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After a long, stressful day, Sonny Carisi found nothing more soothing than immersing himself in the kitchen. He loved cooking. He didn’t have the patience for the exact science of baking, but the haphazard throwing of ingredients and creating something delicious was relaxing. It brought back memories of learning to cook at his mother’s side as a child, his sisters bouncing around the house and filling it with noise and chaos.
He pushed aside the memory of the tear-streaked faces, and the parents he had faced that day as he dipped a fingertip in the red sauce and tasted it. He added a bit more oregano and a splash of red wine and tasted it again, nodded to himself with approval, then took a peek at the meatballs simmering in the skillet. Spaghetti seemed an appropriately comforting meal and, judging by the conflicted look on his partner’s face in interrogation earlier, he thought he would not be the only one who would need it that evening.
It was a difficult case even on the surface: a baby who was brain dead and suffering, with one parent ready to let him go and the other not there. It tore at Sonny’s heart, and he wasn’t even a parent. He loved his nieces and Amanda’s girl, and he couldn’t imagine supporting his sisters or partner through such a decision. But there had been something deeper in Rafael’s green eyes as he had listened to the parents that day. He had desperately wanted to ask the attorney what was going on, but surrounded by colleagues and in the heat of an intense case was not the time. He set a bottle of wine out on the counter to breathe, and silently said a prayer that Rafael would unburden himself that evening when he came home.
As if reading his thoughts, the front door clicked open, and Sonny glanced over his shoulder. “Rafi?” he called, giving the sauce a stir before he added the meatballs to the pot. “In the kitchen.”
He turned when he heard Rafael’s heavy footsteps enter the kitchen. “I’m makin’ spaghetti—” Sonny cut himself off when he got a good look at his partner, disheveled, tie pulled loose, jacket discarded. The detective dropped a towel on the counter and walked over to slide his arms around Rafael, who not only didn’t resist but melted against him. “You okay?” he whispered into his hair, cupping the back of his head with one hand and his waist with the other.
Wordlessly, Rafael shook his head against Sonny’s shoulder.
He held the attorney for several moments, and then kissed his temple. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get some food in you. You’ll feel better.”
“Spoken like a true Italian,” Rafael murmured with a half-hearted smile.
Sonny served up the meal and they sat at the table together. He tried to make conversation, but out of the corner of his eye he watched as Rafael just picked at the food and moved it around his plate. Finally, he sighed, pushed the dish back, and turned to the older man. “Babe, do you want to talk about it?”
Rafael closed his eyes and sighed. “Do I ever really want to talk about how I’m feeling?”
“No,” Sonny said, reaching out and taking his hand. “But I think you need to.” He gently pulled Barba from his chair and led him to the living room where they sat side-by-side on the sofa. “This is a tough case, and it’s clear that it is eatin’ at you somethin’ fierce. Talk to me,” he said, gently. “Tell me what’s goin’ on.”
Rafael sat with his elbows on his knees staring at the floor for several minutes, gathering his thoughts. “You know I hated my father,” he finally began.
Sonny tensed. They were delving into territory that Rafael didn’t often go. He spoke about his father on rare occasions. Never with any fondness, though he had never gone explicitly into why. The detective knew their relationship had been difficult when Rafael was a child and hadn’t improved as an adult, but he hadn’t pushed. He knew his partner would talk about it when he was ready. “Yeah, you’ve said as much.”
The attorney stood and walked over to the drink cart they kept in the living room and poured himself a generous glass. “To be honest, no one liked him. He was a judgmental son of a bitch, verbally and physically abusive to everyone around him.” He looked down into the scotch in his glass and swirled it around. “Especially me.”
The detective’s heart lurched, thinking about his own childhood and their house filled with boisterous siblings and loving parents. The Carisis were a loud, energetic bunch, but Sonny had never doubted they loved him.
