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Three hours.
Rafael knows it’s not the clerk’s fault, but he wants to yell anyway. He should have known a conference in Denver in the middle of December, in the middle of winter, and a week before Christmas was going to be a disaster. It made sense why no one else had taken the trip. Or why the hotel room and any other expenses were taken care of, courtesy of the DA herself.
The weather forecast had predicted heavy snow in Denver that he had not looked at. His flight back to New York is delayed for three hours. And the only person he can blame is himself.
With a resigned sigh, Rafael wanders through the airport and ends up at a bar located between gates B and C. A few others who must have received the same news, judging by the disgruntled curve of their backs and heavy alcohol in front of them, are also gathered at the bar. Rafael removes his coat and sits on one of the stools at the end of the long counter. It’s barely noon and he’s expected to at least deliver a physical copy of his report on the conference when he arrives. There’s no way he’s going to arrive on time to do that, especially with the difference in time zones.
Rafael orders a scotch and runs a hand through his hair. He wonders how risky it would be to try and find a spot to nap. Maybe he can read that Stephen King novel he had bought at the gift shop on his way to his gate.
“You stuck here too?”
He looks up at the voice to find a handsome man a few barstools away. His hair is gray and styled nicely, coiffed and soft. Like the other people stuck in the airport, he is hunched over his drink with a sullen acceptance of his predicament. But unlike the others, he is dressed like Rafael: a suit tailored to his form, his lean and long; a nice tie knotted at his throat, the thin stripes a subtle compliment to the pastel shades; a pressed dress shirt that’s a lighter shade than the tie. If he’s not a lawyer, briefcase and all, Rafael will fly himself back to Brooklyn.
Rafael isn’t so much startled by the man’s presence as he is by his harsh accent. Whoever he is, he definitely comes from New York. The taxi drivers don’t even sound that thick. “Well, I didn’t exactly wish for day drinking in an airport bar,” he says with a resigned sigh. “But when you have three hours to spare, you don’t really have a choice.”
The other man snorts and fiddles with the bottom of his glass. “I hear that,” he says. He’s not fully gray but there are silver streaks that make him look more distinguished and mature. It’s those blue eyes that fail him, for sure; they’re beautiful and immediately attention-seeking, clear as the sky free of clouds. “I was supposed to head back to New York tonight.”
“Funny.” Rafael smiles, for just a slight second, and barely registers his glass being served. “My flight to New York is Aldo delayed.”
“No way,” the man grins. He has dimples, dear lord, and the one on his right cheek is deeper than the other. It’s borderline adorable. “JFK or LaGuardia?”
And that accent. The icing on the cake for this stereotype of a man is for him to be Italian. “LaGuardia, unfortunately.”
“Hey, same here!” The man stands, legs fumbling out from the stool, and he nods to the empty seat beside Rafael. “Mind if I join you?”
It couldn’t hurt, Rafael muses to himself. Aside from his painfully attractive features and the bubble of attraction rising in his chest, he could be good company. “Go ahead,” Rafael nods. “It’s rare to find a fellow New Yorker beyond a state that’s not New Jersey.”
The man laughs softly as he takes the chair beside him. Such a pleasant sound, crisp and clear, like the ringing of a bell. “You’re telling me.” He hops in his chair like he’s just been jolted with electricity and he thrusts his hand out. “How could I forget? Dominick Carisi, Jr. Call me Sonny.”
“Sonny.” Easy off the tongue, gentle but confident. He can’t be any older than Rafael and yet that nickname seems to fit him more than his birth name. But as Rafael shakes his hand, he’s struck with an odd sense of familiarity. He should know that name from somewhere but he can’t recall where he would hear it. “Rafael Barba.”
Sonny’s eyebrows nearly shoot up into his hairline. “Oh! Rafael Barba, the Brooklyn ADA?”
Well. The only way he could know of him was if he were an ADA himself or at least interested in law in some way. That’s another count for him. “Unless someone else is impersonating me, there’s only one ADA Barba.” He pauses before he continues again as the ringing sound of the other man’s last name returns to him. Of course. “And you would be ADA Carisi, the promising hire out of Manhattan SVU.”
Sonny bows his head into a laugh and takes a swig of his drink. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far to say ‘promising,’ but that sounds like me. How many ex-cops have you heard of becoming prosecutors?”
“I think you’re the first I’ve heard of.” Rafael looks the other man up and down—he looks harmless, he decides, partly because of his occupation. Rafael had heard rumors of the New York County DA’s Office when they had decided to hire a cop who just so happened to also have a law degree—which was earned with a full-time job as a detective in one of the busiest precincts in the county, no less. The work that each borough’s SVU did was unparalleled, in Rafael’s opinion. It’s one of the reasons why he wanted to work exclusively with them in the first place.
Sonny shrugs, a bit of impish glee sparkling in his eyes. “Well, I think you’re the first ADA I’ve heard of who goaded a rapist into choking him in open court.”
Rafael can’t help but laugh, putting his glass down to avoid spilling his drink. At least his reputation had stretched to the neighboring boroughs. “With my own belt, no less. The tabloids always forget that fact.”
Sonny nods. “Right, right, of course. Can’t forget that.” Silence drifts between them, pleasant and easygoing. Rafael takes a sip of scotch and relishes in the burn that slides down his throat. “So, Counselor, what brings you to Denver?”
