi let out a whoop that was almost instantly cut off by lightning striking no more than 5 feet from where they were standing, close and hot enough to knock them apart.
It really should’ve been a sign for things to come.
2017
Between the cigar smoke that hung heavy in the air and the scotch Barba swirled in his glass, it would be a wonder if he didn’t fall asleep. Backroom dealings were part and parcel to his line of work, which he knew, but this one wasn’t anything to do with cutting a deal for some well-connected perp.
And in fact, considering he was sitting in a plush leather armchair in City Hall rather than a back room at one of Manhattan’s seedier bars, perhaps the term backroom wasn’t even entirely valid.
But it didn’t diminish the Tammany Hall feel of the whole arrangement.
“Rafael, how are you enjoying the cigar?” the mayor asked, sitting back in his own seat. “They’re real Cubans.”
“Then the cigar and I have something in common,” Barba said.
The mayor laughed and the DA leaned forward. “Anyway, Rafael, as I was saying, we’ve both been very impressed with the job you’ve been doing. Taking on the NYPD is never easy, especially given some of the most recent cases, but you seem to have been able to use both your trial credentials and Harvard pedigree to your advantage.”
Nodding, the mayor blew out a smoke ring. “Exactly,” he said. “Which is good, since we can’t afford to be seen as being too close to NYPD right now, not with public opinion being what it is, and the election just under a year away.”
Barba was tempted to ask what this had to do with him, but he hadn’t spent those years at Harvard and subsequent years navigating politics in various DA’s offices just to rush things when it mattered most. “Well, there’s no love lost between me and the NYPD,” he said instead.
The DA chuckled. “I know,” he said comfortably. “That’s why I want you to run for DA.”
Barba stared at him, taking a slow sip of scotch. He’d expected this eventually, of course, had had several conversations alluding to this with the DA previously, but he hadn’t expected this for several years yet. “I didn’t realize you weren’t planning on running again,” he said, to buy himself some time.
Shrugging, the DA drained his glass. “Yes, well, there’ve been a few, ah, rumors circulating,” he said uncomfortably. “From some young ladies who used to work as paralegals in my office. There’s no truth to them, of course—”
“Of course,” Barba murmured politely, knowing damn well that there was almost certainly total truth to them.
“—But the mayor and I agreed that now was as good a time as any for me to step aside.”
The mayor leaned forward. “So,” he said. “What do you think, Rafael? Ready to run for DA?”
Barba didn’t hesitate. “Yes, of course,” he said, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He’d been preparing for this for years, picking the right cases, maintaining the right relationships — it was everything he’d been aiming for after starting in the Manhattan DA’s office.
“Excellent, excellent,” the mayor said, reaching out and shaking his hand. “Well, we’ll get to work on when and how best to make the announcement. In the meantime, one of the top political consultants for the Democratic party is here — you should make sure to talk to her. She’ll walk you through what your next steps need to be.”
He gestured almost lazily towards a blonde woman deep in conversation with Carmen across the room, and Barba recognized it for the dismissal that it was. “Thank you, sir,” he said, standing. “I look forward to working with you.”
As the mayor and DA returned to their conversation, Barba made his way across the room. The blonde looked up and smiled at him. “Mr. Barba?” she asked, extending her hand. “Lindsay Anderson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise, I’m sure,” Barba said as he shook her hand, though something felt off about the woman, like her smile was a little too wide, the look she gave him a little too knowing. “Carmen, if you don’t mind—”
“I’m in need of a refill anyway,” Carmen said, flashing him a genuine smile and knowing, as always, what Barba was going to say before he had a chance to say it.
Barba took her vacated seat. “So, Miss Anderson,” he started, but she shook her head and cut him off.
“Please, call me Lindsay.”
“Right,” Barba said. “The mayor suggested that you would be the person to discuss the next steps of me potentially running for New York County District Attorney.”
It was the first time he had said the words out loud, and Barba felt a little thrill. Lindsay nodded. “Well, first and foremost, we’ll need to make an official announcement of your candidacy. But before we can do that, we’ll need to thoroughly vet you. Half of politics is knowing the worst ammunition that your opponent can lob at you before they do, so I need to know all of your secrets, since anything you’re hiding will come out during the campaign.”
Barba snorted. “I have absolutely nothing to hide,” he said.
Lindsay just raised an eyebrow as she pulled a small notebook out of her handbag and jotted something down. “Your friendship with Alex Muñoz is a potential minefield.”
Barba winced and took a quick sip of his scotch. “My office wasn’t involved in the investigation,” he said, a little weakly.
Lindsay frowned. “Well, we’ll circle back to that,” she said, writing something else down. “What about former relationships? Any affairs? Rumors?”
“I’m not in the closet, if that’s what you mean,” Barba said. “Though I prefer to keep my personal life private.”
“Is that why you’re not married?” Barba froze, and before he could answer, Lindsay gave him a reassuring smile. “These are the kinds of questions you’re likely to face, and worse. If there’s anything, no matter how small, from your past that you need to take care of, you have about three weeks before we need to move forward with the announcement and file the paperwork for your campaign.”
Barba nodded stiffly and drained his scotch. “I’ll take care of it,” he said hoarsely.
“Good,” she said, tone turning brisk, and held her hand out for him to shake once more. “I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about. Your reputation precedes you, and unless you’re hiding some truly nefarious dealings with the NYPD, I have a good feeling about you fitting in with the rhetoric of the mayor’s reelection campaign.”
“Well,” Barba muttered. “That at least makes one of us.”
Barba’s phone buzzed and he looked at the screen and groaned, already predicting how the conversation was going to go. “Hello, Rita,” he said.
“How dare you,” Rita said as greeting. “Did you know that I had to hear about your little run for DA from Buchanan? Do you have any idea how that made me feel?”
Barba snorted a laugh. “Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t particularly sound it. “I’m really not supposed to tell anyone, not until the paperwork’s filed and it’s official, but I needed Buchanan’s help with something, and unless you decided to change what type of law you practice…”
He trailed off and Rita sighed heavily. “Fine,” she said, “but you owe me.”
“And I'm certain you won't let me forget it,” Barba said, rolling his eyes.
“You bet your sweet ass I won't,” Rita said sweetly. “You still owe me for the beer I bought you at Fenway in 1992.”
“I have no idea how your pocketbook has possibly survived all these years without those two dollars,” Barba said dryly.
Rita laughed. “Anyway, what are you doing right now? You should pop out to the Hamptons for the weekend. We’d love to be able to show New York County’s next District Attorney off.”
Barba rolled his eyes again. “Tempting though that idea is, I unfortunately have other plans.”
