Chapter Text
New Beginnings
Everything changes.
Everything continued to change.
Rafael was gone after that brutal confrontation in front of his peers, and though exonerated, he still carried the burden of the weight baby Drew had left behind. And, his guilt would continue until he could let it all go. Nobody blamed him for it. Not his mother. Not Olivia. Not Amanda. Not Fin. Definitely not Sonny, but there was something Sonny blamed him for: leaving him. For having left without saying goodbye. For having only left a note atop the kitchen counter with the only palpable thing Sonny had to remember him by now: a pocket square; Sonny’s favorite pocket square.
That he blamed him for.
How dare he?
How could he?
After a year and a half together, after all the dinners, late night drinks, kisses, caresses, mind-blowing love making, surprises, and challenges along the way yet he still left.
He left him.
He left them.
So there he sat, finishing his second bottle of scotch, the scotch that Rafa loved and fawned for, the scotch that Sonny had walked eighteen blocks total in the freezing cold for it, and the scotch that Sonny didn’t allow for anyone else to have. Who would make use of it now? Who would come in, in a fast saunter, mumbling underneath their breath ‘you insufferable lot will be the death of me’? Sonny smiled, but it soon faded to a frown. He gripped his glass tumbler, wishing it would shatter under the pressure of his palm, yet he had other pressing matters; matters that precluded the show of emotions, later, when I’m in bed.
Sonny paced the length of his small Chelsea apartment. How was it fair to continue living in this wretched space when he knew that nothing was going to ever be the same? But, there was nothing he could do to aid his mind. Just as his mind wandered, his feet did the same, and there was no stopping the continuous empty feeling he now bore and carried. They had plans, Sonny remembered. They had plans for the weekend, they had plans for his birthday, they had plans for Christmas, and for New Year’s, and Valentine’s… but now, none of that mattered, because Rafael was not there anymore.
He stumbled, resting his fist and forehead against the wall, the glass tumbler still securely clutched at his side when his sob broke. He sputtered, saliva coating his lips as his eyes shut. He kicked the wall in tandem with his fist, causing the frame next to his head to rattle.
He did it again…
... and again…
... and again…
... and again until his knees gave out, and he fell to the ground, banging his forehead once against the wall.
Of course the dull pain was preferable to the heartache he was in turn feeling, but he could go on. He had to go on. His arm slid down and he pushed his body to rest on his heels, resting his hand on his thigh. He brought the glass tumbler to his lips, inhaling sharply before downing the rest of the scorching liquid.
He hissed at the taste, feeling his tears stream down his face, and he actually felt relief. He was crying. He was dealing with this in a healthy way… -ish. No. He stood, stumbling against his deer-like legs and he trotted to his kitchen.
As he was pouring another however many fingers into his glass, he saw the pocket square; that stupid, fucking pocket square. It was the red one, the one he wore with his charcoal suit, the light blue button-down, and… wait, what was the tie? It was navy, but it had designs. In his alcohol-clouded mind, Sonny could see it, but he couldn’t quite place it yet he stared at the pocket square until the image of Rafael became clearer. He could see him now, strutting through the bullpen, strong strides, long fingers adjusting the knot of his paisley tie… the paisley tie and the red pocket square.
Leave it to Rafael to have such odd pairings, but they worked. They worked because he made them work. No one else could pull it off. Sonny growled, chucking the glass back and slapping it down forcefully. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand as he poured some more into his glass. He leaned back against the opposite side of his kitchen counter. How many times had he stood there, looking onward to his living room to find the most important people staring back at him? Expressive eyes just admiring the man that he was without complaint or restraint, but now all he saw was a dark living room ahead.
He shook his head, feeling his lip tremble, and he held on to that fucking glass, grinding his teeth. He would not shed another tear for Rafael Barba. This was the night. This was it. No more. He mewled, parting his lips as the sting of fresh tears threatened to fall. He brought the glass to his lips, tilting it to take a sip. His eyes closed, feeling the burn of the liquid as it trickled down his throat. He was warm, he could feel it, and it wasn’t just the warmth of his small apartment anymore, no, he could blame Rafael’s scotch for this. And, as he swallowed, his insides churned. He pressed the back of his hand to his lips, still holding the glass to his face, inhaling harshly, get a grip, Sonny! You already finished the stupid bottle, take your ass to bed.
