Work Text:
The door to Barba’s office slammed open.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
Barba barely had time to glance up before a manila folder landed hard on his desk. The folder sat between them like a live wire, its weight heavier than paper should be. People v. González.
Amaro had pulled it from the archives, expecting just another cold case, another victim left without justice.
He hadn’t expected this.
"You went through my old cases," said Barba flatly.
"Damn right, I did." Amaro’s voice was sharp. He was furious. His blood burned. He jabbed a finger at the file.
"You don’t just drop a case like this," Amaro said, voice cutting through the silence.
Barba didn’t react.
Amaro’s fingers drummed against the file before he flipped it open again, skimming the familiar words. Seventeen-year-old boy. Hispanic. Working-class family. Accusations against an older, powerful man. No charges filed.
He exhaled sharply, stomach twisting. It didn’t add up. This wasn’t the kind of case Barba walked away from.
Not unless…
A cold thought crawled into Amaro’s mind.
Not unless it was personal.
His grip tightened around the pages. It made too much sense. Some kind of political motivation. Like the case with Alejandro Muñoz. Though even then, Barba had done the right thing. This somehow made Amaro's blood boil even more.
"You had a victim," Amaro pushed, flipping through the file again, as if he might have missed something. "A kid who came forward, who sat in an interview room and told you exactly what that bastard did to him." His gaze snapped up, sharp and cutting. "And you let it go. You left him to rot."
Barba inhaled through his nose. Slow. Controlled.
"Drop it, Amaro."
Barba’s fingers twitched against his desk. Amaro scoffed. "Drop it? You dropped it! You let that bastard walk free."
"Stop."
"Why?" Amaro demanded, voice rising. "Because it was inconvenient? Because you didn’t want to take on a fight you knew you’d lose? Since when does that stop you? How could you let him walk free"
"You don’t know what you’re talking about," Barba said tightly.
"No? Then tell me. Explain to me how you, of all people, let a case like this slip through the cracks." Amaro’s voice was rising, all that fire burning hotter. His eyes narrowed. "Since when do you just—"
"I said stop."
But Amaro was past stopping.
"He trusted you," he pressed, heat seeping into his tone. "He sat across from you and believed you were going to help him. And then you walked away." His voice lowered, dangerously quiet. "So tell me, Barba—was it easier to leave him in the dark than to watch him lose?"
Barba’s face didn’t change, but his hand curled into a fist against his desk.
Amaro felt something gnaw at his gut. The answer was right in front of him, but he couldn’t grab it. Couldn’t see it.
Then a thought struck him. A slow, ugly realization sinking in.
Barba hadn’t taken the case. Not because of politics. Not because of strategy.
But because it had happened to someone close to him.
A friend.
A sibling.
Someone who sat in that same chair and expected someone to save them.
And no one had.
The thought made Amaro feel sick.
He let out a breath, shaking his head. "Jesus, Rafael," he exhaled, voice softer, but no less sharp. "What the hell did you say to him? How do you sit there with a kid who’s barely holding himself together and tell him—tell him—"
"Amaro, stop." Barba’s voice wavered now, frayed around the edges.
Amaro ignored it.
"Did you tell him to forget about it?" he asked, voice quieter now, but somehow harsher. "Did you tell him to move on? To pretend it didn’t happen?"
Barba’s breath hitched. A tiny thing. Barely perceptible. But Amaro caught it.
So he pushed.
"You know what happens to kids like him when no one listens? When no one fights for them? You know what happens when the world tells them they don’t matter?"
Barba’s jaw tightened. “That’s enough.”
Amaro didn’t stop.
"You sat across from that kid and saw someone you loved, and you still let him down."
Barba took a step back, like the words had landed somewhere physical. “Watch it, Amaro,” he warned, voice low and strained.
Amaro went for the throat.
"You gave him hope and then reminded him why he should never have had any to begin with."
Barba slammed his fists against the desk, the crack of it startling in the quiet. “Shut up, Amaro! Just—shut up if you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”
But Amaro didn’t stop.
"You don’t just let him down, Barba. You taught him to stay quiet. You showed him that silence is safer."
And then—finally—Barba broke.
“I did all that because I was him!” His voice cracked, raw with something ancient and buried too long. “I sat in that chair. I said the words. And no one—no one fucking listened.”
His fists were trembling now, still clenched on the desk as if he could keep himself from falling apart by holding on tight enough.
“I begged someone to see me. And they didn’t. They looked away. Just like I did with that boy.” His voice dropped, hoarse and shuddering. "So don’t stand there telling me what happens to kids like him when no one listens—when I know damn well what happens to them. I lived it." He pauses, the weight of it crashing down.
"I was him."
Breathless. Tired. Defeated.
The words sliced through the air, sharp and raw.
Amaro inhaled sharply.
Barba’s hands pressed flat against the desk, his entire body tense like a wire pulled too tight. His breathing was off. Shallow.