“What plans could you possibly have that are more important than the Hamptons?” Rita demanded.
The horn of the Staten Island ferry blared uncomfortably close to Barba, and he winced. “Staten Island,” he said, a little grimly.
“Oh. My. God.”
Rita pronounced each full stop and Barba sighed heavily. “Yup,” he said, leaning against the rail of the ferry. “Exactly.”
The Lyft dropped Barba off at the end of the driveway leading up to the hauntingly familiar red brick ranch. The rickety porch swing was still standing, he noted, though given the state of the porch the last time he’d been on it, he wouldn’t trust it to hold his weight.
Especially since it had been twelve long years since he had last been on the porch.
Twelve years since he had last walked down the driveway, never to walk back up it. At least, not until now.
Barba was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the front door of the house opening, a tall man whose hair was more silver than blond at this point coming outside, his hands on his hips as he frowned down the driveway at Barba. “Can I help you with something?” he asked pointedly.
The sound of that voice sent a jolt down Barba’s spine and he straightened, taking only the briefest of moments to drink in the sight of the man dressed in slim-fit slacks and a matching vest, tie done in a perfect full windsor knot, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows.
He looked good. The last twelve years had been a lot kinder to him than they had been to Barba.
And Barba hated him more than a little for that.
So perhaps it was no surprise that it was with more venom than he actually felt that he squared his shoulders, took his aviator sunglasses off, and snapped, “Well, for starters, you can get your stubborn ass down here and give me a divorce.”
Carisi’s eyes widened, almost comically so, and his jaw actually dropped open as he realized who was standing in his driveway after twelve long years. Barba allowed him a solid thirty second to process before he huffed an exasperated sigh and said, “Come on, Sonny, I mean it. The joke’s over. Let’s just finish this. I’ve got a ferry to catch.”
Carisi took a step towards him, his expression oddly closed as he stared unblinkingly at Barba, as if he was afraid that if he blinked, Barba might disappear. “Are you shitting me?”
“Eloquent as always,” Barba said dryly. “But no, I’m not ‘shitting’ you.” He pulled a file from his briefcase and started forward with renewed purpose, reminded of why he was here besides a trip down memory lane. He skirted around the unmarked car in the driveway and held the file up. “Look, I even put these idiot-proof tabs on it to make it easy. There’s one copy for me, one copy for you, and one copy for the lawyers.” Carisi was still gaping at him and Barba glared at him. “What?” he snapped. “Speak!”
Something tightened in Carisi’s expression. “You think you can just show up here after 12 years without so much as a, ‘Hey there, Sonny, remember me, your husband?’ Or a ‘Hi, honey. Lookin’ good. How’s the family?’” He barked a short, sharp and utterly humorless laugh. “But you probably forgot your manners after all that time on the Upper East Side, or wherever it is you’ve been.”
Barba rolled his eyes, though he knew he had no right to feel as irritated as he did, knew that Carisi had a point — though he’d never admit that to him. “You knew exactly where I was,” he said instead, deflecting from the main issue. “And don’t even pretend you spent all this time missing me.”
“Oh, I missed you all right,” Carisi grumbled, glaring at him. “But at this range, my aim’s bound to improve.”
“Is that a threat?” Barba asked sharply, and the look Carisi gave him was so scathing that he almost flinched at the force of it. “Look, I had to get Buchanan to draw up these documents — Buchanan, and no, before you ask, he hasn’t gotten any better despite going into family law after his stint with the Richmond County Public Defender’s office. On top of that, he billed me every time you sent these papers back over the last two weeks!”
Carisi rolled his eyes and straightened. “Well, I’m glad to see you finally got the message,” he said, turning to head back into the house, and Barba followed, scowling.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Leaving,” Carisi said over his shoulder. “You did it, you should recognize the gesture.”
Barba sighed and ran a tired hand across his face. “Could we just try to keep this as civil as possible?” he asked quietly. “Please, just sign the papers so that I can go home.”
Carisi turned to arch an eyebrow at Barba. “Once upon a time, this was your home,” he said. “I mean, does your ma even know that you’ve deigned to set foot on Staten Island again?”
“Leave my mother out of this,” Barba snapped.
“Your mother is the only family you’ve got left,” Carisi said heatedly. “Or have you forgotten—”
“Don’t,” Barba said icily, and Carisi’s eyes met his. After a long moment, Barba sighed and looked away. “I know that the only reason you won’t sign these papers is because I want you to, but Sonny—”
“Wrong,” Carisi interrupted. “The only reason I won’t sign those papers is because you’ve turned into everything that you swore you never would, and I’d like nothing better right now than to piss you off.”
He yanked the door to the house open and Barba followed him inside, scowling, mostly at how Carisi still somehow knew how to insult him in the most accurate and wounding way possible after all this time. “What are you doing with an unmarked car anyway?” he asked, trailing after Carisi as the other man made a beeline for the kitchen. “Where’s your squad car?”
“That’s my business,” Carisi said, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and giving Barba a look. “Do I need to remind you that knowingly trespassing on private property is a crime in the state of New York, Counselor?”
“What are you gonna do, arrest me?” Barba shot back.
Carisi rolled his eyes. “As tempting as the thought of arresting my own husband is…”
Barba sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I’m not your husband, Sonny,” he said tiredly. “We were young, and dumb, and impulsive, and that’s not what a marriage is built on. I was a different person back then.”
Carisi gave him him a piercing look. “That’s the first right thing you’ve said all day,” he said. “But then again, as you were always so fond of telling me, even a broken clock is right twice a day.”
Without another word, he swept out of the kitchen, disappearing into the bedroom and slamming the door behind him. Barba groaned and slumped into the living room, sitting down on the well-worn couch. This was not how he had intended on this little sojourn out to Staten Island to go.
Of course, he mused, looking around the cluttered but clean living room that didn’t look as if it had changed at all over the past twelve years, maybe he should’ve expected this. After all, he had been the one that walked away, had chosen career advancement over what he had here with Carisi.
But then again, Barba had never made any secret of his ambitions, and Carisi had known that.
Besides, it wasn’t like Carisi had fought for him. For this. For them.
Barba may have made the choice to go, but Carisi made the choice to stay. And that wasn’t Barba’s fault.
Carisi reemerged from the bedroom, looking slightly less pissed than before. “I see you still have impeccable taste in clothes,” he said mildly, and Barba blinked up at him, confused by the sudden change in topic.
“Uh, yes?”
He pitched it more as a question than a response and Carisi smiled, saccharine sweet. “Do you have anything in orange?” he asked innocently. "A jumpsuit, perhaps?"
