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Sonny is enjoying the last few moments before his third and final alarm goes off, when his phone rings. He groans, rolling over and feeling blindly for his phone.
“Hello?” he grunts.
“Carisi,” his lieutenant’s voice comes down the line. “Sorry to call you so early on your day off, but I’m going to need you to come in.”
Sonny sighs, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “It’s okay lieu, I was about to get up anyway. What’s the situation?”
“I’ll brief you when you’re there. Is Rafael with you?” Olivia asks.
“Yeah,” Sonny says, looking over at the closed bathroom door, behind which he can hear Rafael singing and the sound of running water. “He’s in the shower. Why? You need him too?”
“I don’t know yet,” she says. “I just think it might be better if he’s on hand, I'll explain when you're here.”
“Okay, I’ll tell him. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
He hangs up and throws his phone on the night stand, before walking towards the bathroom. He knocks once before entering, even though he’s pretty sure Rafael can’t hear it.
“Rafi?” he calls as he walks into the humid room. “Liv called, she wants us both to come in.”
The water shuts off and Rafael emerges from the shower, frown already fixed on his face.
“Both of us? Why?”
Sonny can’t answer, eyes focussed on tracking the drops of water running down his partner’s body.
“Hey, Detective Carisi, eyes up here,” Rafael says, a familiar smirk on his face.
Sonny shakes himself out of his decidedly non-work related thoughts. “Sorry. Uh, yeah we both need to go. But Liv didn’t say why, just that she’ll brief us when we come in.”
Rafael sighs. “So much for the farmer’s market.”
“It’ll be there next week,” Sonny says, reaching out and reeling Rafael in for a kiss. “Good morning by the way.”
Rafael, the spoilsport that he is, stops the kiss the minute it starts getting heated. “Nope, we don’t have time. You need to shower and I need coffee.”
Sonny pouts. “It’s nice to know that you value caffeine over your own boyfriend.”
“If you’ve only just realised that, then you’ve clearly not been paying attention for the last four years, now go shower.”
-
“Hey Carisi, Barba, thanks for coming in,” Olivia says, ushering them into her office when they arrive at the precinct.
Sonny smiles. “No problem, lieu, what’s the case?”
Olivia leads them over to the window that looks into one of the interview rooms. A dark-haired man in his late forties is sat inside. He’s dressed in an exquisitely tailored, green velvet suit that Sonny is suspects might be more expensive than any of Rafael’s. He’s handcuffed to the table, and has blood on both of his hands. Despite that fact, he’s smiling amiably, looking casually relaxed as if he were simply out for dinner.
“What’s he in for?” Rafael asks and Sonny hides a smile at the way his boyfriend has immediately switched into district attorney mode.
“Assault,” Olivia says with a sigh. “He repeatedly stabbed a guy with a fork… in the genitals.”
“Yikes,” Sonny winces. “That’s rough, lieu, but uh… it’s not exactly an SVU case is it?”
Olivia gives him a look that lets him know she’d expected that question and heads across the room to the window set into the other interview room. A slightly younger man is sat inside. He has light brown hair and is dressed more casually in a striped shirt, under a black leather jacket. Sonny immediately notices the purpling bruises on the man’s jaw, evidence of a split lip, as well as a nasty scrape on his forehead.
“Is this the victim? Shouldn’t he be at a hospital.”
“No,” Olivia says. “This, is the perp’s boyfriend. Apparently, the guy whose genitals were… stabbed, assaulted him.”
“Rape?” Rafael asks sharply.
Olivia shakes her head. “I don’t think so. He won’t talk to us until we let out his boyfriend which we can’t do because…”
“Because he stabbed a guy in the balls,” Sonny finishes and Rafael gives him a stern look.
“Liv, forgive me, but I’m not quite sure why you couldn’t call one of the other ADAs,” Rafael says.
“Because, neither of them speak very good English, but the perp Mr, uh, De Fonollosa knows enough to say that it was self-defence against a hate crime,” Olivia replies and Sonny’s heart sinks.
Self-defence cases are tricky enough to prosecute, but adding hate-crime charges makes everything much more complicated.
“So, if they’re not American, where are they from?” he asks.
“The perp, Andrés de Fonollosa is Spanish,” Olivia says, gesturing at the room behind her, holding the well-dressed man. “The victim, a Martín Berrote, is Argentinian. They’re here on holiday.”
