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“Ah, look who’s slumming it. What brings you to our neck of the woods, Detective?”
“Who doesn’t love a Christmas party?” Carisi asked, running a hand over the front of his festive shirt. The room was filled with lawyers and judges—and some of their spouses—most in casual clothes, some in holiday garb, a few in suits. Carisi had compromised, wearing jeans—and his Christmas sweater over his shirt and tie.
“I know your squad usually meets in a bar,” the other man said.
“There’s a bar here.”
“Having a bar doesn’t make it a bar. Nice sweater.”
Carisi smiled. “Point taken. Can I get you another—”
“Don’t mind him, Carisi,” Barba said, stepping up beside the cop. “He only likes clothes that are shiny. Thinks they look more expensive.”
The other lawyer rolled his eyes. “Fashion advice from the man who wears pink shirts to court. Speaking of—isn’t this the same suit you wore to court today?”
“It is!” Barba exclaimed, grinning. “It’s very expensive, it’d be a shame to waste it.”
“At least the shirt isn’t pink,” the other man said.
“I have to say, your obsession with the color of my wardrobe is flattering,” Barba said, raising his eyebrows.
The other man made a sound somewhere between annoyance and disgust, and turned his attention back to Carisi. “You guys really screwed the pooch on the Riley case.”
Carisi bristled in spite of himself. “It’s not SVU’s fault the guy—”
“Down, boy,” Barba said, shooting him a sideways look before focusing on the other lawyer. “Sometimes Griggs just needs to talk until his brain can catch up.”
“I know you’re feeling pretty chummy with your cop buddies, lately, Barba, but remember, no matter how much they smile at you—they don’t let anyone else behind that thin blue line. Don’t forget which side you’re on.”
“We’re all on the same side, aren’t we?” Carisi asked, glancing from Barba to Griggs. “Justice, law and order, don’t we all just wanna put away the bad guys?”
“Besides, he’s not just a cop, didn’t he pass his bar exam?” a woman asked, appearing at Carisi’s other side with a smile.
“On his first try, in fact!” Barba told Griggs. He pursed his lips and tilted his head, considering. “Remind me—was it four times, or only three—”
“Alright,” Griggs said. “Nice chat.” He tipped his glass and started to turn away.
Barba called after him, “The prosecution rests.”
Griggs looked back. “If your buddies keep screwing up your cases, give the DA my name when he’s looking for your replacement.”
“Oh, trust me, he has your name,” Barba returned. “It’s in the file marked not a chance. But your concern for my career is sweet.” Without waiting for a response, he turned his back on Griggs and, smiling at the woman beside Carisi, said, “So, Counselor, this is Detective Carisi. I taught him everything he knows, just not everything I know. Carisi, this is Abigail Griggs, niece of that unpleasant blowhard who just left, but don’t let that deter you.”
Carisi smiled at her and held out his hand. “Call me Sonny,” he said.
“Abby,” she returned.
“He uses that line on everyone, just so you know,” Barba told her.
“If you want, I can introduce you around,” Abby said, returning Carisi’s smile. She glanced at Barba. “As long as you’re not tied to—”
“No, Ms. Griggs, he is off-leash tonight. Have at it.” Barba turned toward Carisi, clapped him on the shoulder and, leaning in so that his own shoulder brushed Carisi’s chest, said, “Don’t do anything I would.”
Carisi laughed in spite of himself, shaking his head.
With a quick pat on the arm, Barba said, “You kids have fun,” and sauntered away into the crowd, leaving Carisi and Abby alone in the middle of the room.
Carisi looked at Abby and rolled his eyes. “Sorry about him,” he said. “He’s, uh…well. You know. Barba,” he finished with a shrug and a smile.
“Oh, believe me, I know ADA Barba,” Abby laughed. “Most aspiring lawyers would kill for a chance to shadow him, but I doubt most would last as long as you have.”
“He’s the best,” Carisi said with a shrug. “No way I would’ve learned as much from anyone else, not so soon.”
“I’ve seen you two around the courthouse. He seems to ride you pretty hard—If you want to follow someone else around for a while, I can make that happen. You could get a little of the spotlight on you, for a change. We all know that nothing makes Barba happier than a press conference and a soapbox.”
“He gives credit when it’s due,” Carisi said. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure, thanks.” As they turned toward the bar, Carisi’s touch at her arm was light, and she stepped closer to his side as they wove through the groups of people. “I’d ask how you convinced him to let you observe, but I imagine he just liked the idea of a lackey to whom he could show off—”
“At first I think he was doing it as a favor to my lieutenant, actually,” Carisi said. They ordered their drinks and, while they waited, he gestured toward the room with his chin and said, “So, is this our taxpayer money at work, or what?”