“A few years ago, Dad fell into a diabetic coma,” Rafael continued. “I was his next of kin, so it was up to me to make the decisions.” He paused to take a sip. “I hated him, but I went every morning to the hospital to check on him. I despised him, and every day the nurses told me he was brain dead, and there was nothing that could be done to save him, and it would be best for him to just let him go.”
Sonny swallowed around a lump in his throat. “So what did you do?”
He let out a short, bitter laugh. “I kept him plugged in.” He turned and sank heavily back down into the sofa cushions. “For weeks I kept him hooked up to the monitors and machines and let him suffer because I was too much of a coward to pull the plug.” He drained his glass in one gulp and set it on the table. “What would the priest say? What would my mother say?”
“Rafael—” Sonny began.
But he held up his hand to cut him off. “It was in my power to end his suffering and I didn’t do it. Because if there was still some semblance of life there was still hope he would wake up, and I didn’t want the burden of being the one who was responsible for his death. And do you know what happened?” He shook his head, closing his eyes. “He died anyway.”
“Rafi,” Sonny said softly. “That was not your fault.”
“But it was,” he protested, voice beginning to shake. “Maybe not because he was sick, but it was my fault that he was kept alive for all that time when the humane thing would have been to let him go.” He rubbed his forehead tiredly. “And for all these years, I have asked myself over and over if maybe I did it on purpose. Maybe I kept the bastard alive and suffering to pay him back for all the hell he put me through when I was too young to do anything about it.”
This time Sonny didn’t try to interrupt. He just rested a comforting hand on Rafael’s thigh and stroked it gently, acknowledging to himself that his love just needed to get it out.
“And today, there is this small, innocent baby.” Rafael’s voice was low, raspy. “So sweet, and so tiny. He has never hurt another human being in his entire life, and yet his life is nothing but pain and misery. He can’t hear. He can’t see. He can’t feel anything but physical pain. His entire existence has been nothing but machines keeping him alive. And I have to prosecute his dad for doing the exact same thing I did to my dad almost seven years ago.”
Sonny closed his eyes and squeezed Rafael’s thigh. “Oh sweetheart.”
Rafael looked up at him. “His mom is ready to let him go. To end his suffering. But his dad isn’t. Sonny, how can I do it? How can I prosecute the man for doing the same damn thing I did, but for a thousand better reasons?” He gulped, his control slipping fast. “And how can I live with myself knowing that little boy is suffering the way I let my father suffer, and do nothing about it?”
At that, Sonny slid closer to the couch and wordlessly gathered Rafael into his arms. His partner dissolved into Sonny’s embrace as the dam broke. Silently, Sonny held him as his slight frame shook and his tears of frustration and guilt soaked the detective’s crisp cotton shirt.
When Rafael finally began to settle down, Sonny gently kissed his forehead. “There is not a thing in the world I can say right now that is going to make this better,” he said softly. “Can you pass this to another prosecutor? There’s a whole building full of ‘em at Hogan Place. Surely you can find someone else who is more objective.”
Eyes closed, Rafael shook his head. “I need to do this. I need to figure it out.”
“But Rafi, it’s killing you.”
“Yeah,” he said, waveringly. “It is. But we don’t get to pick and choose what cases we take and which ones we don’t.” He pulled out of Sonny’s arms and leaned back against the couch cushions. “I’ll figure it out,” he repeated. “And I’ll do what I feel like I need to.”
***
It was late the next evening, and Sonny was still at his desk sorting through reports when his Lieutenant, Olivia Benson, approached his desk. Carisi looked up at her warily, absorbing her tense posture and somber expression.
“Carisi, my office,” she said softly.
Normally that phrase alone would be enough to send shivers of fear down his spine. He’d been called to the lieutenant’s office often enough to know it usually didn’t mean good news. But Benson’s demeanor added another layer of trepidation. His gut roiling into an oily ball of anxiety, he followed her into the office and closed the door behind him. “Lieutenant?”