Rafael sighs. “Alright, I’ll go in with them. Sonny, how well have you been paying attention to your Duolingo lessons?”
“I’ve been kicking that bird’s ass,” Sonny says proudly, ignoring Rafael’s fond eye-roll.
Olivia laughs. “You’re learning Spanish?”
“Apparently, my mother bullied him into it. Said she wants to be able to talk to her soon to be son-in-law – as if she doesn’t speak perfect English,” Rafael complains. “Now, which one do we want to start with?”
“With him,” Sonny says, gesturing at Berrote. “He’s the victim, best to get his side of the story first.”
Olivia nods. “If he asks about his assailant, he actually is in hospital. He lost a lot of blood, but I’ve sent Rollins and Fin to get his statement.”
Sonny shudders again at the thought of the man’s injuries and follows Rafael into the interview room.
“Señor Berrote?” Rafael asks in Spanish as they enter. “I’m Assistant District Attorney Rafael Barba, this is Detective Sonny Carisi. We understand you were assaulted.”
Berrote looks up at them. Up close, his injuries look much worse and Sonny can see that one of his eyes has started to swell shut.
“Can I get you some ice for that?” he asks, painfully aware of how stilted his Spanish sounds next to Rafael’s.
He wonders if Berrote has noticed to, because the corner of his mouth briefly turns up. “No thank you," he says. "Where is Andrés?”
“He’s just next door,” Rafael explains. “You understand that he assaulted a man, yes? We had to keep you separated for your own safety, Señor Berrote.”
Berrote scoffs. “Andrés would never hurt me. And please, call me Martín. Señor Berrote was my father.” He grimaces, a look Sonny recognises well from Rafael’s brief mentions of his own father.
“Okay, Martín,” Sonny says. “So, Andrés wouldn’t hurt you, that’s good. Can you tell us what happened last night - uh, this morning?”
Martín sighs, leaning back in his chair, wincing as he does so. “Andrés and I were at a bar. This… man had been watching us. When I left to go outside for a smoke, he followed me. He grabbed me, punched me a few times and pushed me against the wall,” he trails off, clenching his jaw.
“Then what happened?” Sonny asks gently.
“Then, that hijo de puta tried to pull my trousers down. That’s when Andrés came out and took care of him,” Martín finishes. “He saved me.”
Sonny nods. “That’s good, seems like you were lucky your boyfriend was there.”
Martín nods, but doesn’t say anything else.
“You said the man who attacked you, was watching you and Señor de Fonollosa? Are you sure?” Rafael asks.
Martín smiles bitterly. “I'm sure. When you live your life as an openly gay man, you become aware of people who might want to hurt you, people who are watching because they’re interested but can’t admit it to themselves, people who hate you for what you are.” He pauses for a moment, fists clenching on the table. “How many languages do you speak Señor Barba? I bet I know the word faggot in more - in fact, I don’t even need to speak the language, to understand the hatred directed towards me.”
“I know what you mean,” Sonny says sincerely, unable to resist looking over at Rafael, who flashes him the briefest smile.
“So you understand,” Martín says. “Andrés did what he had to do. He was protecting me and now, I would like to see him.”
Sonny exchanges a look with Rafael. It’s not entirely protocol, but it doesn’t seem like Martín is afraid of his boyfriend, only concerned for him.
“Alright, you can come in with us when we ask him about his side of the story,” Rafael relents in a rare display of benevolence.
“But let us get you an icepack, your face really doesn’t look good,” Sonny adds and Martín shrugs, even as he gets to his feet stiffly.
“I’ve had worse,” he says as he follows Sonny out of the room.
Olivia had clearly been listening, because just before they get to the door of the other interview room, Rollins walks in with an icepack, which Martín accepts with a nod.
“Alright, you can go see your boyfriend now,” Rafael says, opening the door.
Andrés has been handcuffed in worse places - and for longer. His second wife, when he asked for a divorce while they were intimate, left him handcuffed to her bed for seven hours before Martín found him. Although, at least the décor in that house was better than this squalid interrogation room that the short, blonde detective put him in.