“The NYPD doesn’t have their Christmas parties in a place like this?” she asked, feigning surprise.
“Not so much, no,” he laughed. He looked around. He spotted Barba—the ADA had his hand on a judge’s arm, and he was leaned in close to her ear, grinning as he said something in a low voice. She suddenly threw her head back and laughed, and her fingers brushed against Barba’s chest. Everything about their body language screamed of flirtation, but Carisi wasn’t surprised. Barba flirted with everyone. “You work at your uncle’s firm?” Carisi asked, turning his attention to Abby as they picked up their drinks and thanked the bartender.
“For now,” she answered. “But he’s alright, really. He and Barba are just…competitive.”
“Aren’t all lawyers?” he asked.
She laughed. “Touché. Really, you should come by, feel it out. Not always as high-stakes pressure as the DA’s office, maybe, but we do what we can.”
“Victims deserve justice no matter how much their face is on the news,” Carisi said.
“Ah, so you’re a purist,” she joked. “Barba hasn’t made you a cynic, yet?”
“Barba? He’s no cynic, I promise you,” Carisi answered with a laugh. They were walking, slowly, and it was no accident that her arm kept brushing against his. “No one has a stronger desire for justice.”
“No one has a bigger ego,” she countered.
“Let’s talk about something other than work,” he suggested. “Tell me about you, did you grow up in New York?”
“Pennsylvania, actually,” she said. “Here.” She put her hand at his sleeve, and he followed her lead as she turned toward a group of men and women.
“Hey, the cops are here,” one of the men joked as they approached, and Carisi smiled. The man held out a hand. “Detective…what was it? Something Italian, right?”
“Carisi, call me Sonny.”
“Trent LeBlanc.”
Shaking his hand, Carisi said, “French, huh?”
“Booyah,” a voice behind him said, and Carisi glanced over his shoulder to see Barba sauntering past, smirking. “Mr. LeBlanc went to McGill, as he’s no doubt about to tell you. Try to contain yourself,” he added, without stopping. He was on his way toward the bar.
“Mr. Barba’s right,” LeBlanc said. “I hate when that happens.” The group laughed, and LeBlanc continued, “French-Canadian. Take half a point. How’s Fordham Law’s night program, these days? I hear good things.” The group laughed again, looking to Carisi for his reaction.
“Seemed to work out pretty well for me,” Carisi said.
“Did you mention the whole passing-the-bar-on-the-first-try, thing?” Barba asked, passing by in the opposite direction, with two glasses in each hand. “Guaranteed crowd-pleaser in this place.”
“Care to explain what happened to the Riley case, Barba?” LeBlanc called after him.
“Maybe later,” Barba answered without looking back. Carisi watched him stop in front of the pretty judge and offer her a glass, before handing drinks to the two lawyers—one male, one female—who’d joined them. Barba said something in a low voice, and all three of his companions laughed.
“That case falling apart wasn’t the fault of the DA’s office,” Abby said, putting her hand inside the crook of Carisi’s elbow. “Even Barba—”
“He got cocky, and he got sloppy,” LeBlanc cut in. “But we all have to rely on a little vetting by the NYPD,” he added, turning his gaze to Carisi.
“None of us knew the witness was going to lie on the stand,” Carisi answered. “And Pierre had a good lawyer. She played the jury—”
“She’s not here, you don’t have to worry,” LeBlanc cut in. “She’s probably somewhere throwing a party of her own, celebrating the way we all do when we take Barba down a notch. In court, of course,” he added, with a toothy smile that fell short of his eyes.
“Those parties must be few and far between,” Carisi said, with a smile of his own.
The others laughed, and one of them clapped LeBlanc on the shoulder, saying, “He’s got us there, Trent.”
“Speaking of parties,” Carisi added, gesturing toward LeBlanc with his glass, “Didn’t you have the case last month with that, uh—what was his name? The party on the yacht—Anderson, the Cole Anderson trial, that was you, right? I was wondering why you didn’t use the Burke v. Young precedent to argue your—”
“Didn’t apply,” LeBlanc interrupted, and it was clear that a nerve had been struck.
“Really? Barba and I both agreed—”
“Please, like any of us believe that Rafael Barba considers your opinions—or anyone’s. He’s the be-all and end-all of judicial law—in his mind, anyway.”