Barba blanched at sound of approaching sirens and he jumped up, glaring at Carisi. “You called the local precinct on me?” he hissed. “You know the precinct captain hates me ever since I had him indicted for planting evidence!
Carisi chuckled. “Yeah, he didn’t like that too much, did he?”
Barba opened his mouth to respond but didn’t get a chance to before the front door banged open and someone shouted, “Hands where I can see them!”
Though Barba instantly put his hands in the air, his expression turned from panicked to confused and he slowly turned around, his hands falling to his sides when he saw who was grinning at him from Carisi’s doorway. “Olivia Benson?”
“Rafael Barba,” Olivia said, her grin widening. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever see you again.”
Barba laughed, relieved, and he crossed to Olivia to give her a hug. “Is that a lieutenant’s shield I see?” he asked. “Congrats, Liv.”
Olivia waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, apparently they’re handing them out like candy these days,” she said and Barba rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
Carisi cleared his throat. “Lieu, can you try to be a little more professional?” he asked dryly. “We have someone actively carrying out a crime directly in front of us.”
Olivia managed to school her expression into something more stern. “Carisi has a point,” she said. “Barba, you can’t just break into people’s houses.”
“In my defense, I didn’t break in,” Barba said. “I followed Carisi in through the unlocked door.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that this isn’t your house,” Olivia told him, though he could swear the corners of her lips twitched towards a smile. “I’m going to have to escort you off the property.”
Barba shot Carisi a look, already knowing that he was going to be smirking at thought. “Use the cuffs, Lieu, please,” Carisi said.
Rolling his eyes, Barba turned back to Olivia. “I will gladly let you escort me off the property, and, hell, off of Staten Island if you’ll get Carisi to just sign these damn papers.”
He gestured emphatically towards the divorce papers that he had set on the kitchen counter, and Carisi’s expression shifted into a scowl. “That’s none of your concern—” he started, but it was too late. Olivia had already picked the papers up and was reading through them, eyebrows raised in surprised.
“Divorce papers?” she asked. “If you two are still married, that’s a whole different issue. This is Barba’s house, too, then. And unless one or both of you took a swing at the other, this is just a domestic dispute.”
Barba’s eyes met Carisi’s, and something in Barba’s chest clenched. Carisi looked stricken at the very thought of hitting him. “Sonny’s never hit me, Liv,” Barba said quietly.
Carisi tore his gaze away, his face settling into a scowl again. “There’s really nothing you can do?” he demanded of Olivia.
“Not unless you want to be the one to explain to Novak and 1PP why I arrested a Manhattan ADA without cause,” Olivia said mildly. “Legally speaking, Barba’s done nothing wrong.”
For a moment, Carisi looked furious and Barba allowed himself a moment of triumph. But then Carisi grinned, and Barba paled. Even after all this time, he recognized that look. “Hang on a second,” Carisi said slowly. Triumphantly. “Isn’t there some outstanding bench warrant for a certain former Richmond County ADA who got himself held in contempt of court back in 2004?”
Olivia turned slowly to Barba, her eyebrow arched, and Barba sighed heavily. “Fuck.”
After sitting for three hours in a holding cell in the local precinct, Olivia brought Barba a cup of coffee. “Sorry about all of this,” she said. “Although you really should have just paid the fine thirteen years ago.”
“It was the principle of the thing at the time,” Barba muttered, accepting the cup of coffee from her. “So, what, I just pay it now and I’m free to go?”
“Not quite,” Olivia said. “Judge Mercer’s actually retired now, and the DA’s office is reviewing the bench warrant. There’s a very good chance that once you get in front of a judge on Monday, all of this will get worked out.” She paused. “But unfortunately, until you do, you’re not allowed the leave Richmond County.”
“Liv, it’s Saturday.” Olivia just shrugged and Barba groaned, leaning back on the hard metal bench. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Olivia made what she clearly intended as a sympathetic sound, though it sounded far too much like a laugh for Barba’s comfort, and he glared at her. “You’re not helping.”
“Well, think of it this way,” she said bracingly, “this gives you time to get things squared away with Carisi.”
“God, don’t remind me,” Barba sighed. “Could he be any more stubborn?”
Olivia cleared her throat. “I’m not getting involved for a variety of reasons, but I’d say this is a pot calling the kettle black moment.” Barba glared at her, and she held her hands up defensively. “Like I said, not getting involved. In any case, until your hearing on Monday, you’re free to go anywhere on Staten Island you want. So, your choice — Carisi’s, or your mother’s?”
Barba groaned again. “She is never going to let me hear the end of this.”
“Did they run out of food in Manhattan? You’re skin and bones, I swear.”
Barba sighed heavily as his mother looked at him critically. “Good to see you, too, Mami.”
“Are you tired?” she asked. “You look tired. Or maybe it’s just the way you’re wearing your hair these days.”
Barba ground his teeth together as he followed his mother into his childhood home. “No more tired than I imagine you are,” he said pointedly. “How are things at the school going? Ready for retirement yet?”
Lucia waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, you know, I’ll retire when I’m dead.” She gave him a look. “Of course, I’d be more inclined toward retirement if I had a son who lived close to me, who wanted to give me grandchildren…”
“You know, I believe this may be a new record for how quickly you started nagging,” Barba sniped, plopping down on the couch and propping his feet up on the coffee table.
Lucia pursed her lips and pushed his feet off the coffee table in a way that made Barba feel like he was all of sixteen years old again. “Am I not supposed to read into your priorities, then? Sonny, jail, and then home?”
Barba could feel a migraine building in his temples and he sighed heavily. “It was just some unfinished business. Besides, last time I checked, your dream for me was to get off of Staten Island and make something of myself. Well, congratulations, I have. I have a career. People actually want to be me.”
“All I ever wanted was for you to be happy,” Lucia said quietly. “And you were never happy here.”
“For a little while, I was,” Barba said, equally quiet.
Lucia gave him a measured look. “And you and I both know that was never going to last.”
Barba sighed and was about to respond when his phone rang, and he groaned when he saw the name on the lock screen. “I have to take this,” he told his mother, standing and making his way to the front door, so that he could take the call without his mother eavesdropping. “John, please tell me you have good news on the contested divorce front.”
“That depends on what you consider good news,” Buchanan said. “And how much time you have on your hands. A contested divorce can take months.”
“I don’t have months,” Barba snapped. “And Lord knows with what you’re charging me, neither does my bank account.”
Buchanan chuckled. “Hey, I’m already giving you the ‘friends and family’ rate,” he said. “Would you rather that I took my fees from your joint checking account instead?”