“Simply business,” he replies. “I unknowingly volunteered for something that I shouldn’t have.” He waves at the window on the far wall behind them, opposite the bar, that reveals the snow piling up on the runway. “Of course, if I had checked the weather or caught a hint, I might not be here.”
Sonny hums, his head bobbing as if he was acknowledging his answer but not enough to understand it. He could have said anything and it might have garnered the same reaction. “Sounds luckier than me. I’d be here regardless.” He gestures to his suit, light gray and hugging his form enough to highlight the muscles still prominent from his days as a cop. “New guy duties and all that shit.”
Rafael crinkles his nose; Manhattan had always been the more uppity of the five boroughs. Brooklyn and Queens were more chilled out; the Bronx was a conglomeration of faces from different backgrounds; Staten Island was there. But Manhattan was always a bit above them—or at least acted like it. It was no surprise that it extended to its DA’s office. “My sincerest apologies. It’s never easy to start off as the new guy, no matter how extensive your experience may be.”
The sound Sonny makes is caught between a scoff and a bark, neither pleasant nor rude. “I took a tour of four boroughs. If anyone knows and despises that feeling, it would be me.”
“From your detective years, I’m assuming?”
He nods. “Started on Staten Island, then Brooklyn, then Queens, and now Manhattan. I’m lucky I didn’t end up flunking over to the Bronx and getting kicked up to Albany or Jersey City.”
Rafael scowls. “I can’t tell which of those is worse.” It earns a light laugh from his companion, at least. “Where did you graduate? I heard you went to school while you were working as a detective.”
Sonny swallows a large gulp of his drink before responding. “I took night classes at Fordham Law. After my stint in Brooklyn, I figured it’d be good to have a backup plan. And it just so happened that I had always wanted to go to law school, so the timing was perfect.”
“Mm. A detective by day, and a prosecutor by night. How mysterious.”
He covers an amused snort with the remains of his drink and silently requests a refill. “Better than what my sister said.”
Rafael leans closer. He nearly misses how quick Sonny’s eyes move from his arm to his face. “Which was?”
Sonny smirks. “Cop on the streets, lawyer in the sheets.”
Rafael laughs—not a pity one that’s more of a courtesy than anything, like the ones he would share to coworkers. It’s a genuine sound that rumbles from deep inside him, stretching out like the light this man smiles with. “Well. That is pretty terrible, I’ll give it that.”
“That’s the Italians for ya.”
“Oh, so you are a walking stereotype.”
Sonny laughs and takes a drink from his refill. Rafael decides, looking him up and down with a bit of admirable affection, that he truly is harmless. His accent is grating, and his eyes are too blue to be real, and that damned dimple just dips in effortlessly. But all of that is nothing to the company he provides. Even if they haven’t been talking for long, and to a stranger no less, Rafael can see his true intentions. This man just wants some like-minded company.
Sonny looks at his phone and groans in displeasure. “Our flight got canceled.”
Rafael frowns as the other man runs a hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the counter. “Well, at least we’ll have more time to chat, right?”
Sonny doesn’t respond to that, just downs his beer in one gulp and requests another. “You should grab a hotel room.”
“And leave you here?” Rafael can only assume that whatever has compelled him to say that is the same thing that pushes him to raise his hand and stop the bartender from attending them. He should know that this man, regardless of how cute he looks or how much his heart may ache for him, is a stranger. They don’t know each other, and they most likely never will. But something feels wrong about leaving him in the Denver airport overnight. “Have you see the Denver courthouses?” When Sonny shakes his head, Rafael stands and tosses a few bills on the bar counter. “Come on. The hotel I was staying in had a magnificent view.”
“Why?” Sonny asks, turning in his seat to face him. The confusion and hesitation read clearly on his face, and not without reason. Rafael can feel the same feelings brewing in his chest, but he sets them aside. He may not know this man, but he knows his name, and he deserves good things. Maybe those good things can start right now.
“I like you and I think your company is nice,” Rafael says. Almost instantly, his face matches the same tint of red that suddenly pops up on Sonny’s cheeks. “And it would be shitty of me to return to a hotel that my boss is paying for when you don’t have that same courtesy.”
Sonny swallows and laughs nervously. “Company. That’s a good Sondheim musical.”
Rafael smiles. What a dork. “It is. I played Bobby in college.”
“Really?”
He nods, unable to resist. “I’ll tell you more about it if you’ll let me house you for the night.”
Two years from now, they’ll laugh about it in Rafael’s apartment. Sonny will joke about how someone as guarded and cautious as Rafael Barba would allow a gangly prosecutor into his hotel room for the night. And Rafael would point out that Sonny was the one who went along with it, making them both at fault for doing something that their line of work had pointed to being a bad idea. But they’ll look back at the fond memory and realize how even then, even now, that spark between them burns as an inferno, licking the air and molding them together. And two years after that, when they’re writing their vows, they’ll emphasize it even more: two prosecutors from different boroughs in New York, who work for their respected Special Victims Unit, meeting in a Denver airport and warming up with each other’s generosity, their personalities, and their company.
But for now, Sonny smiles and takes the invite, and Rafael leads them to the clerk to reschedule their flights. They’ll have time to reminisce later.