“I guess the highest conviction rate in five boroughs’ll do that to a guy,” Carisi shot back.
“Ho, ho, checkmate,” one of the lawyers said, clapping LeBlanc on the shoulder, and LeBlanc forced a smile as his companions chuckled.
“Oh, Sonny, come on,” Abby said, pulling on his arm. “I want to introduce you to Judge Samuels.”
“Pleasure talking with you, Detective,” LeBlanc said.
“Likewise,” Carisi returned, nodding toward the others in the group before following Abby’s tug on his arm. “This is a tough room,” he muttered, leaning toward her ear. “What’s the deal? Barba might be…an acquired taste, but—”
“Most of the men in the room want to be him, most of the women want to sleep with him,” Abby said. “And then there’s some crossover.”
Carisi considered that in silence.
“Judge Samuels, this is Detective Sonny Carisi,” Abby said, as they stopped in front of a female judge that Carisi recognized.
“Ah, yes, you were in my courtroom last week,” Samuels said. “Please tell me you’re not going to pick up the grandstanding habits of your mentor, Mr. Barba, Detective Carisi?”
“Let’s just say his flair for the dramatic isn’t my style,” Carisi answered, but his smile felt a little sickly. He didn’t like all the jabs at Barba, not when the man wasn’t in the conversation to defend himself. Before he could say something to change the subject, the judge, seeming to read his expression, spoke again.
“Don’t get me wrong, Detective, I have the utmost respect for the ADA. His…flair for the dramatic, as you put it, might get tiring but it’s never boring, and no one could ever argue he doesn’t get results. The Riley case was a tough one for all of us to stomach, but I have complete faith that the NYPD will find another angle at that—if you’ll forgive me—son of a bitch. The SVU’s conviction rate is almost as impressive as the Manhattan DA’s, now that he’s given Barba a longer leash.”
“I appreciate that, Your Honor, we do our best. I wouldn’t bet against Lieutenant Benson.”
The judge laughed. “Nor would I,” she said. “I know Olivia—I’ve seen her in my court more often than most of the lawyers here. If you’ll excuse me,” she said, nodding across the room as someone caught her attention.
“Of course,” Carisi said, as the judge sidled past him. He looked at Abby. She’d finished her drink, although he’d barely sipped his own. He gestured toward her glass with his chin. “Refill?” he asked.
She smiled; she still had hold of his arm, and he had no complaints. She had pretty green eyes that lit up each time he smiled at her. She wore minimal makeup, just enough to accent her natural beauty, and the curve of her lips made it nearly impossible not to imagine kissing her. Her confidence was sexy, and even though she hadn’t said much, Carisi knew she was one of the smartest people in the room. He could see it in her attentive gaze, knew that she didn’t miss a thing.
“You smell nice,” he told her, leaning down to murmur it in her ear. From the corner of his eye, he saw her lips curve even further, saw the dimple peek out of her cheek, and he grinned at the pressure of her fingers on his arm.
“Yes, I could use a refill,” she said, and he laughed, straightening. “Unless you want to share?” she asked, nodding toward his glass. “Not much of a drinker?”
Before he could answer, two men stepped up to them. One, Carisi recognized; the other he didn’t.
“Judge Piro, right?” he asked, handing his drink to Abby before shaking the judge’s hand. She set her empty glass on a nearby table and sipped at Carisi’s drink.
“Sure, but it’s Christmas,” Piro said. “Call me Ted. Detective Carisi, this is Gary Fellows. We have a friendly little wager going, and need your help to settle it.”
“Glad to do what I can,” Carisi said, thinking, Please don’t be about Barba or the Riley case.
“How many doughnuts would you say your squad goes through in a week? On average?” Fellows asked.
Carisi laughed. “Never ask a cop to betray squad secrets,” he answered.
Piro leaned forward, and said, “In all seriousness, though, you guys help us all sleep a little easier at night. We see a lot, but none of us could do what you all do. Cops and lawyers—working together, they’re essential, but they’re of different species. I know you’re playing your hand at lawyer, for a bit—”
“‘So we must be careful about what we pretend to be,’” Barba said, suddenly appearing beside Carisi to flash a grin at Piro and Fellows. “Kurt Vonnegut,” he added, even though no one asked.
“Good to see you, Mr. Barba,” Piro said. “You know Gary?”
“I do,” Barba said, still smiling, his eyes twinkling as he looked at Fellows. “Delightful to see you again, as always, Mr. Fellows,” he added.
Carisi looked at Gary Fellows and realized that the man was blushing.