“My what?” Barba asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“Your joint checking account,” Buchanan repeated. “You listed it as one of your joint assets that you were signing over to your husband, along with the deed for the house.”
Something clicked in the recesses of Barba’s memory, and he slowly started to smile. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “That joint checking account. You know what, John? We may not need to worry about the contested divorce. I may have just figured out a way to get Sonny to sign those papers…”
Carisi had his sidearm drawn when he threw the door to the house open, and Barba supposed he really couldn’t blame him, since Barba had purposefully waited for Carisi to step out before letting himself in and doing some... rearranging. “What the hell?” Carisi huffed, lowering his gun when he saw Barba stirring a pot full of red sauce on the stove.
“Hi, honey,” Barba said brightly. “Looking good. How’s the family?”
Carisi glanced around the apartment, at the new throw pillows on the slipcovered couch, the tactful art pieces now hung on the walls, and the gleaming new appliances in the kitchen. “Cut the shit,” he snapped, stalking forward. “Where’s my stuff?”
Barba tsked loudly. “Now what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t pick up after you?” he asked.
“The kind that doesn’t actually live here,” Carisi ground out, yanking the refrigerator door open and letting out a wounded sound. “What the hell is this?”
“Light beer,” Barba told him innocently. “Less calories.”
For a moment, it looked like Carisi was going to snap at him, but then he forced his expression into something neutral. “Well, I’ve been trying to cut back anyway, so I suppose I have to thank you,” he said, grabbing a beer and popping the top off. “Besides, you can go right ahead and spend your money if you think that’ll somehow make up for the last twelve years.”
Barba smirked triumphantly. “But babe,” he said, still overly-innocent, “I thought you said that we should think of it as our money.” Carisi froze, the color draining from his face, and Barba’s smirk widened. “Just a guess, but I’m imagining the words ‘joint checking account’ are flashing through your head right now.”
“How much did you take?” Carisi asked.
“All of it.”
Carisi swore, so loudly and violently that Barba flinched, though he looked at him defiantly. “You wanted a husband, you got a husband. What are you doing with all that money, anyway? Why don’t you invest it? Don’t you know anything?”
“I know that if you don’t get out of this house in the next thirty seconds—” Carisi started through clenched teeth, but Barba quickly cut him off.
“Sign the papers and I’ll give it all back.”
For one long moment, Carisi just looked at him, barely contained fury simmering in every line on his face. Then he sighed, and Barba could actually see the fight go out of him. “Fine,” he said, tiredly. “Give me a pen.”
Barba started to hand over his pen, then paused, holding it just out of Carisi’s reach. “Hang on — what are you doing with all that cash saved up? And where’s your police uniform? Don’t tell me that you quit the force. Or have you decided to embrace your mafia roots?”
“Maybe I have,” Carisi spat, snatching the pen from him. “So what? I don’t ask about your political motivations for divorcing me, and you keep your nose out of my life. Deal?”
His tone more than anything stung Barba. “Who said anything about political motivations?”
Carisi gave him a look. “Honey, just cuz I talk funny doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
He took the divorce papers over to the kitchen counter and bent over them to sign, and Barba took a step towards him. “Look, Sonny—” he started awkwardly, but the words seemed to catch in his throat when Carisi looked up at him and smiled slightly.
He had really missed that smile.
“Besides, nobody finds their soulmate when they’re 24 years old,” Carisi said bracingly. “I mean, where’s the fun in that, right?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Barba said, though he felt strangely hollow at the words. “But—”
Before he could actually say anything, Carisi glanced at his watch and straightened, his smile turning mocking. “Oh, shit, I just remembered, I’ve got a date tonight. So you don’t mind I have my lawyer take a look at these papers, right?”
“Are you serious?” Barba demanded.
Carisi shrugged. “I’m just a simple Staten Island boy,” he said. “There’s words in there I can’t even pronounce. You might be taking me to the cleaners for all I know.”
Barba’s lip curled. “The cleaners? Really?” Carisi just shrugged and Barba glared at him. “Just sign the damn papers!”
“No can do,” Carisi said cheerfully, setting his half-drunk beer on the counter and grabbing his keys. “But thanks for stopping by.”
And he disappeared without another word, leaving a fuming Barba in his wake.
It wasn’t hard to track Carisi down, since the cop hangout hadn’t changed in the past twelve years, and Barba felt a stab of familiarity as he walked into the dimly lit bar, automatically finding Carisi at a back table with a brunette. The sight was painful, and Barba realized he hadn’t actually expected Carisi to have a date.
Still, the sight also grounded him, and he took a deep breath before weaving through the bar to Carisi’s table. “Mind if I join you?” he asked as genially as he could manage.
Carisi glared at him, but he didn’t look particularly surprised to see him standing there. “Actually we do,” he said, but Barba ignored him, extending his hand to Carisi’s date.
“You must be Sonny’s hot date.”
“Aria,” the brunette supplied, shaking Barba’s hand. “And you are…?”
“Rafael Barba,” he said with a smile that didn’t even remotely reach his eyes. “Sonny’s snobby Manhattanite husband whom he refuses to divorce, even though I left him twelve years ago.”
Aria raised both eyebrows at that and Carisi rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet. “Why don’t you go get us a couple of drinks?” he suggested, handing her a twenty dollar bill.
“Sure,” Aria said, standing up. She glanced at Barba. “What are you drinking?”
“Scotch, neat,” he said, immediately taking her vacated seat.
Carisi glared at him before calling after her, “I meant you and I, us, not him and I—”
She was already out of hearing range and Barba returned his glare with one of his own. “Do you want me to humiliate you?” he asked. “Here, in a bar surrounded by all your friends and brothers in blue?”
“We were your friends, too,” a voice to his left said, and Barba swiveled to find Rollins and Fin standing at the pool table. Amanda arched an eyebrow at him in greeting before adding, “Or at the very least, we were colleagues.”
Fin snorted. “Let’s just play pool, Amanda,” he said dismissively. “And if you can’t find a cue, just take the one shoved up Barba’s ass.”
Carisi snorted with laughter and Barba glared at him. “Ah, c’mon, you can’t fault the sarge for making a valid observation,” Carisi said, standing and grabbing a pool cue from the rack on the wall. “But I suppose you lost your sense of humor along with your manners.”
“Maybe,” Barba said, standing as well and rolling his sleeves up. “But one thing I didn’t lose is my competitive spirit. So what do you say, Officer?”
Carisi didn’t hesitate. “Rack ‘em.”