Liv closed her eyes and leaned forward on her desk. “Carisi, I need you to stay calm, and not run out and make what I’m about to tell you worse.”
The ball in his stomach grew larger. “I’ll do my best, Lieu.”
She studied him, eyes full of anger, fear, and sympathy. “ADA Rafael Barba was just arrested.”
He swore the floor fell out from under him. “What?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“He, um.” She began pacing the floor. “He went to the hospital tonight and turned off the life support for Drew Househohlder.”
“He did what?!”
“I know, Carisi,” she said, holding up a hand. “I know. We were able to get an emergency arraignment pushed through, and it looks like he will be released on his own recognizance. But we have been told unequivocally we are off this case. The entire squad is too close to it—especially you and me. You’re his domestic partner, and I’m his best friend. We can’t touch it. The DA’s office will be bringing in special investigators and prosecutors to handle the case.”
Sonny closed his eyes and dropped onto the sofa she kept in her office. “Where is he now?”
“Still in holding. He’ll be released in about an hour, and he’ll need you, Carisi.” She removed the glasses from her face and tossed them on her desk. “He will need you more than he ever has. I haven’t seen him, but I have been told he is a mess.” She crouched down in front of her detective, facing him. “I want you to take a few days. Be with him.” He started to protest, but she cut him off. “I’m asking that as much for him as I am you.” Liv sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on with this case, why he is taking it so personally, but it has severely affected his judgment. He needs you to hold him up. I’m asking my best friend’s partner to go keep him together.”
Biting his lip, Sonny nodded. “I’ll take care of him,” he said softly. He stood. “I’m going to go get him.” The detective shuddered, thinking of holding at the courthouse and Rafael stuck inside. “Once he’s processed, I’ll take him home.”
“Call me when you’re settled,” Liv said. Sonny nodded and headed out.
Halfway to the elevator, a thought crossed his mind, and he swore under his breath. A Manhattan ADA accused of killing a baby and arrested? This would be hitting the media soon, if it hadn’t already. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number as he entered elevator car.
Thankfully, it was empty.
“Hello? Sonny?”
He understood Lucia Barba’s confusion—it was rare that he called Rafael’s mother. “Mrs. Barba,” he greeted. “I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I need to tell you something.”
“Rafael?” she asked. “Is he okay?”
He sighed and leaned against the back of the car. “He’s…in a lot of trouble,” he said. “I wanted to catch you before the press gets wind of this, because they’re going to. I didn’t want you to be blindsided.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this: Rafael was arrested tonight for taking a sick kid off of life support.”
Lucia remained silent for almost a full minute. “He did what?” she finally asked in disbelief.
“I don’t know all the details,” Sonny replied. “I haven’t talked to him yet. He’s being released and I’m on my way to the courthouse to get him, so I can sort this out.”
“What the hell, Sonny?” Lucia breathed. “Why? What is he thinking?”
The elevator swished open, and Sonny moved down the corridor towards his car. “From what he was saying last night, it’s some convoluted guilt over his old man.”
He recognized the string of Spanish she muttered as profanity, only because her son tended to use some of the same phrases when he was particularly annoyed. “That son of a bitch has been gone almost seven years and still hurting Rafi,” she said. Lucia took a deep breath. “Okay, Sonny, I’m coming.”
“Mrs. Barba, I have him,” Sonny assured her. “You’re all the way in the Bronx. It’ll be late by the time you get here. I can call you when he’s home and—”
“Sonny,” she interrupted. “Rafael is my only child. I am on my way.”
An image of his own fiercely protective Italian mother flashed through his mind, and he smiled. “Yes ma’am.”
***
It was nearly two hours and one train ride later when Lucia Barba entered the elevator in her son’s building. Sonny had texted her to confirm that Rafael had been released and was now home, though he didn’t want to talk to or see anyone. Her jaw set as she hoisted her purse higher on her shoulder. She’d given birth to him, so he would damn well see her.