“And excellent ruling last week, Judge Piro,” Barba said. “I knew you’d see things my way.”
“No one talks his way around a circle quite like you, Rafael,” Piro answered, both exasperated and amused.
“‘I’m in no one’s circle. I’ve always been an outsider,’” Barba said. “Any guesses who said that?”
“Shakespeare?” Fellows muttered.
Barba laughed. “Excellent use of sarcasm, Mr. Fellows, but no—Although Shakespeare did say ‘The wheel is come full circle.’ For future reference.”
Fellows raised his glass and quickly swallowed the last of his drink.
“Can I get you another?” Barba asked, pointing at the glass. “I’m on my way there, now.”
“Uh,” Fellows said, glancing around. “I’ll walk with you.”
Barba patted Carisi on the shoulder on his way past.
“Wait, who said the thing about being an outsider?” Abby asked.
And how did you finish your other drink so quickly? Carisi wanted to ask.
“Joan Rivers,” Barba called over his shoulder, and Abby, Carisi, and Piro all grinned at each other.
“If you’ll pardon us, Judge, we’re on our way to the bar, too,” Carisi said, noting that Abby had finished his drink.
As he walked her to the bar, they passed Barba and Fellows headed in the opposite direction. Barba was carrying three drinks, this time, and Fellows was sipping his while they walked. Barba tipped Carisi a wink on their way by.
“He’s going to wear a track into the floor,” Abby said. “Maybe he should just bring his crowd to the bar.”
Looking over his shoulder, Carisi noted, “It’s a different crowd,” as Barba and Fellows joined a man and woman on the far side of the room.
“Eh,” Abby said, shrugging and pressing up closer against Carisi’s side. “A few more and he’ll be singing.”
“Singing?” Carisi asked, shooting her a confused look.
She nodded toward the piano. “If he doesn’t take off with someone, he’ll be at the piano by eleven, guaranteed.”
“Seriously?”
She laughed. “Seriously. Strap in, Sonny, you might be in for a surprise.”
* * *
Carisi walked out of the men’s room and glanced around. Abby wasn’t in sight, so he waited near the door of the women’s room. He stood with his hands in his pockets; he had his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, because the room had grown hot and stuffy. It was also getting late. He’d talked to almost every person in the room at least once. Abby had, after several drinks in quick succession, made good on her earlier promise to introduce him around. She’d grown chattier as the evening wore on, as they’d thrown themselves into more and more conversations.
The last hour had actually been pretty invigorating for Carisi. He’d been quizzed mercilessly by judges and attorneys alike, tested on his knowledge of court cases and criminal law. He’d argued his way through hypothetical scenarios and given a little insight into his daily job upon request. A few of the people, like LeBlanc and Griggs, had been less than pleasant, but most were friendly enough and ready to admit when Carisi had made a good point.
There were several times when Barba happened by, on his way to the bar or the restroom or to meet up with someone, and he always had a glib quote, or a comment on Carisi’s test scores, to toss out in response to whatever teasing or grilling Carisi was receiving.
As he waited for Abby, Carisi scanned the room, looking for Barba. He stilled, surprised, as he saw the ADA lowering himself onto the piano bench, sans suit jacket, his shirtsleeves also rolled to the elbow. Despite Abby’s prediction, Carisi had never expected the scene to actually play out. He waited, fascinated in spite of himself, unsure if he should expect a train-wreck to unfold before his eyes. He wondered if he should try to head his friend off and take him outside before he embarrassed himself.
Carisi let that thought slip away, because he didn’t think it was possible for Barba to feel embarrassment.
The notes that filled the room were slow, not what Carisi expected. Barba was several sheets to the wind, and Carisi had been preparing himself for a Jerry Lee Lewis-esque performance of banging on the keys and maybe eventually clambering up on top of the piano to belt out some karaoke. Instead, Barba started singing, his voice low and stunningly perfect: “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” Carisi stood, frozen in place, staring across the room, mesmerized both by Barba’s voice and by the emotion in the man’s face.
Abby appeared by his side and took his arm, startling him. “Sorry,” she said, giving him a funny look, but his gaze was already sliding back to Barba. “Told you. Eleven o’clock, almost on the dot. He gets sappy after enough drinks.”
“He’s really good,” Carisi said.
“I never said he wasn’t,” Abby answered. “One more drink?”
Carisi gave himself a mental shake and forced his attention back to her, managing a smile. “Of course,” he said. By the time they’d reached the bar, a small group of men and women had gathered near the piano to join Barba in song. Carisi ordered a club soda, and he and Abby moved over to the wall, quietly nursing their drinks while they watched the group of carolers grow.
