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Now, it wasn’t that Rafael wasn’t used to long nights, because he was. Prosecutors in New York were a dime a dozen, so if he wanted to work his way to the top, he had to do just that: work. And he wasn’t frightened of hard work. It was a rare occasion that Rafael was home before ten o’clock at night.
But that wasn’t to say that the events of the past week were common, either. This case was abnormally stressful, and for all the wrong reasons. There was plenty of evidence, but most of it was illegally obtained. One oversight from the new sergeant, and Rafael was stuck in his office until one in the morning four nights in a row, when he was required to go home; less by his superiors and more by the owners of the building.
This didn’t mean he stopped working at one, despite the concerned looks he was getting from some of the detectives (one in particular). Two of the four nights so far were all-nighters.
On the fifth night, Rafael broke out the red wine he usually saved for important visitors. He poured himself a fuller-than-normal glass with shaky hands. He sipped from his glass with surprising self-restraint as he read the police reports for what must have been the third time, checking for some way, any way, for the contents of the perp’s computer to be submitted as evidence. For a man that certainly knew the law like the back of his hand, even in a sleep-deprived state, this fruitless search was more than a little frustrating for Rafael. His grip on the wine glass tightened.
A noise not unlike shattering didn’t quite pull Rafael from his thoughts. It wasn’t yet unreasonably late, there were still others in the building. However, a dull pain in his hand did get his attention.
He reluctantly turned his attention away from the reports and shifted his gaze to his left hand. The glass had splintered in his hand, leaving shards scattered mainly across his carpet but also lodged painfully in his hand. The wine splattered across a few of the documents and dripped lazily down the side of his davenport.
“Fuck!” Rafael yelped, standing quickly.
He shook his head and muttered a string of Spanish curses to himself, glancing towards the door in case anyone had hear his outburst. He sat in his chair and rolled it away from his desk. He began to pluck the glass out of his hand slowly, resisting the urge to wipe the blood on his pants. After absentmindedly pressing a napkin from his latest takeout bag to his hand, he stood again.
“I need a break.” He announced to nobody in particular.
He considered stepping outside for a few minutes, but his window was already open. Besides, it was Manhattan. How refreshing could the air be?
Then the baby grand in the corner caught his eye. It was for moments exactly like this why Rafael had gone to the trouble of paying some guys to haul his piano up four flights in the first place. He strode over to the bench and sat, glancing over his shoulder towards the door once more. He lifted the cover off the keys and stroked the gleaming ivories affectionately with his thumb. He thought for a moment and let his fingers settle over the keys. His hands stopped shaking as he closed his eyes and let himself get caught up in the prelude.
It started off with a sort of quiet chilliness, like shining glass. But the sound grew with a not quite dissonance into something that sounded like an assurance that everything was going to be alright. The song faded out again into something that sounded like individual stars winking on a late fall evening. Rafael’s fingers drifted over the keys effortlessly as if he had known this piece all his life, and it was because he had. His Abuela taught it to him when he was nineteen years old; a time in his life when he desperately needed something to cling to, and the piano became that thing. It was a short song, by the Romantic period’s standards, but by the last few dreamy chords, Rafael was always feeling a sort of quiet triumph: he was on top of the world but no one knew it. A good way to stay in power.
That thought drew a small smile to his face as he brushed his thumb across his hair line, wiping away the sweat that always collected there when he played.
“Didn’t know you played, Counselor.”
A too intimate tone cut into his dream like state, and he forced the smile off his face, suppressing the instinct to whip around like his heart had skipped a beat, though it had.
“Detective? What can I do for you?” He asked, not quite managing to sound as gruff as he normally liked to.
“Uh, I think it’s more about what I can do for you.” Carisi said, handing him a stack of papers.
Rafael stood, looking at them strangely for a minute before taking the stack. “What are-? Oh.”
“You didn’t forget about your phone call with the Sarge did ya, Barba? Tellin’ her to send me over with the statements because I was the only one you could bear to see right now?” He grinned cockily.
Rafael shifted his weight to the other side. “She… she told you I said that? Huh.” He mentally swore revenge on Liv later.
“Uh… yeah.” Carisi’s grin faltered at his frown. He thought he saw Carisi glance at his hands.
Rafael tried to find some form of ‘You were the only one who used enough individual thinking to know that maybe just because Dodds said you could use the key to his home without a warrant and no probable cause, didn’t necessarily make it legal.’ that didn’t sound like a compliment, and came up empty.
“I’m just glad someone understands that the “act first, think later” attitude isn’t really conducive in the realm of law, you know?” Rafael managed.
Carisi’s eyes widened slightly, like he couldn’t believe Rafael even slightly acknowledged his pursuit of a law degree.
In the slightly awkward silence, Carisi’s eyes were drawn to Rafael’s hands like a moth to a flame.
Rafael sighed. “I cut my hand on a glass, okay?”
Carisi’s neck turned pink at being caught staring. “That’s not what I was looking at!” He exclaimed defensively.
Rafael raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”
“Really! You have…” He coughed and lowered his eyes. “You have nice hands.” Carisi muttered.
Rafael opened his mouth, and closed it again. “I… what?” He spoke softly.
Carisi did not once meet Rafael’s gaze as he muttered, “I was watching you play piano and I jus’ never realized that you have nice… hands.”
Rafael narrowed his eyes. “You were watching me? How long did you stand there without saying anything?”
Carisi lifted his gaze at this. “Probably a few minutes. I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
Rafael’s mind was racing. He had been an idiot.
“Counselor? We gonna go over these statements, or…?”
Rafael stepped towards him and Carisi stepped backwards at the predatory look on his face. “Counselor…?”
Rafael closed the distance between them. The look on his face melted into an all-knowing grin. He looked up and straightened the taller man's tie. “Will you go to dinner with me?”
Carisi looked like a deer in the headlights. “Like a date?”
Rafael hummed in agreement. “Like a date.”
Carisi pulled Rafael into a loose hug. Rafael tensed, but Carisi’s fingers relaxed him as he stroked the small of his back. Carisi leaned down to whisper directly into Rafael’s ear, “Let’s go on a date, Barba.” Rafael shivered at the way Carisi could make those innocent words sound dirty.
“Call me Rafael.”