Thankfully the security on duty at the front desk recognized her and buzzed her on up, which saved time. There was an urgency in her that only a mother could understand to see her child and reassure herself that he was in one piece and safe. When she arrived on his floor, she practically ran down the hall to his door and knocked firmly.
Sonny answered the door, and immediately held a finger to his lips. “Shhh,” he cautioned. “He’s crashed out on the couch. He’s exhausted, and I don’t want to wake him.” He pointed around the corner to their spacious living room.
The urgency suddenly evaporated when Lucia turned the corner and caught sight of Rafael. He was curled on his side on the sofa, one hand tucked under his cheek. A lock of hair fell over his forehead, and he looked so heartbreakingly like the child she’d once held that it took her breath away. She took in the damp lashes that rested against his chapped and tearstained cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes, and sighed. Dropping her purse and coat into a chair, she stepped over just long enough to smooth the hair off his face. He let out a shuddering sigh in his sleep and she kissed his cheek gently, pulled a blanket Sonny had obviously tossed over him up higher, and turned to follow Sonny out of the room.
“How is he?” she asked as they stepped into the kitchen.
“Exhausted,” Sonny replied. He looked much the same, but she didn’t point that out. He reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine, holding it up in silent offer. She nodded and took a seat at the table.
“Did he actually do it?” she asked, almost afraid of the answer.
Sonny’s jaw set as he poured them both a glass. “He did,” he admitted. “He told me as much. Though,” he went on, “I can’t fault him for his reasons. That kiddo was gone already, and the parents couldn’t bring themselves to let him go.”
Lucia took a sip of the wine. “He had such a hard time letting his father— rest his soul, the son of a bitch —go when he was sick.”
“He told me about it last night,” Sonny said quietly. He stared for a moment into his glass. “Mrs. Barba—”
She raised a brow at him. “Sonny, you’ve been sleeping with my son for over a year. Call me Lucia.”
He smothered a grin and blushed. “Yes ma’am,” he agreed. “What happened between Rafael and his old man?”
A rush of anger and guilt washed over her. “He was an asshole,” she said simply. “Rafael was brilliant, brought home perfect grades, did everything his father asked him to, but it was never good enough.” She paused, using a sip of her wine as an excuse to gather her thoughts. “I stayed with him long after I should have taken Rafi and left because I was of that generation that was taught it was better for a kid to have their family intact than break it up, and just ignore the abuse.” She shook her head. “But I finally got to the point where I couldn’t take him hurting Rafael any longer. Me? I could handle that.” She shook her head. “Rafael had a mouth on him—”
Sonny chuckled. “You’re kidding me,” he deadpanned.
“I know, it sounds impossible,” Lucia smiled at him. “The older he got, the more he would talk back when his father started in on him, and then it would turn physical.” She stared into the wine. “I remember the day I called the asshole—may he rest in peace— to tell him Rafi got a full scholarship to Harvard. Our kid. A Cuban boy from the Bronx, going to Harvard. And do you know what he said? He said, ‘Why would you want him to go to some prissy school in Boston?’” She took a calming sip. “He would have hated you, Sonny.”
Sonny considered his own glass. “It sounds like I might not have been so fond of him, either.”
“I think Rafael had a hard time accepting his own sexuality for a long time because of the way his father treated him,” Lucia went on. “He would have hated that Rafael is happy with another man.” She paused and reached across the table to squeeze Sonny’s hand in a motherly fashion. “Make no mistake, I thought he was a pigheaded asshole and still do—God rest his miserable soul. I can see that you’re good for Rafael, and he loves you. And you love him. I’m glad he has you.”
Her heart lightened when he flushed. “Thank you.”
“I wish,” she went on, “that I had gathered the courage to take Rafi and get out long before I did. Maybe now he wouldn’t still feel so conflicted about the whole thing.”
“You’re not responsible for my decisions, Mami.”