He doesn’t mind the handcuffs so much, although he wishes he’d been allowed to wash the blood off his hands first – and of course he wishes that he were with Martín. He hasn’t seen him since the police officers put them in separate rooms. He hopes these Americans have at least given Martín something for the wounds that cretin inflicted on him. Still, on the outside he remains calm. He’s been around law enforcement enough to know he’s probably being watched.
He does, however, allow himself a sigh of relief when the door opens and Martín – clutching an icepack to his face – walks in. He’s followed by a tall, blond, male police officer and a short, dark haired man in a three-piece suit that Andrés would consider wearing himself – not something he can say of a lot people.
“Andrés,” Martín says, immediately dropping the icepack onto the table and rushing over to him. “Are you alright?”
Andrés smiles. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that, cariño? How is your face.”
Martín shrugs. “Not as bad as that time in Casablanca.”
Andrés narrows his eyes. “You were in hospital for three days in Casablanca, if it’s that bad and you haven’t said anything then I’m going to kill you myself.”
“It’s not, don’t worry, querido,” Martín says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
The man in the admirable suit clears his throat. “Señor de Fonollosa, your partner told us what happened, and he confirmed that you were protecting him. We just need to take your statement now,” he says in impressively fluent Spanish.
“Can you uncuff him first?” Martín asks, looking at the blonde man.
The police officer exchanges a look with the other man, who says something in English, then nods, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. He unlocks the handcuffs and Andrés gratefully pulls his arms back towards his body, rubbing his wrists.
“Thank you,” he tells the officer in English.
“He speaks Spanish,” Martín says with a smirk. “Sort of.”
The dark haired man snorts, ignoring the hurt look the officer throws him. “Why don’t we all have a seat and we can get this cleared up, alright? I’m ADA Rafael Barba and this is Detective Sonny Carisi. You understand that you were arrested for assault, yes?”
“Yes,” Andrés nods. “Although I must confess, I’m confused as to why you’re here, Señor Barba. Should I request a lawyer, if Detective Carisi has one?”
Martín, now seated next to him laughs. “He’s Hispanic and gay, mi amor. That’s why he’s here. You know how the police like to try and relate to their suspects.”
Andrés rolls his eyes. Even though these people seem to want to help him, Martín has never seen someone in a position of power he doesn’t want to needle and provoke.
“Your partner may be on to something, Señor Berrote,” Barba says. “Nevertheless, we’ll need to take your statement.”
Andrés nods, stretching out one hand so he can curl his fingers around the back of Martín’s neck. Martín leans into the touch and Andrés tries not to let his anger overwhelm him as he gets another look at the dark bruises on Martín’s face.
“Your partner said that you were at a bar together?” the officer, Carisi, prompts.
Andrés nods. “That’s correct. We’d been there for a couple of hours and around 2am Martín mentioned that he thought a man in one of the booths was staring. I agreed, but since he didn’t come over, or try to talk to us, I tried not to let it ruin our night and ignored him.”
The officer nods. “Okay, and then?”
“Eventually, Martín went out for a smoke - that was maybe two hours later. You know, he’s mostly quit, except for when he drinks scotch,” Andrés says and Martín sighs.
“I don’t think they need to know that, querido,” he grumbles and Andrés smiles at him.
“Anyway,” he continues. “He went out for a smoke and I noticed that the man who had been staring at us was also gone. I became uneasy and decided to check on Martín, just in case. When I got outside, Martín was bleeding and I found that… degenerate, attempting to open Martín’s trousers. I pushed him away and we fought.”
“And the fork?” Barba asks sharply.
Andrés shrugs. “We’d been eating cheesecake. I didn’t even realise it was still in my hand until we were fighting.”
The two men exchange a look, and Carisi opens his mouth to say something, when there’s a rap on the mirrored glass.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Señor de Fonollosa,” Barba says. “We’ll be back shortly.”
When they leave, Martín sighs and leans into Andrés, who wraps his arm around his shoulders.
“I’m starting to think we should have tried to run,” he murmurs against Andrés neck.
Andrés presses a kiss against his hair, unconcerned with the fact that they’re most likely being watched, as well as recorded. “You were in no shape to run, mi amor. Besides, I have a good feeling about this – America is the land of the free after all.”
Martín scoffs. “You always have good feelings and then look what happens. Remember Vienna?”
Andrés scowls at the mention of Vienna, where he’d spent four months in prison before Sergio managed to break him out.
“You think I need to call Sergio?”