Barba propped himself up on one elbow against the edge of the pool table and smirked at Rollins. “Alright, 'Manda,” he slurred, having lost count somewhere around his sixth glass of scotch, “don’t fuck this up. Don’t do it.”
Rollins giggled, as sure a sign as any that she was likewise drunk, and Carisi snorted from where he was standing next to Aria, who had stuck around, much to Barba’s surprise and irritation (hence the copious quantities of scotch). “Turns out, you can take the boy outta Staten Island, but you can’t take the Staten Island outta the boy.”
Barba threw him a dirty look as Amanda shot the cue ball directly into the corner pocket. Fin cleared his throat as he stepped forward to retrieve it. “So, Carisi, are you gonna divorce this guy or what?”
Carisi shrugged, not looking over at him. “Well, he’s already waited twelve years. A couple more days won’t kill him...unfortunately.”
Barba leaned against his pool cue, swaying slightly as he glowered at Carisi. “Like it’s going to make a difference,” he scoffed.
“It might,” Amanda said, draining her beer and plopping down on a bar stool. “You might be interested to learn that Sonny—”
“Hey, hey, let him think what he wants,” Carisi interrupted, stepping up to the table to take his shot. “He made up his mind about me a long time ago.”
Barba tried to shrug but almost knocked himself off-balance with the movement. “Some things never change.” His eyes narrowed as he looked critically at Aria. “Then again, some things do. Like your type, clearly.”
Aria’s eyes widened slightly and Carisi straightened. “I think you’ve just about had enough for the night,” he said warningly, and Barba smirked.
“You know what?” he said, his tone turning bitter. “I have had enough. I mean, it’s been twelve years and nothing has changed for you people, has it? Oh, I’m sorry, some things have changed.” He cut his gaze from Rollins to Fin to Aria in turn. “Knocked up. Divorced. Side piece.”
“Alright, that’s it,” Carisi said grimly, grabbing Barba’s arm and all but dragging him out of the bar.
“Let go of me!” Barba snapped, but Carisi didn’t until they were outside, and Barba whirled on him. “You didn’t even let me get to my good insults.”
“I didn’t have to,” Carisi snapped. “You think I don’t already know what you were gonna say? I’ve heard all your insults before, Counselor. It’s time you got some new material.”
Barba rolled his eyes. “Wow, if I had known you felt so strongly about your newest beard—” he started.
“You don’t get to talk that way about her,” Carisi interrupted, a muscle working in his jaw. “You don’t get to talk that way about any of us! Where do you get off thinking you can treat people like something you stepped in in your fancy shoes?”
Barba snorted and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You asked for it,” he said dismissively.
Carisi shook his head, incredulous. “I asked for it?” he repeated. “Really, Raf? You show up here out of nowhere, you steal my money, you rearrange my house, you insult my friends, and then you try and blame me for it? You realize you sound like every rapist you’ve put behind bars, right?”
Barba flinched. “Don’t—” he started, his voice low, but Carisi was on a roll.
“But that doesn’t matter to you anymore, does it? Getting justice for people who need it — you left that all behind in favor of money and labels and shoes.” Derision was clear in Carisi’s voice, as was frustration, and Barba just shook his head. “You’ve turned into a pathetic old man.”
Barba rolled his eyes, mostly to hide how affected he was by Carisi’s words. “Because you’re going places,” he said sarcastically. “Well, I actually am. Or at least, I will be once I find my mother’s car keys.”
He patted his pockets but before he could so much as pull the keys out, Carisi crossed to him and fished them out of his pocket. “What are you doing?” Barba snapped. “Give me those!”
“You want to kill yourself, do it somewhere else,” Carisi said coldly.
“Why, Sonny, I had no idea you cared so much,” Barba said mockingly. “You don’t wanna divorce me, you don’t want me to die — a boy might get the wrong impression.”
Something flickered in Carisi’s expression, just for a moment, and Barba took an automatic step towards him. “You’re the only one who’d think it was the wrong impression, Raf,” Carisi sighed, so quietly that Barba almost didn’t hear him.
“Sonny—” Barba started, equally soft.
And then promptly ruined the moment by puking all over both their shoes.
“Well, can’t get the wrong impression from that,” Carisi said grimly, whatever look had been on his face disappearing in an instant. “Now come on. I’m taking you home.”
Barba found that he didn’t have any fight left in him, and he let Carisi pull him toward his car without any further protest.
He had passed out before they even got out of the bar parking lot.
When Barba woke up the next day, it was in his childhood bedroom to a raging hangover and the imprint of the scrawled ‘Dominick Carisi Jr.’ on his cheek from where he had apparently passed out on the now-signed divorce papers on his pillow.
He honestly didn’t know which hurt more.
Wincing, he rolled over to glare at his clock and let out a relieved sigh when he realized that his mother was most likely at Mass. He didn’t think he could face his mother right now.
He sat up and groaned as the room swam in front of his eyes. He glanced back at the divorce papers, his chest tight, and shook his head to try to clear it. “Coffee,” he said determinedly to himself. “Then Fed-Ex to overnight the papers, and then…”
He trailed off. “And then it’ll be the end of this.”
Barba’s intention had been to swing by Carisi’s while the man was at Mass, just to drop off his spare key, the only remaining symbolic tie he had to Staten Island, to Carisi himself. But to his surprise, Carisi’s car was in the driveway, and it was with no small amount of trepidation that he knocked on the front door.
Carisi raised an eyebrow at the sight of him, and Barba winced, realizing how rough he must look. “I thought you’d be on the first ferry back to Manhattan this morning,” he said in lieu of greeting.
“Still have some unfinished business,” Barba said. He shifted awkwardly before blurting, “I put all the money back in your bank account.”
Though Carisi managed a smile at that, it was guarded. “Thanks,” he said. “Saves me from bouncing a lot of checks.” He shrugged. “I do like like what you did with the house, though. It might help it sell quicker.”
Barba blinked. “Are you moving?”
Carisi shrugged again. “Maybe. There’s an opening in Brooklyn.”
For a moment, Barba considered asking why Carisi was considering a lateral move to a precinct in a different borough, but he figured he had probably lost the right to ask about that. Instead, he asked, “Why aren’t you at Mass?”
“I went to the early service,” Carisi said, before sighing. “Look, Raf — I signed the damn papers, ok? So—”
“I know,” Barba interrupted. “I just…” He hesitated. “I never meant to hurt you, Sonny. Or anybody else for that matter. And I just wanted to stop by to thank you.”
Carisi’s expression tightened slightly and he took a deep breath before asking, “You really want to thank me?”
“Yes,” Barba said, albeit cautiously, unsure of where this was going.