They both turned to the doorway at the sound of Rafael’s soft voice. He stood in bare feet, trousers, and a rumpled, untucked shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was disheveled, and voice hoarse with sleep and tears. “Rafi, mi hijo,” she said, jumping up to hug him. “Are you okay?”
He leaned into her embrace, and she squeezed him tighter. “I’ve had better days.”
“Sorry if we woke you up,” Sonny said, holding up the wine bottle in offer.
Rafael shook his head and took a water bottle out of the fridge. “You didn’t,” he sat down heavily in a chair. “Sleeping on the sofa isn’t the most comfortable situation and my back was hurting.”
This time Lucia squeezed his hand. “Rafael, what happened?”
He stared at the table. “He was so small, so innocent, and his entire existence was nothing but pain and loss. He would never be able to experience joy. His mother wanted to let him go, but she just couldn’t. So, I helped them both.”
Silence filled the room for several minutes. “What happens next?” Lucia asked.
“I’ll go in the morning and hire an attorney,” Rafael said. “I’ll need someone to defend me.”
“They’re really going to prosecute you?” Lucia exclaimed. “Jack McCoy knows you! He knows you would never—”
“McCoy is doing his job,” Sonny interjected.
“I knew what would happen when I did it, Mami,” Rafael added. “I was prepared.”
She spun to Sonny. “You’ve passed the Bar. You’re a lawyer. You defend him.”
“Technically, yeah, I’m a lawyer. I’m a lawyer who has never defended a case in my life,” Sonny replied, gently. “I’ve helped with some prosecutions, but I never had any intention on being a defense attorney. He needs someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“I’ve got some ideas,” Rafael added, trying to reassure her. “People I’ve gone up against in court that gave me unbelievable headaches. I’ll be fine.”
Lucia studied his face, remembering the little boy he had been and drinking in the man he was now. She studied the shattered expression in his eyes, the slump of his shoulders, the exhaustion in his posture. And she wondered if he really, truly would be fine ever again.
***
The trial was miserable for them all. Sonny was a nervous wreck. Lucia stayed in their guest room for the duration so she wouldn’t have to take the train all the way back to the Bronx every evening. She was determined to be in court to support Rafael. For his part, the defendant was barely able to eat, and in fact came home every evening and was promptly sick in the master bathroom. He was exhausted, but Sonny knew he barely slept.
For the days of the trial, Sonny sat between Olivia and Lucia in the courtroom. He wanted so much to protect Rafael and defend him from the attacks hurled his way, and he felt helpless just sitting there quietly. Benson occasionally reached over and squeezed his arm encouragingly when he felt his emotions getting the better of him. And when Rafael broke down on the stand and confessed that though he felt he had done the right thing for Drew Householder he still felt guilty, Sonny slid an arm around Lucia’s shoulders and squeezed her comfortingly. She had mouthed thank you, and patted his knee.
And now here they were. The jury was back, and Sonny’s heart pounded like drums in his ears. It’s going to be fine, he told himself. Rafael would be just fine.
“Will the defendant please rise?”
It tore at Sonny’s heart to hear Rafael referred to as the defendant. He had spent his whole career taking criminals off the streets. Rafael Barba was no criminal.
“Have you reached a verdict?”
He watched the bailiff hand a slip of paper back to the jury foreman. Next to him, Lucia tensed. Sonny squeezed her hand and fixed his gaze on the back of Rafael’s head ,willing his partner to feel his love and support from across the courtroom. Whatever happens, I’m here, he thought.
“Yes, we have, your Honor. On the sole count of the indictment, murder in the second degree, we find the defendant, Rafael Barba—”
Sonny held his breath.
“Not guilty.”
“Oh, thank God,” Lucia murmured, sagging with relief.
Sonny saw Rafael’s knees gave way, and he understood completely. For his part, he was glad he was sitting down because he wasn’t sure his own legs could hold him. He took several gulping breaths, trying to steady himself.