“I don’t know,” Martín says. “He’ll skin you if he has to fly out here. Maybe we should wait.”
“Maybe,” Andrés agrees, contemplating the thought of having to admit to his little brother that he and Martín managed to get themselves into trouble they can’t get out of.
The door swings open again and Barba and Carisi walk back in. Carisi offers him them an encouraging smile, that has Andrés rolling his eyes internally, and holds out a fresh icepack to Martín. Andrés frowns. This man seems much too compassionate to be a police officer. Martín half-heartedly accepts the icepack and Andrés immediately takes it off him, pressing it to his eye where the worst of the bruising is, ignoring Martín’s mumbled ‘la concha tu madre’ when the cold plastic touches his skin.
“Well, Señor de Fonollosa,” Barba says. “Lieutenant Benson has had a call from the detectives who were speaking to Mr Anderson – that’s the man you assaulted. He has assured them that he does not want to press charges against you.”
Carisi, who looks surprised by this, nods. “Yeah, he’s agreed to plead guilty for a slightly reduced sentence, but I assure you, he will be doing time for this.”
“I don’t care about that,” Martín says, making both Barba and Carisi frown. “If he’s not pressing charges, Andrés and I can go, right?”
Barba nods slowly. “Technically, I could press charges as ADA, but given the circumstances, we’ve decided not to.”
Martín nods, dislodging the icepack and Andrés frowns at him.
“But, Martín, you said you don’t care about Mr Anderson going to jail? He assaulted you?” Carisi asks, his face full of sincerity, which Andrés would find laughable if it weren’t directed towards Martín.
“Worse things happen to better people every day, and the justice system cares little about them,” Martín says vehemently and Andrés sighs. “At least this time, he received the kind of justice that will scar.”
Andrés has to fight to keep the smirk off his face as he thinks of how the man had squealed when the fork pierced him. Barba narrows his eyes at him, but Carisi is still looking at Martín.
“You know, there are people who do care about victims,” he says, his accent curling clumsily around the words. “We care, we could still take this to trial if you want.”
Martín clenches his jaw. “No. Thank you, but no. We’re leaving New York this week anyway.”
Carisi sighs, but nods, getting to his feet. “Alright, I understand. Thank you both for your cooperation tonight.”
He holds out his hand and Andrés puts down the ice pack to shake it, then shakes hands with Barba.
“Thank you for your concern, Detective Carisi, Señor Barba,” Andrés says as Martín exchanges handshakes too.
Carisi walks to the door, opening it for them and Andrés walks out, feeling the gentle pressure of Martín’s hand on his back.
“I hope the rest of your trip is better,” Barba says and Andrés nods.
“Thank you,” he says and then he and Martín make their way out of the precinct.
Once outside, in the chilly, morning air, he pulls Martín close, pressing a possessive kiss to his mouth.
“I can still track down the hospital he’s ar and finish what I started,” he murmurs and Martín laughs.
“Maybe don’t say that right outside of a police station, cariño,” he tells Andrés. "But no, I don't want you taking any more risks. That pig got what he deserved.
They start walking, keeping an eye out for a passing taxi.
“What about tonight?” Andrés asks. “Will you be alright to do the job?”
Martín reaches for his hand and squeezes it. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss out on it for the world.”
“Hey,” Sonny says, walking into Rafael’s office unannounced. “Remember that case last week? With the two guys and the uh, ball stabbing.”
Rafael rolls his eyes. “How could I forget? Why? Has the victim decided to press charges after all?”
“Nope, but take a look at this,” Sonny says, holding out a file.
Rafael opens it, looking at the surveillance pictures inside. “Is this them? Where is this?”
“That, is Christie’s auction house,” Sonny explains.
“Wait,” Rafael’s eyes widen. “Are you telling me that De Fonollosa and Berrote are the ones who robbed the most famous auction house in the city? The ones who got away with over fifteen million dollars’ worth of items?”
Sonny crosses to Rafael’s cabinet, pouring them both generous glasses of scotch. He hands one to Rafael, before taking a seat on the sofa.
“Yeah. Crazy, isn’t it?” he says, taking a sip.
Rafael shakes his head. “It is. But there’s no way we could have known.”
Sonny sighs. “I know. And Berrote really was a victim. Just goes to show that you never really know people, do you?”
“No,” Rafael says. “You really don’t.”