Chapter Text
“Get down!”
The words weren’t even fully out of Sonny’s mouth before the shots rang out. He had been walking out of the courthouse chatting with Barba about the day’s proceedings and what needed to be done for tomorrow. Of course half the talking was actually just sarcastic comments back and forth. It was right as Barba was comparing him and his eagerness to a dog, which since it was Barba and since he was clearly having fun Sonny found it charming rather than insulting, that he saw a man. He didn’t even recognize him, he wasn’t even sure he’d seen his face, but he did see the handgun, previously concealed under his coat, being pulled out.
He didn’t decide what to do, just ran on instinct. Maybe his first instinct should have been to immediately pull his service weapon and fire back, but there were many other people on the courthouse steps, too many for him to just start firing. Instead, he immediately shouted out his warning and at the same time grabbed Barba and pulled him down, doing his best to cover the prosecutor with his lanky frame.
Adrenaline had blasted through him so abruptly it felt like his senses shut off, his body numb and a ringing in his ears. What felt like it could have been hours later, but was really only a second or two he started registering the sounds of other people. He heard terrified noises of civilians, but also what sounded like officers, maybe NYPD maybe court security, shouting authoritatively. Just hearing some sort of confrontation happen, he immediately felt the need to get up and assist as was his duty. In the next moment though started feeling again, feeling the concrete steps against his palms and the fabric of an expensive overcoat under his body and his need to check on Barba and make sure he was safe was stronger.
Lifting his head, he immediately felt heat rush to his face looking directly into Barba’s eyes, both because of the sheer proximity and from seeing the terrified look on the prosecutor’s face.
“You alright Counselor?” It came out breathier than he had expected. The adrenaline of the situation, from the gunshots and from his close proximity to Barba, which, embarrassingly, were equally jarring to Sonny, kept his chest feeling tight and his breaths short. When he saw Barba furrow his brow and give a small nod, he wanted to laugh with relief.
He started to push himself up, but his arms were shakier than he expected. Sensation was returning to his body slowly, like retreating fog revealing everything more clearly. As feeling moved up his arms and to his chest, he realized his breathing that he had moments ago attributed to the adrenaline rush was still coming in short gasps and with each one a jolt of pain. As his head started to register more than just looking down at Barba, he tasted a foreboding warm coppery taste in his mouth. When he felt pressure in his abdomen he looked down quickly, trying to keep himself up despite his quaking arms. He felt panicked for a moment not because his mind was finally piecing together the obvious clues, but because he saw blood on the expensive overcoat of the man beneath him. When he continued looking and saw much much more blood spreading across his own white button-down he felt a bizarre combination of relief and terror flood over him.
Barba’s face only showed terror.
“Carisi? Carisi! Oh my god!” Their positions were quickly reversed and Sonny found himself on his back as Barba sat over him looking around frantically. “We need help over here!”
“It’s okay Barba. I’m all right.” Which at this point he already knew wasn’t entirely true, but the fact that his breath and mouth were unable to coordinate well enough to get the words out clearly. Apparently it had been just discernible enough, because Barba looked at him incredulously and scoffed, like how he often did when Sonny offered some unsolicited legal opinions on a case. It was weirdly comforting. It was so much more familiar seeing the ADA look exasperated rather than panicked. Normally if this were a law debate in his office Barba would make some dig at Carisi, smirking the whole time, but now post-shooting, sprawled on the courthouse steps, he just looked down, shook his head, and muttered something in spanish. He adjusted his grip on his ruined overcoat that was pressing to the detective’s left flank.
Sonny kept looking at Barba as Barba seemed to be looking anywhere but back at him. He wanted to say something else to get a scoff or maybe even a smirk. He wanted Barba’s attention, what else was new? But he also wanted to reassure him.
He started planning out the exchange in his head:
“Sorry about your coat, Counselor. That’s gonna be a helluva dry cleaning bill.”
“My dry cleaner would kick me out if I tried to bring this in. I’m better off getting a new one.”
“That’s a shame. I was gonna offer to pay to get it cleaned but I’m guessin’ buying a new one would be like half my yearly salary.”
“Style isn’t cheap Carisi. We can’t all pull off the Staten Island bargain bin look.”
“You sayin’ I’m pulling it off Barba?”
“Oh of course not. If there’s any consolation for my ruined coat, it’s that your unfortunate shirt and tie are going down with it. Fashion is breaking even today.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”
“Keep trying Detective. Eventually you’ll be able to sit at the grown up table.”