Olivia squeezed his hand. “He’s okay,” she murmured, reassuring him. “He’s going to be okay.”
“Members of the jury, you are excused. The court thanks you for your service.”
Rafael shook his attorney’s hand in thanks and turned to the three of them, a mixture of relief and pain shining in his green eyes. Sonny stood and smiled hesitantly, and within seconds Rafael was in his arms, burying his face in Sonny’s shoulder. “It’s over, Rafi,” he murmured against his temple. “It’s all over.”
***
By that night, Lucia had returned to the Bronx and Sonny and Rafael had settled in for a quiet evening. Sonny was slated to return to work the next morning and was reviewing some notes on cases he would be walking into. Rafael had retreated to their shared office down the hall, stating he needed some time to himself. He had been quiet since they left the courthouse, and though Sonny was concerned, he also acknowledged his partner had been through an ordeal and needed some space. And so, he kept a listening ear down the hall while he sat curled at the end of the sofa and reviewed case notes.
“Got a minute?”
He looked up from the notes and up at Rafael, dressed in his favorite comfort attire: a ratty, disintegrating set of Harvard sweats. “Sure,” he said. “Just trying to figure out what I’m walkin’ into tomorrow.” He set the notes aside. “How you doing?”
“Tired,” Rafael admitted. He stretched out on the sofa and rested his head in Sonny’s lap. “I don’t believe I have ever been this exhausted in my life.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight?” Sonny asked, threading his fingers through his partner’s silvering hair.
“Maybe. I hope so.” He fell silent a moment. “I just wrote my resignation letter from the DA’s office.”
Sonny froze. “You did what?”
“I’m resigning.”
Sonny cupped his cheek. “You know you don’t have to do that,” he said. “McCoy—”
“This has nothing to do with Jack,” Rafael said. “Honestly, he’s probably going to fight me on it. But yes, I do. Not because of what happened—or not just because of what happened,” he continued, rubbing his eyes. “It’s Drew Householder. It’s Mariel McClaughlin. It’s Tara Sidnana.” He exhaled. “The last few cases I have tried have exhausted me, and I just—” He stopped and took a shuddering breath and sat up to look at Sonny. “I can’t do it anymore. I need to move on.”
“Move on?” He swallowed hard. “What will you do next?”
“I have no idea,” he said, voice breaking. “Not a clue. But I worked twenty-one years in the DA’s office and, minus a few blips, I have a great record. I’m sure I can find something.”
“Something…” Sonny echoed, searching Rafael’s face anxiously.
Rafael suddenly looked at him directly. “Sonny, you don’t think—” He leaned over and pressed his lips tenderly against Sonny’s. “You just stood by me through some of the darkest days of my life. I just mean move on professionally. Not you.”
The detective exhaled with relief. “Don’t scare me like that, Rafael,” he admonished and slid his arms around him to pull him close. He nuzzled into his partner’s neck. “I just want to say, and then I plan to leave this behind unless you want to talk about it: it absolutely gutted me every time I heard them call you ‘the defendant’.”
Rafael kissed his temple. “But I was the defendant.”
“No,” Sonny said. “You, Rafael Barba, are a good man. And it took everything in me to sit in that courtroom and not shout at everyone who would listen that you would never, ever hurt anyone.”
Rafael smiled softly and traced a fingertip along Sonny’s lips. “Gracias, mi amor.”
Sonny kissed him tenderly, inhaling the warm, spicy scent that was purely Rafael. “Come on,” he said. “It’s late. Let’s get you in bed and see if you can finally sleep.” He paused. “Before you do anything rash, take a couple days. Think it over.”
“I will,” he promised, “but my mind is pretty made up. It’s time, Dominick.”
Heartsick, Sonny sighed and pulled him to a standing position, resting his arms on Rafael’s shoulders and stepping close when the attorney’s arms slid around his waist. “Special Victims will not be the same without you, ever again.”