As soon as the song ended, Barba started another: “The Holly and the Ivy,” which surprised Carisi even more—until almost everyone in the place joined in on the chorus, filling the room with the sounds of a choir, and Carisi could see the pure joy in Barba’s expression. This was a tradition, Carisi realized: Barba played this song because of its potential for participation, and the lawyers and judges, his audience, became willing and eager participants.
Barba looked up, and his eyes met Carisi’s. For a moment, Carisi couldn’t breathe. He felt a jolt of electricity that stunned him; his body tingled with awareness, and he felt something like nervousness squirming in his belly. Barba broke eye contact first, and while the makeshift choir was singing, he played one-handed as he grabbed his glass from the piano and swallowed the last of his drink.
“Want to sit for a minute?” Abby asked, as Barba started singing the last verse.
“Sure,” Carisi said. He tried to shake off his discomfort, tried to return his focus to where it belonged. He knew that Abby could sense his distraction, which was unfair to her. They’d had a nice evening, and he knew that she’d assumed she would be invited back to his apartment. In truth, he hadn’t fully decided, although he’d considered the idea a lot. He couldn’t deny his attraction to her—physically and intellectually. They came from different worlds, though, and he couldn’t imagine the relationship surviving long in the light of day. They could spend the night together, and they would both enjoy themselves. They might even see each other a few times in the coming weeks, but eventually, whatever they had would dissolve like cotton candy on the tongue.
Carisi wasn’t averse to the idea, but he wanted something more substantial. He wanted something that he couldn’t get from Abby: someone to fall asleep with each night, to wake beside each morning, someone with whom he could share the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and the orange juice in the refrigerator. A real relationship that wouldn’t buckle under the stress of his job. A life spent with someone by his side.
He sat on a sofa in the corner with Abby beside him, and she leaned her head on his shoulder while they listened to Barba slide into a low and melancholy version of “Silent Night.” The mood around the room had changed, subtly, the carolers looking somber as they sang along.
* * *
Barba was propped against the wall, near the doorway, looking at his phone, when Carisi made his way over to him.
“I’ve never seen you wasted, before.”
Barba glanced up with a dirty look. “I am not wasted,” he said.
“If you say so,” Carisi answered. “Want me to get you a taxi?”
“I’m waiting for my Uber,” Barba said, peering at the screen of his phone.
“You texted an Uber?” Carisi asked, his forehead wrinkled.
Barba looked up. His hair was disheveled, his cheeks flushed, his lips parted. His jacket and tie were nowhere in sight, and his suspenders were hanging in loops below his hips. The top of his shirt was unbuttoned, one sleeve still rolled up.
His eyes were bright and alert, though, as he looked at Carisi. “I have no idea,” he said, sliding his phone into his pocket. “I definitely asked someone to pick me up, though.”
Carisi snorted. “I think I should put you in a cab,” he said.
“Ms. Griggs is making out with you from across the room,” Barba answered, arching an eyebrow. “You going to keep her waiting?”
With a small smile, Carisi said, “I told her I needed to see to a friend.”
Barba reached out a hand and pinched the front of Carisi’s sweater, giving it a light tug. “The sweater was a nice touch, don’t let anyone convince you otherwise,” he said. They were both looking at his hand. “I like that you’re not worried about what anyone thinks of you.”
Carisi cleared his throat into the following silence.
Barba seemed to give himself a mental shake, pulling his hand back. He looked up and made a face, waving his hand in the air. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m fine. You’ve done your civic duty, now get back to your date.”
“Barba—”
“Carisi,” the lawyer cut in, his readiness to argue—as always—evident in his expression. Even after as much as he’d had to drink; Rafael Barba was never off his game. Carisi knew he shouldn’t be surprised.
“Do you at least know where your—” Carisi slid his hand up and down in the air, indicating Barba’s missing jacket and tie.
“Yes, Carisi, I can keep track of my clothes. I’m a big boy. Go,” he added, gesturing toward Abby with his chin. He pulled his phone out again and, when Carisi hesitated, glanced up and repeated, “Go.”
“Alright,” the detective finally said. He pointed at Barba, who didn’t look up. “Just do me a favor and text me when you get home, at least?”
“Sure, Dad,” Barba muttered.
Laughing, shaking his head, Carisi said, “Merry Christmas, Counselor.”