Their conversations never went exactly how he imagined them. Barba was good at keeping him on his toes, but they’d had enough back-and-forths for him to make a good guess.
“Sorry,” he choked out, “c-coat.” That hadn’t really gone how he hoped. His made-up conversation hadn’t really taken into account the pressure he felt in his chest that meant he had to strain to get any words out. And those strained out words didn’t seem to have the effect he was hoping for. Barba didn’t look distracted or reassured, maybe a little bit baffled, but the overriding look was still one of terror. Just as he looked like he was getting ready to say something in response, Liv appeared above him.
“Hey Lieu,” he mumbled or at least attempted to. Sonny felt her hand squeezing his shoulder. She was speaking to him and Barba, though not all of the words made it through the cloud his head was in. His own unsteady breathing filled his ears and drowned out other sounds.
“Hey Carisi … don’t … be fine … Ambulance … Rafa, help me …” He felt himself tipping and falling, like a sudden missed step going down stairs.
“Carisi! Hey! Look at me!” His eyes shot open responding to the demand in his lieutenant’s voice and the hard squeeze to his trap. “That’s it. Keep your eyes open. Help’s on the way.”
He recognized Liv’s face as one he’d seen before. There was some nervousness and fear there, but it was mostly determination, using her authority to project calm to everyone involved, but Sonny could see the fear.
Shirting his eye line to look back at Barba, he saw more fear. It was disconcerting. He had gotten closer to Barba over time and had actually caught some rare glimpses behind the ADA’s cocky exterior. He’d seen him get frustrated and disappointed and angry over cases. He’d seen him be compassionate with victims; that caring had even been extended to Sonny himself a couple times. He’d also seen Barba afraid, back when everything was happening with the death threats; he maintained his composure through most of it (enough to offer his address to his potential attacker like a jackass) but there was no doubt he was shaken. Now though, he looked terrified. He kept looking down where the gunshot wound was, then to Carisi’s face, then to Liv, then down the steps toward the street presumably where an ambulance would be coming from and repeating that pattern.
Sonny wanted to comfort him, both of them really. Tell them it was going to be okay. Make a joke about how the Carisis are genetically predisposed to stubbornness so there’s no way a gunshot could take him down or maybe some dig about how he’d have way more time to annoy Barba if he was stuck on desk duty recovering, but talking was so hard. His last few attempts had been bad enough and this time all he could do was open and close his mouth a few times, breathing raspily.
He wasn’t an idiot, an eternal optimist maybe, but he knew the fact he couldn’t speak, he barely felt like he could breathe, was bad. The fact that he could see Liv talking to him right there, but her voice sounded like they were underwater didn’t bode well. The fact that nothing really hurt, beyond a general feeling of tightness, was welcome in some sense; he of course didn’t want to be writhing in pain, but he doubted it was a good sign.
Lying there, Sonny knew it must not have been very long since the shots were fired, but his sluggish brain had still managed to piece together that he was dying. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling was acceptance. He didn’t want to die, but he felt a kind of exhausted resignation, like when Amanda talked about getting home after an especially long shift and just not having enough energy to get Jesse to sleep in her own crib. His tank was beyond empty.
A selfish part of him was glad his last moments would be with people he admired so much. It was an awful thing to think, but he couldn’t help being comforted by that. However, as he looked at Barba who was now looking at him and saying things Sonny couldn’t hear past the rushing in his ears, he felt awful. If the roles were reversed, Sonny knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it. No matter how many horrible things he’d seen working for the NYPD, losing Rafael would push him over the edge.
For the first time, after years of crushing hard on the ADA and desperately hoping some of those feelings were returned, and laying in bed restlessly overanalyzing an exchange from earlier in the day, and imagining a conversation where he actually got up the nerve to ask the other man out for a drink, he now hoped his feelings really were unrequited all along. It’s easier to think that way, because then he doesn’t have to lay here regretting all the missed chances. He doesn’t have to worry as much about Barba because while it'll be hard dealing with a coworker's death, it’s better than if there are unresolved feelings for that person.
The selfishness won out though. He didn’t have the energy to joke or reassure anybody, and he didn’t have the energy to fight off death. Instead he just put all his energy into trying to lift his hand. He wasn’t sure if he was making any progress until he saw Barba glance down and then felt a warm, tight squeeze on his hand. When Barba looked back up to make eye contact and started speaking, he tried to focus, he wanted to focus, but instead he just felt himself dropping like a sudden missed step going down stairs.