Carisi half-smiled. “Come with me to one last Carisi family Sunday luncheon.”
“Oh, great, so I can announce our gay divorce to your Catholic family?” Barba asked, his tone brittle.
Carisi’s smile widened. “Better you than me.”
Carisi’s mother Tessa let out an ear-splitting shriek as soon as she caught sight of Barba trailing after Carisi. “Batten down the hatches, Dom!” she called, surging forward to pull Barba into a bone-crushing hug. “Trouble just walked back into our house, disguised as our favorite son-in-law!”
“Hey!” Tommy Sullivan protested from where he was seated at the kitchen table with his and Bella’s daughter Fiona.
But Tessa just ignored him, finally releasing Barba and patting his cheek with one hand. Barba managed a small smile and figured now was as good a time as any to get it over with. “Soon to be ex-son-in-law,” he said, eyes tracking Carisi as he went to pour himself a glass of wine.
Tessa didn’t look surprised by the news. “Finally decided to run for office, hm?” she asked rhetorically, and Barba blinked, taken aback by her intuition. “Well, you’ve got my vote. And in the meantime, since you’re still my son-in-law, you can help Bella — she’s out back picking some basil.”
She shoved Barba toward the back door, and he didn’t protest, letting himself into the backyard. Barba sat up straight, then relaxed when she saw who it was. “Oh thank God,” she said, leaning back in the lawn chair, her youngest child on her lap. “I thought you were Ma.”
“Good to see you too, Bella,” Barba said easily. He’d always been fond of Carisi’s youngest sister. “Aren’t you supposed to be picking some basil?”
Bella snorted. “Please. You know my mother. She picked three times the amount of basil she needs. She just didn’t want me underfoot. And I imagine she wanted to get rid of you so that she could grill Sonny about your divorce in peace.”
Barba winced. “You know about that?” he asked, sitting down in the lawn chair next to her.
“Sonny texted me,” Bella said, her tone mild. She gave Barba a look. “You’re an idiot. You know that, right?”
Sighing, Barba tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “I’m sure that even if I didn’t, you’d be more than willing to fill me in on all the ways that I am,” he said. Bella was quiet for a long moment, and Barba got the feeling she was debating over saying something, and he sighed again. “Look, as Sonny’s sister, you have every right to yell at me, or—”
“He went to Manhattan for you, you know.”
Barba cracked one eye open. “Who?” he asked, before realizing. “Sonny? When?”
Bella shrugged. “About six months after you left. He doesn’t know that I know, but I’m his sister. I know everything.”
“Why was he in Manhattan?” Barba asked, opening both eyes to frown at her.
“He wanted to see you,” she said simply. “So he went and sat in on one of your trials. Watched you kick ass in the courtroom. He told our parents that he’d never seen you like that — never seen you so in your element. Not in the entire time you were at the Richmond County ADA’s office.” She shrugged again. “He realized that he needed more than an apology to win you back. He needed to conquer the world first.” She paused. “He’s been trying ever since.”
Something tightened in Barba’s stomach and he shook his head slowly. “That’s why he kept sending the divorce papers back,” he realized.
Bella nodded and smiled a little sadly at him. “Well, it’s funny how things don’t work out sometimes.”
“Bella—”
Before Barba could say anything, Carisi’s eldest sister Teresa poked her head out and called, “Hey lazy bones! Food’s ready.”
Bella all but leapt to her feet, her baby gurgling happily as she hefted him onto her hip. “Be right there!” she called back before giving Barba a slightly panicked look. “Don’t tell Sonny I said anything,” she pleaded. “He’d never forgive me.”
Barba just shook his head slowly. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, slowly getting to his feet to follow her inside.
Mainly because he wasn’t even sure what he would say.
The thought consumed him almost all the way through lunch, which was an unusually quiet affair, especially for the Carisi family. The quiet wasn’t helped by Carisi getting a call halfway through the meal and having to leave to apparently deal with whatever the phone call was about.
Once upon a time, Barba would’ve demanded to know what was up, but right now, he couldn’t seem to muster any curiosity over the hollow feeling that had spread slowly throughout his chest.
After lunch, Dom cleared his throat. “Want me to give you a ride home, son?” he asked in his usual gruff way.
Barba shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but there’s something I need to take care of,” he said, shifting awkwardly. “Thank you, though. Both of you. For everything.”
Tessa dried her hands on her a dish towel and smiled at him. “It was nothing,” she assured him. “You’re family, after all.” Barba forced a smile and turned to go, but she caught his arm. “And that isn’t gonna change, ok? Once a part of the Carisi family, always a part of the Carisi family.”
Barba felt emotion choke his throat and he managed a short nod before letting himself out, not trusting himself to say anything more.
The air was colder outside than he remembered it being, or maybe it was just that Barba felt like he was leaving all the warmth behind, but thankfully, he didn’t have a long way to walk. It occurred to him halfway there that he didn’t exactly know where he was going, but somehow, his feet seemed to know where they were going of their own accord, and he drew to a stop in front of the gray slab of stone bearing the name Catalina Diaz.
Barba crouched down in front of the stone, resting a hand against it. “Hola, abuelita,” he said softly. “Sorry it took me so long to visit. When Mami called to tell me you were sick, I thought I’d have time, but then I got caught up in a trial, and…”
He trailed off and huffed a laugh. “And if you were here right now, you’d say, ‘Ay, tremendo paquete, nieto.’ You always were good at seeing through me.” He paused, feeling choked up again. “I think that’s why I didn’t come back. I didn’t want to hear you tell me that I had made a mistake leaving the way I did. I wasn’t ready to hear it then.”
“I told her it was my fault.”
Barba looked up, both surprised and not to see Carisi standing there, hands in his pockets. Barba shook his head and quickly wiped his cheeks with the heels of his palms. “Quit being so nice,” he managed teasingly, slowly standing up.
Carisi shrugged. “It was the truth, wasn’t it?”
Shaking his head, Barba mirrored his stance, shoving his own hands in his pockets. “How come it has to be so complicated?” he mused, and Carisi frowned slightly.
“What?”
Barba shrugged. “Truth, I guess.” He sighed. “Life. Us.”
Carisi shook his head as well and sighed, scuffing his shoe against the grass of the cemetery. “You looked like you were a million miles away at lunch today,” he said.
“I was just thinking,” Barba said quietly.
“Thought I smelled something burning.”
Barba almost managed a smile at that. “I’m happy in Manhattan, Sonny. It’s everything I’ve always wanted. But then I come here, and I see you, and — it fits, too.”
“No one ever said it had to one or the other,” Carisi said quietly.