“Goodnight, Detective Carisi,” Barba answered. He looked up as Carisi made his way toward Abby. She was waiting near the bar, smiling at the cop as he approached; she had her coat and gloves on, and her purse over her arm, ready to leave, and when Carisi held out his arm she didn’t hesitate. She put her arm through his and they smiled at each other. He tipped his head down to murmur something, and she nodded.
The party had wound down, but the room was far from empty. Most of the men and women were in pairs, scattered through the room, with a few larger groups. Soon, they would all straggle out into the cold city, heading home—some alone, some together.
Barba sighed and stuffed his phone into his pocket again. He scrubbed his hands over his face and gave his head a little shake, glancing at his watch even though he’d just been looking at his phone. He made his way over to get his jacket and tie from the piano bench, smiling at the judge making eyes at him from across the room.
He hesitated, considering her unspoken offer. He was more than a little tempted, and if he’d had one more drink, he supposed he’d probably invite her back to his place. One more drink—or, perhaps, if she were a worse judge, but he had too much respect for her and her courtroom. She was tough, she was fair, and he couldn’t tell his friends in the special victims unit that one of the city’s best judges would have to recuse herself from any case they wanted him to present, recuse herself or disclose their Christmas Eve one-night stand.
Still, in spite of what he’d told Carisi, he was pretty drunk, and he really didn’t relish the idea of going home to his quiet and lonely apartment by himself. When the judge tipped her glass of wine in his direction, an acknowledgement that they both knew why they shouldn’t spend the night together, Barba nodded once in return. He slung his jacket over his shoulder and tucked his tie partway into his back pocket.
“Why’d you invite me here tonight?”
Barba froze at the sound of Carisi’s voice behind him. In spite of himself, he felt a nervous flutter in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed once, and said, “‘Why anything? There is no why.’”
“Yeah, yeah, trapped in amber and all that. Even drunk, you’re still quoting Vonnegut?”
Barba turned to face him. “Look who’s been reading,” he said with a crooked smile.
“It’s bull, anyway,” Carisi returned with a scowl. “You don’t do anything without a reason.”
“Then…I wanted to see if you could hold your own,” Barba suggested with a shrug, still smiling.
“Nah, see, that’s just it,” Carisi said. “You said you liked that I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, but all night these lawyers have been talking crap. And you kept showing up, like I couldn’t handle myself, like I needed you to fight my battles for me.”
“Come on, Detective, you’re smarter than that,” he said.
“Maybe not,” Carisi returned. He spread his hands in frustration, but kept his voice low as he said, “Pretend I’m dumb. Explain it to me.”
“You don’t care what they think of you, any of them,” Barba said. “You’re the one who thought you didn’t belong with them.”
“So you brought me here to, what, stroke my ego? Make sure you didn’t lose your lackey?”
Barba let out a breath. “I need another drink,” he said. “And you need…” He waved a hand in the air. “An espresso or something. You clearly can’t hold your liquor.”
“I hardly had anything to drink.”
“Where’s your date?”
“I got her a taxi,” Carisi said.
Barba tipped his head, smirking. “You do know you’re supposed to go with her, right?”
“So, what, you thought if they insulted me it’d make me feel better about myself?” Carisi asked.
Exasperated, Barba said, “Well? Didn’t it?”
Carisi opened his mouth, then closed it, his brow knitted.
“All night, these people were testing you, and all night, you rose to the challenge. Tell me you don’t feel more confident.” Barba saw realization dawn in Carisi’s face. “There ya go,” he said, pointing at the detective. “Good boy, knew you’d get there eventually. Now go home, sleep off your epiphany.”
“Then why did you—”
“Just because you don’t care what they think doesn’t mean I don’t,” Barba said, his green eyes flashing.
Thinking that maybe Barba was upset because he knew the way some of his peers talked about him behind his back, Carisi started to justify their jealousies: “Everyone here respects—” He broke off as he saw the hint of quickly-hidden emotion flit across Barba’s features, though, realizing he’d misjudged Barba’s meaning. “Oh, you didn’t mean you,” he said, quietly. “You care what they think of me.”
Adjusting his blazer on his shoulder, Barba forced a smile and said, “Hey, what are friends for? Now, seriously, get out of here. You’re killing my buzz.” He started away, having decided to have at least one more drink, after all.
“Barba,” Carisi said.
“Nope, I’m done here,” Barba answered without looking back.
“Rafael,” Carisi said, instead, and Barba paused, suppressing a sudden shiver.