And, so he did. He sat the glass in his sink, grabbing the bottle of expensive scotch to trash it, and as he did, the pocket square fell. He stared at it, his tears blurring and distorting the steady image of it. Red against the white tile of Sonny’s kitchen floor; red, like a fresh puddle of blood on a neatly scrubbed floor, and Sonny reveled in the metaphor of the pocket square against his floor. It’s how he felt. All of the emotions just lain bare against nothing, just a clean canvass for him to start anew, but it would take some time before he could allow his self to be vulnerable again. He couldn’t just let anyone in again, not when he was still aching so hard for Rafael.
What if Rafael came back?
What if he just needed some time to think things through?
What if he had forgotten his pocket square and he needed it back?
He would come back then, right?
Rafa knew how much Sonny loved him in that pocket square, it’s why he wore it when he was feeling particularly lost in his day. It’s why he kept it in a special box, away from the daily manhandling. Still, the quarrel existed, to pick it up or to not pick it up? He stared at it, fine red silk, stitched to perfection now crumpled on the floor. He tapped his foot, holding the scotch bottle by its neck, contemplating whether or not to bend at his waist and pick it up or continue walking towards his room, to his empty bed…
He sighed, giving in at the thought of not sleeping with the knowledge of it at his bedside at least. He picked it up, opening the lid to his trashcan to carefully drop the bottle inside the bag. He turned off the kitchen light, walking a dark hallway pass the ajar door with the overcast, pass the bathroom door, to enter his room at the end of the hallway.
That bed, his bed, left unattended the morning prior because of nerves. If Sonny squinted, he could still make out Rafael’s form etched on the crumpled sheets atop his bed. One look at his bedside table and he knew he needed to sleep, it was late, way past midnight, and at any moment his phone could go off signaling a new case.
Sleep would come easy at this point. He could thank Rafael’s expensive scotch for that, but still he dragged until he reached his side. He sat, fidgeting with the silky material in his hands. He closed his fist, etching the feel of it in his palm, and he reached in front of him, opening the drawer brusquely to throw it inside. He didn’t want to see it anymore. Now, he needed to sleep. He fell back against his sheets, turned away from where Rafael had lain a little more than twenty-four hours prior. He couldn’t help but drift into the prior night’s conversation, and he closed his eyes, protecting his tears.
“I’m scared,” Rafael admitted.
“Scared of what? You’re Rafael Barba,” Sonny smiled, inching closer to the body of his boyfriend.
Rafael scoffed, “Sonny…”
“You have nothing to worry about, Rafa. You did nothing wrong, if anything, you saved Drew and his family further heartache,” Rafael winced at the mention of Drew’s name. He knew he had done the right thing, yet he couldn’t bring himself out of his guilt. Sonny caressed his face, watching as Rafael leaned into his palm, “I’m still going to be here for you, Raf. Whatever happens, we are still going to be here.”
Rafael closed his eyes, hiding his lips inside his mouth as the shuddering breath he had taken in broke through his nose, “I know you are, Sonny. And, you don’t know how grateful I am for it, but I’m still scared.”
Sonny nodded, though Rafael couldn’t see his face, he too was scared, but he needed to be strong. Rafael needed him right now, and one vulnerable part of this duo was enough. That was the deal, one stressed and the other soothed, one shouted and the other one calmed, one rested and the other one seethed, one worried and the other one reassured. And tonight, that was Sonny’s job, to reassure Rafael, to soothe, and calm him in his qualms.
“Let’s sleep. We’ll worry about tomorrow when it comes,” Sonny soothed.
Rafael nodded, “I love you.”
Sonny smiled as Rafael opened his eyes, “I love you too, cucciolo.”
Rafael snickered, closing his eyes, “I take it back; I don’t love you.”