Barba just shook his head again, looking back at his grandmother’s gravestone. “I always felt like it had to be,” he said softly. “Like I needed a clean break in order to become the person I thought I was meant to be. And in the meantime—” His voice broke. “In the meantime, I couldn’t even make it back here for my own grandmother’s funeral.”
“She would’ve understood,” Carisi told him, and Barba closed his eyes at the fact that Carisi would even bother trying to comfort him, here after everything. “She was so proud of you, Raf. Every time I visited her, she would tell me all about your cases. ‘El juez’, she called you.”
“Sonny—” Barba started, and he realized he was crying again, but this time, he made no move to wipe the tears off of his cheeks.
Carisi didn’t hesitate, reaching out to pull Barba to him, wrapping him in a hug, and Barba closed his eyes at how perfect it felt being back in Carisi’s arms. “I’m proud of you, too, Rafi,” Carisi whispered. “You’ve done amazing things, and I know you’re gonna do so much more.”
Barba pulled back, just slightly, just enough so that he could look up at him. “Sonny,” he breathed, unable to stop himself from reaching up and capturing Carisi’s lips with his own.
It felt more right than anything had felt in years, and all too soon, it was over, Carisi pulling away, his expression pained. “I can’t do this,” he managed, and he released Barba and took a step backwards. “I can’t—”
He broke off and Barba nodded. “I know,” he whispered.
Carisi’s expression twisted and he reached out to steady Barba, leaning in to kiss him once more, this time on the forehead, his touch feather-light. “Go home, Rafi.”
Then he was gone.
And Barba was alone.
Barba was infinitely grateful to Olivia for a great many things, but he was especially grateful that she had managed to get his contempt charge hearing scheduled for first thing on Monday morning. It would give him enough time so that he only had to take a half day off of work, which was good. Barba was ready to get back to his real life.
He was in the courtroom before the ADA arrived, which wasn’t unusual, given the volume of cases he remembered handling in his days as a Richmond County ADA. As soon as the ADA arrived, he made his way over, holding his hand out for her to shake. “ADA Novak?” he asked. “Very nice to meet you. I’m—”
“ADA Barba,” she said, with a small smile. “I know who you are. It’s nice to meet you, and hopefully we can get this all squared away quickly. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve asked someone to join me. He’s a detective with the NYPD, but he’s in law school right now, and—”
Whatever else she said was lost on Barba, who had caught sight of the familiar figure making his way into the courtroom, the figure who froze at the sight of Barba. “Sonny?” Barba managed.
Something tightened in Carisi’s expression. “Counselor,” he acknowledged, and Barba’s heart stuttered painfully at the use of his title instead of his name.
Novak arched an eyebrow as she looked between the two of them. “Oh, do you two know each other?” she asked.
“By reputation alone,” Carisi said smoothly, before Barba could say anything, and if Novak thought it was weird, she didn’t say anything.
“Well, Carisi here has quite the reputation as well,” she said, smiling at him. “Top of his class at Fordham, and a decorated detective to boot. He’s got quite the promising career ahead of him, whether in NYPD or as an ADA.” She smirked at Barba. “Maybe one day he’ll even work for you, if your run for DA works out.”
Barba managed a hollow laugh, the words not quite registering, too busy trying to reconcile what she had said about Sonny with everything else that had happened that weekend.
All of the pieces were slowly starting to fall into place, and Barba shook his head as the hearing came to order.
Not even fifteen minutes later, the bench warrant and contempt charge summarily dismissed, Barba caught Carisi’s arm and all but dragged him out of the courtroom, not even caring that Casey Novak was staring at them. “You’re in law school?” he asked without preamble. “Which I assume is why you have all that cash, so that you can pay for it without taking out a loan. And that’s why you’re driving an unmarked car, because you’re a detective now, and why I didn’t see your uniform, because you don’t need to wear it anymore.” He shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Carisi shook his arm out of Barba’s grip. “What does it matter?” he asked.
“What does it matter?” Barba repeated. “Sonny—”
Carisi huffed an almost irritated sigh. “Look, I dunno what I’m planning on doing with my law degree, other than being better able to help victims get the justice they deserve. The opening in Brooklyn — it’s for an ADA position. But I haven’t decided if I want it yet, ok? And the reason why I didn’t tell you is because…” He trailed off. “I dunno. I guess I was hoping you might still be in love with the patrol cop from Staten Island that you married. Cuz that’s still who I am, Raf. JD or no JD. Being a cop is a part of me.”
“I know that,” Barba said blankly. “Why—”
Carisi shook his head. “I guess you haven’t seen the headline of the Times yet today,” he said, a little wryly. He slowly backed away, something in his expression darkening. “Good luck, Raf. With everything.”
“Sonny—” Barba started, but Carisi ignored him. Sighing heavily, Barba pulled his phone out and pulled up the New York Times app, freezing when he saw the headline: MAYOR ANNOUNCES NEW DA CANDIDATE, DISTANCES CAMPAIGN FROM NYPD. “Shit,” Barba swore, sorely tempted to throw his phone against the wall.
Instead, he took a deep breath, sudden clarity striking him as he looked around at the Richmond County courthouse, and he didn’t hesitate before calling the political consultant he had spoken to before. “Lindsay?” he said when she picked up. “I know where I want to make my announcement about running for DA.”
“It’s just very unorthodox,” Lindsay fretted as Barba straightened his tie. “Announcing that you’re running for county DA in a completely different county’s courthouse? It’s unprecedented.”
Barba shrugged unconcernedly. “Maybe so,” he acknowledged. “But it feels right to me. This is where I got my start, and it’s past time I acknowledged my roots instead of running away from them.”
Lindsay looked exasperated at that. “Yes, but—” she started, but she was interrupted by a commotion just outside the conference room they were using to prep for Barba’s announcement. “What in the…”
The door burst open to admit John Buchanan, wheezing and trying to evade the uniformed officer. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Barba,” the officer said, grabbing Buchanan’s arm, but Barba took a step forward, frowning.
“It’s fine, I know him. John, what the hell?”
Buchanan straightened and yanked his arm out of the officer’s grip. “You’re a hard man to track down,” he told Barba, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. “Every time I called your secretary, she would send me to a different location, none of which you were at.”
Barba felt a pang of guilt at that, though he also made a mental note that Carmen definitely deserved a raise for tormenting Buchanan like that. “What’s going on? Sonny signed the papers — I thought that was the end of it.”
Buchanan hesitated, looking pointedly at Lindsay before taking a step closer and telling Barba in a low voice, “He signed the papers. You didn’t.”