“Go home,” Barba repeated, with a quick glance over his shoulder. He walked away before he could give in to his temptation to say—or do—something he might regret. He left Carisi standing alone, with a frown on the detective’s face. Halfway to the bar, however, Barba changed his mind about the drink. Suddenly, the dark loneliness of his apartment seemed fitting, and he veered away from the drinks, away from the judge, away from all of the stubborn partiers.
What he needed was for the cold New York night air to slap him in the face. It was closing in on midnight, and the city outside was painted in the colors of Christmas. Soon, church bells would be ringing in the holiday. It might even be snowing. And, after the holiday, he would throw himself back into his work; in fact, he had files he could be reviewing now, just waiting for him at home. There were plenty of distractions in the world, for a person willing to seek them out.
He stopped in his tracks, his gaze locking with Carisi’s. No distracting from that, he thought, his heart suddenly galloping in his chest. The detective was in the doorway, his arms crossed, his Christmas sweater pulled tight across his shoulders. He was scowling, and his feet were planted.
Despite his defiant posture, Barba was confident that Carisi would back down, and so he forced himself to move. He strolled toward the doorway, jacket over his shoulder, suspenders hanging loose, tie draped from his pocket, hair a mess—he strolled with all the casualness he could muster, wondering if he was fooling anyone.
“Something I can do for you, Dominick?” he asked. It was the first time he’d ever called Carisi by his given name, and doing so was a calculated tactic.
Carisi’s expression softened, which was not the reaction that Barba had been expecting. “Everyone seems to think you give me so much crap because I annoy you, because you don’t like having me around,” Carisi said.
In spite of his resolve, Barba winced. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he heard himself say.
“I don’t—I never thought that,” Carisi answered.
“Then I’m confused,” Barba said. “You, what? Want me to be nicer to you around other people? I won’t make any promises. I can be nicer to you in private,” he added. This was edging away from calculation and into desperation, now. He needed to scare Carisi off so he could get outside.
“You’re harder on me than anyone,” Carisi said.
“Double entendre is not your forte, Sonny.”
Carisi’s cheeks were darkening; Barba felt decidedly flushed, himself, and it wasn’t from the alcohol or the stuffiness of the room. “Call me Dominick,” the detective said.
Barba stepped closer, holding Carisi’s gaze. Still, Carisi didn’t back down. “Do you know what you’re doing right now?”
Carisi cleared his throat and swallowed before speaking. “I forgot to tell you how good you were. On the piano. I didn’t know you could sing like that.”
“I’m full of surprises,” Barba said, twisting his lips into a smile.
“Well, I liked it,” Carisi returned. He hesitated, then admitted, “A lot.”
Barba could scarcely remember how to breathe normally. He was trying to maintain his self-control so he could leave with a little dignity intact, but he was losing the battle with himself. He could feel the heat of the blood in his veins. He could feel the low ache of desire burning in his stomach. His fingers longed to reach out. His skin tingled, calling out for Carisi’s touch.
“You need to stop,” Barba said, and he couldn’t even say for sure if he was talking to himself or Carisi.
“Come here,” Carisi answered.
Barba licked his lips, nervously, and glanced up. “Do you know—”
“That’s why I’m here,” Carisi cut in.
Someone—some poor, drunk schmuck hoping to con a few kisses, most likely—had taped a plastic sprig of mistletoe to the doorframe above Carisi’s head.
When Barba continued to stand, frozen in indecision, Carisi said, “I’m out on a limb, here, Rafi.”
Without any conscious decision, Barba found himself crossing the last distance between them. He was powerless to resist the vulnerability in Carisi’s expression, unable—and unwilling—to leave him mired in self-doubts. Barba reached out and pressed his palm, lightly, against Carisi’s chest, searching his stubbled, shadowy face.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Carisi said.
Barba shook his head, emotion twisting his features. He tipped his head to the side and said, “You’re not wrong.”
Carisi let out a breath. “I’ve never seen you like this. Nervous.”
“Terrified,” Barba corrected.
“You’re the most confident person I’ve ever seen,” Carisi said. “You could’ve convinced anyone in this room, male or female, to go home with you.”
“I think you overestimate my charms,” Barba said with a small smile. “Most of the people here tonight can’t stand me.”
“That’s not true. Even the straight guys want you, a little bit, they just don’t understand it.”
“Is that what this is, right now?” Barba asked. He didn’t pull his hand back. Now that he could actually feel Carisi’s heart pounding through the sweater, Barba didn’t think he’d have the strength to break away. Carisi would have to put an end to this.