"I was him." Softer now. Barely audible.
Amaro’s chest clenched.
Barba exhaled shakily, his voice wrecked. "You want to know what I told him?" A hollow laugh escaped his lips. "Nothing. Because I couldn’t look at him without seeing myself sitting in that same chair."
Amaro didn’t move.
Barba swallowed hard. "I sat across from him and saw a kid who thought he was in control. Who thought he could just—just walk away from it. Who thought if he ignored it long enough, it would stop mattering."
His voice cracked.
His jaw tightened.
And then—
A tear slipped free.
Just one.
Silent. Slow.
Amaro had never seen Barba like this. Not even close.
He should have stopped earlier. Should have known where the line was. But now it was too late.
Barba swiped a hand quickly under his eye, blinking fast. "You’re right, Amaro." His voice was thick, strained. "I let him down. I let him down because I couldn’t stomach standing in that courtroom and watching another version of myself lose all over again."
Then—
A sob.
A full-body, wrecked sob.
It sounded like something breaking.
Amaro’s chest ached. Every single emotion inside him drained instantly, leaving only something sharp, empty and painful.
Barba squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head like he was angry at himself for losing control. But it was too much.
Amaro clenched his jaw.
Barba swallowed hard, chest rising unevenly.
And then Amaro made the final mistake.
"I’m turning it in," he said, quieter this time.
Barba’s head snapped up.
"Amaro, don’t," he said, voice sharp, stepping forward too fast. His hands hovered over the file, but he didn’t reach for it. "Please—don’t." His voice cracking, sounded impossibly more broken than before.
And it was the please that shattered Amaro completely.
Barba’s entire body was tense, his frame trembling like a frayed electrical wire already sparking—already broken. His eyes were wet, glassy with unshed tears, his breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. He looked—God, he looked scared. Not just scared—wounded, like something deep inside him had been cracked open, and he didn’t know how to put it back together.
Amaro exhaled slowly.
"I’ll drop it," he said, steady and sure.
Barba’s expression barely shifted, but his body gave him away. His breath left in a long, shaky exhale, shoulders curling inward under the weight of everything he was trying—and failing—to hold back. He blinked hard, then again, faster, but it was useless. The tears came anyway. Slow at first, then full, silent drops tracing down his face. He was still trying to keep control, even now—jaw tight, lips pressed together—but he was unraveling, and they both knew it.
Amaro didn’t move at first. Just watched him, chest tight, something quiet and aching in his eyes. Then, gently—like approaching something wounded, which, in a way, he was—he reached out, fingers brushing Barba’s sleeve. “Rafa,” he said softly, voice stripped of all the anger from before. “Let me be here. Just this once, let someone stay. You won't have to carry it alone."
Silence.
Barba clenched his jaw, swallowing hard, eyes darting away.
Amaro hesitated, then tilted his head slightly, a silent question. Can I?
Barba didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
But after a long, excruciating moment he gave the smallest nod.
Amaro stepped closer, reaching out carefully, giving Barba every chance to pull away. But he didn’t.
And the moment Amaro’s arm wrapped around him—Barba broke.
Not all at once. Not like something crumbling.
But like something giving in.
Barba didn’t sob—he was past holding anything back now. The tears were steady, full, soaking into Amaro’s shoulder as he stood stiffly in the embrace. His breath stuttered, catching in his throat, and his hands hovered in the air for a moment before finally gripping the back of Amaro’s jacket, like he needed something solid to hold onto. He didn’t speak. And, much to his own quiet displeasure, he just let himself cry.
Amaro squeezed, just a fraction.
"I’ve got you," he murmured. "I’m right here."
Barba said nothing.
But he stayed.
And Amaro held him.
For as long as he needed.
When Barba finally pulled back, it was slow, reluctant. He wiped his face quickly, fingers brushing under his eyes, before inhaling sharply. His eyes, red-rimmed and puffy, locked onto Amaro's, and for a moment, they just breathed. Amaro's gaze never wavered, his expression softening, his eyes filled with a newfound understanding. The silence between them was heavy, but not uncomfortable. As the moments ticked by, Barba's tears slowly began to subside, his breathing evening out, and his eyes, though still red, began to shine with a hint of their usual witty, sarcastic, and now above all, strong spark.
"That was sufficiently depressing," he muttered, voice rough. "Let’s never do it again."
Amaro huffed out a quiet laugh. "No promises."
Barba rolled his eyes, shaking his head, but something in him had softened.
Amaro’s gaze lingered. His hand twitched slightly, like he almost wanted to reach out again.
"You’re not alone, Barba," he said, quieter now, steadier. "Not anymore."
Barba held his gaze for a long moment. Analyzing. Amaro was not treating him like a victim. It was something else. Just something different, something Barba couldn't quite put his finger on. He didn't treat him as if he was broken. He was just there, listening to him, comforting him.
Then—finally—he nodded.
It wasn’t much. But it was something.
And for now, that was enough.