“In your dreams,” Sonny finished, leaning to meet his lips.
Yesterday everything seemed so normal, so perfect in its own imperfection, and he brought his fingers to his lips, remembering the lingering feel of Rafael’s lips on his. He daren’t turn to face that side of the bed. He couldn’t, and he needn’t when he knew that Rafael was not sleeping by his side, or at his apartment for that matter. Sonny closed his eyes, letting his sob break through his body. He had held on to his tears, to his sorrow, to his pain for too long, and to come home and find nothing but the red pocket square was a total slap to his face, and he was feeling the burn of it all. He was feeling more than the burn of it all. He was feeling the pain of it all.
And, although Sonny was going through it, almost three thousand miles away, Jac couldn’t contain her excitement. She long awaited this transfer, for the chance to work where the seriousness of these cases would take precedence and not be a matter of a joke to others. She needed the change. She craved it, and ever since she left home, she hadn’t really much craved for it. She loved being independent, and as she packed, she too reeled everything in.
In a matter of weeks, everything had changed. She had gotten the promotion she had been wanting, the job she really wanted instead of just filling in here and there, she’d be moving to the city she had wanted to move in the first place, and she’d be leaving all the heartache and pain this city had left her with.
But not everything had been grim. She’d met wonderful people in the way and as she tucked her last trinket in its place she sighed, turning to glance at the empty walls of the place she’d called home. She’d fought, and she’d spend many a sleepless night fawning over her cases, making sure she had every detail down, practicing her monologue as she walked up and down her hallway, gnawing her lip, and worrying her cuticles. Every time she had been handed a sex crimes case, she had gone above and beyond to find the justice for the survivor, and afterwards, she’d seen that they received the proper care both physically and mentally.
“Hello?”
“Are you ready for you move?”
Jac laughed, “Camilla, aren’t you supposed to be resting? You do have an early case tomorrow!”
Camilla laughed at the other side, “I was just calling in case I don’t have time to wish you farewell tomorrow before you leave. I am scheduled at court all day tomorrow.”
Jac sighed, “Thank you,” she smiled, running her hand down the edge of a box, “And, break a leg! You’ll do great.”
Camilla snorted, “You’re the only one that seems to have faith in me. I don’t reckon Doyle does, though, he never really liked me anyways…”
“He just hates change. When I started it was the same way. All you have to do is prove yourself to him, you’ll be fine!”
“I hope so… Well, I’ll let you get back to it. If I know anything about you, you’re still up packing and probably won’t get any sleep,” she giggled, sighing in the process, “I’m going to miss you Jac! Come back to us if New York doesn’t work out.”
“Oh, Mila… it will. I plan on it,” she smiled, and before she knew it, the call had disconnected.
Jac slid her phone down her face, smiling at the world that waited ahead of her. She was hopeful, and tomorrow—or later on in the morning—when she’d wake, she’d be on her way to New York City, to start anew. So she did what she had done when she had gotten her job at the Seattle King County Prosecuting Attorney’s Office, she had poured a glass of red to celebrate, and she took it to her room, the last of the oh so many ones she had had in the exact same place and spot. She sat with her leg lifted, rubbing at her smooth skin as she sipped her glass of wine, and she wondered: would this be all for her? Would her life be reduced to just her work?
She sighed, she really didn’t want that, and though her family had given up on her, and her ever-growing list of excuses as to why she wasn’t dating, she still held out hope. I mean, men could have their career first and then, magically, find the time for a relationship and family, why couldn’t she? It had been hard for her to put herself out there, to date, when all she could think of were of the horrors she constantly faced whether it was in the form of a homicide case or in the form of a sex crime, she couldn’t seem to face put aside the horrors she faced day in and day out when it came to men. And though, the crimes weren’t limited to just men, they seemed to be the common denominator when it came to her docket.
She shuddered, looking to her left to find an empty bed by her side. She longed for someone to warm her bed for more than just a few hours, for more than just a night, for more than to just satisfy their needs… at times. She chuckled, taking a careful sip, leaning back on her bed.
Almost there, just a few more hours...