Carisi shook his head. “I’m not unsure, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I have no idea what I’m asking,” Barba admitted. “I have no idea what—”
Carisi reached out, sliding his fingers into Barba’s sweaty hair, cupping the back of his head. Barba licked his dry lips, and then Carisi’s mouth was slanted over his, and the pressure that had been building inside of Barba’s chest seemed to burst, filling his ears with the roar of blood. The scent of Carisi’s aftershave—a scent that had become as familiar to Barba as his own—filled his flared nostrils and made his head spin.
He dropped his blazer to the floor and moved his hands to Carisi’s hips, holding handfuls of knitted Christmas sweater to keep himself grounded. When Carisi’s tongue met his, Barba made a strangled sound of desire and knew, in the small corner of his brain still capable of rational thought, that they needed to stop.
Barba turned his head, breathing heavily, his head swimming. Carisi’s fingers massaged his scalp, and Barba’s groin tightened. “Dom,” he said, but his voice cracked. He bit his lip and looked up, meeting Carisi’s heavy gaze. “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice and expression raw.
“Since I met you, you’ve made me a better person,” Carisi said.
Barba shook his head, opened his mouth to object.
Carisi cut him off: “It’s true, and I don’t just mean that I wouldn’t be a lawyer without you, or that I would’ve looked like an idiot in a room like this without everything you’ve taught me. I mean that…you always made me feel like I was…worthy.”
“By insulting you?” Barba asked.
“You weren’t insulting me, you were flirting. You flirt with everyone. It’s one of the ways you disarm people, no one does it better than you. It doesn’t always mean something. I knew you found me attractive. It was flattering. I didn’t think it meant anything. Even the fact that I was attracted to you—that didn’t have to mean anything, because everyone is attracted to you. You’re like a magnet. You draw people to you.”
“I repel people,” Barba countered, barely above a whisper.
“You draw them to you by pretending to repel them,” Carisi corrected. “I was fine with what it was, a mutual attraction we didn’t have to talk about.”
“And?”
“And then when you were singing, I felt this…God, Rafi, I can’t even explain it. I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything. I couldn’t even breathe. I pretty much forgot about Abby, which she didn’t deserve. It wasn’t just an abstract thing, like wanting something in a store window, you know, like fantasizing about something you know you’ll never have. It was a real desire. And I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know how it could fit into our friendship.
“Then you looked at me…” he trailed off, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
“And?” Barba repeated.
“And I knew. I could see it.”
“Knew what?”
“‘It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye,’” Carisi said.
Barba blinked in surprise. “Did you seriously just quote The Little Prince?”
Carisi grinned. “I’m full of surprises,” he said.
“What do you want from me?” Barba repeated. “If you want me to say it, I will, but I don’t want you to think—”
“This is uncharted territory for me, Rafael,” Carisi said. “You can help me. I’m always eager to learn from you,” he added with a small smile. “But it’s not some spur-of-the-moment decision. I know what I want.”
“How much have you had to drink, exactly?”
“I’m not drunk.”
“I am,” Barba said.
“I think you’ve sobered up quite a bit,” Carisi countered.
“You’re right, I have,” Barba agreed. “You do realize that I don’t normally do long-term relationships—with anyone.”
“Not normally, no,” Carisi said.
“But you’re not the one-night stand type.”
“No. I want to share the orange juice,” he said. “I want to wake up beside the same person, every morning, for the rest of my life. I want to hold hands on the sidewalk and send cute texts all day and have dinner in front of the TV.”
“And you think that I want all those things? With you?”
“Yes.”
Barba sighed. “I thought I was hiding it pretty well,” he muttered.
“I’m in love with you, Rafael,” Carisi said. “Completely, totally in love. If you feel the same, then I need…I need for you to help me. I need for you to stop looking scared because I need you to be confident and take the lead, now.”
Barba was still holding Carisi’s sweater. Carisi’s hand was at the back of Barba’s neck. They were standing close enough for each to feel the other’s desire, but there was more than that; there was an intimacy between them that neither had felt before. Their gazes were locked, blue eyes to green, as their chests rose and fell in unison.
Slowly, deliberately, Barba raised his chin and straightened his shoulders. He steered Carisi toward the side of the door, pushing him—gently, but firmly—against the wall. He braced his feet, his thighs pressed against Carisi’s, and leaned into him, holding his stare. His kiss was slow, too; he took his time exploring Carisi’s mouth, and felt the detective’s body, all of it, straining toward him.
“Hey, guys,” someone called. “Get a room.”
Carisi made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. With their mouths still melded together, Barba suddenly grinned.