Barba stared at him. “What?” he said faintly.
“Papers?” Lindsay repeated. “Rafael, what is he talking about?”
Barba ignored her. “You mean I’m still married?”
Buchanan blinked in surprise. “I mean, only if you want to be.”
Barba felt a smile break across his face, his first genuine smile in what felt like days. “Thank you, John,” he said, with complete sincerity, shaking a particularly baffled Buchanan’s hand. “I’m ready now. I know exactly what I’m going to say.”
Before Lindsay could stop him, before Buchanan could ask for some kind of explanation, Barba strode out the door, adjusting his cufflinks before ascending to the makeshift podium that had been set up in front of all the major news outlets. “Thank you for making the trek out to Staten Island,” he said as an opening. “Hopefully all of you had your passports in order.”
General, light laughter met that, and Barba smiled slightly. “I know this is an unusual venue to announce that I’m running for New York County District Attorney, but the fact of the matter is, I’ve been debating over whether running is the wrong thing to do at this point in my personal and professional life, and it took coming out to Staten Island to realize that running is the right thing to do. What was wrong was my reasoning for it.”
He took a deep breath and looked down at his prepared notes, all of which were useless now. “It took coming back to Staten Island to remember who I am, and who I always intended on being as a prosecutor. The mayor and the DA asked me to run because of my record prosecuting cops that abuse their power. Their assumption is that I’m comfortable prosecuting cops because I have no ties to the NYPD. But their assumption is wrong.”
He paused. “My husband is an NYPD detective.” Murmurs broke out at that, but Barba ignored them. “And that’s why I’m willing to prosecute cops who break the law, because I know that NYPD should be held to a higher standard. Because my husband isn’t just a cop. He’s a good man. He’s what every cop should aim to be.
And it’s because of him that I know how vital it is to work with NYPD as well as the communities in which they live and work. We have a trust issue in New York County, and that’s one of the things I want to address as DA.” He looked out at the crowd of reporters. “I realize that position is not always going to be a popular one. I know that the politically expedient thing would be to reject any ties that I have to the NYPD. But the truth is…”
He trailed off, smiling again. “The truth is, I fell in love with a cop over thirteen years ago, and I’ve never been able to sever that tie. Nor would I ever really want to. And it’s because of my ties to the NYPD, not in spite of them, that as DA, I would be committed to rebuilding the trust that so many lack in our judicial system. I will be unwavering in my commitment to prosecuting dirty cops, but also in prosecuting those who seek to harm others and make our neighborhoods less safe. And I also intend on working with organizations like Project Innocence to make sure that innocent people haven’t been found guilty of crimes they didn’t commit.” He paused once more. “Trust goes both ways, and I look forward to earning your trust, and hopefully your votes. Together, we can rebuild and refocus and ultimately, get justice for those who need it most, which is exactly what the job should be about anyway. Thank you.”
The reporters clamored over each other, calling out questions, but Barba ignored them, walking away from the podium. Lindsay followed him, gaping at him. “What was that?” she asked, flabbergasted. “You’ve just sunk your political career. You’ve just—”
“I’ve just made my grandmother very proud,” Barba interrupted. “And if you’ll excuse me, I have someone else I need to go make proud of me as well.”
As Barba strode away from the courthouse, he pulled his phone out and dialed Olivia’s number without even looking. “Liv, I need a favor,” he said.
“After that little speech?” Olivia said, her grin evident even over the phone. “Anything you want.”
“I need to know where Carisi is.”
Perhaps it was ironic, Barba reflected, leaning against the doorjamb and watching as Carisi bent over his law books, scribbling something in his notes, that this conversation would take place in Barba’s old office. “ADA Novak letting you use her office to study?” he asked.
Carisi blinked up at him, his expression darkening. “Yeah, she thought it might be better than studying at home or in the precinct.” He glanced at Barba and back down at his books. “Nice suit. How’d the announcement go?”
“Oh, it went fine,” Barba said, crossing slowly into the office. “Threw my speech out at the last minute. Decided to wing it.”
“You can’t be serious,” Carisi said, looking up at him again. “Raf, are you out of your damn mind?”
Barba shrugged. “I didn’t have all the facts when I wrote my speech, and like with a good closing argument, you want something like this to reflect all the facts.”
For a moment, it looked like Carisi might roll his eyes or scoff at that, but his curiosity clearly won out. “And what facts were you missing?”
“Turns out you and I are still married.”
Carisi’s expression was completely unreadable as he sat back in his seat. “Is that so?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you came to Manhattan?”
If the sudden change in topics threw Carisi, he didn’t show it. “I needed to make something of myself,” he said simply, and Barba rolled his eyes.
“Great. Are you about done?”
Now Carisi did roll his eyes. “What is it about you Staten Island boys?” he mused. “You can’t make the right decision until you’ve tried all the wrong ones?”
Barba shook his head. “At least I fight for what I want,” he said, with no small amount of heat.
Carisi shook his head. “Do you even know what you want?” he asked. “You came out here looking for a divorce so that you could run for DA on an anti-NYPD agenda. Now you want to be married to an NYPD detective? It doesn’t track, Rafi.”
“No, I want to run for DA as the husband of an NYPD detective,” Barba said quietly. “The two aren't mutually exclusive. Besides, you weren’t the first boy I ever fell in love with, Sonny, but you are the last. And I’m just sorry it took me this long to figure that out.”
Carisi shook his head again, but something had shifted in his expression. “Maybe you and I had our chance.”
“Is that really what you think?”
Sighing, Carisi ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to think, Raf,” he said quietly. “Why are you so eager to be married to me anyway?”
“Because I love you,” Barba said simply. “And because I want to be able to show the whole world that.”
Carisi grinned at that, his dimples creasing his cheeks, and he hadn’t even made it all the way out of his seat before Barba crossed to him and tugged him down to kiss him. Almost as soon as their lips touched, a boom of thunder shook the building, and a blinding bolt of lightning struck the telephone pole outside, plunging the office into darkness.
“Well, shit,” Carisi said with a laugh, his breath warm against Barba’s skin. “What’re we gonna do now?”
“I can think of a few things,” Barba said, kissing him again. “Things that luckily don’t require any light.”
Carisi laughed again, and Barba caught the sound with his mouth, reveling at the feeling of Carisi here in front of him, kissing him, touching him.
Reveling at how perfect things were.
It may have taken twelve long years to work it out, but for the first time in longer than he could remember, Barba finally felt like everything was working out exactly as it was supposed to.
After all, Carisi had been wrong 13 years ago.
Sometimes, lightning did strike the same place twice.