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Sonny can’t sleep. The only sounds in the room beyond the muted city backtrack are the varying snuffles and snores coming from the other bunks from Smitty’s sex offender roommates. There’s enough light coming through the window that Sonny can just make out the corner of the ceiling above him. Not much of a view. He twists the ring around his left ring finger, around and around and around…
“You want to do what.” It’s not really a question, either in the way Barba intones it or in the way that Sonny’s announcement made it clear that he’d already made up his mind.
“It’s not that I want to. It’s… I’ve gotta do it. For those girls,” Sonny pleads with his eyes for his lover to understand, but the lawyer is frowning at the floor beneath himself, like he can’t even look at Sonny’s bare feet. Still, the lawyer sighs because nothing Sonny’s said has been unreasonable. Undercover work is part of his job, after all, and, moreover, a part of his job that the detective for some unfathomable reason seems to enjoy.
“You already told Liv you’d do it, didn’t you?” Barba inquires, holding this last shard of hope to his chest like something precious. Sonny gives him the smallest, saddest smile.
“Don’t be mad, Raf,” he replies which, in its indirect nature gives Barba the unequivocal answer he was after. “’Sides. It’s not… I’m not really going anywhere. I’ll be around. I’ll prob’ly even see you ‘round.”
“You don’t understand,” Barba says, voice breaking. “That makes it worse. To know that if I do see you, I’ll have to treat you as… as one of them. Look at you, like you’re beneath me. Like you mean nothing to me. Like you—” His fists clench, helplessly.
Sonny can’t bring himself to watch Barba walk out on him. He forces himself to ignore the click of the bedroom door and the near inaudible sobbing from behind it.
Sonny hasn’t seen so much as a glimpse of Barba since his undercover stint started. He knows Barba took on a case for another precinct, but only because Olivia mentioned it during one of his check-ins. Really, he knows because he slipped up and asked after the lawyer.
Sometimes when he goes to buy doughnut holes, he scours the papers, searching for snippets about that case, about the ADA so he doesn’t have to ask. He can feel the cashier’s eyes on him as he searches, as if Smitty being on the registry automatically makes him a thief as well. Sonny wishes he could assure the kid behind the counter that he’s really a police officer, that he would never steal anything, that he catches these people.
He also wishes he could sleep—really sleep—so that he could at least see him in his dreams, but the only times he’s managed to sleep have been short, glorified naps borne of bone deep exhaustion.
They’d been lying in bed for nearly an hour, not quite touching. Sonny thought Barba had been asleep when a quiet murmur nearly makes him jump out of his skin. “Remind me why it has to be you.”
“Even if the girls could do it, they’ve got kids,” Sonny replies to the back of Barba’s neck. He supposes he should be grateful that the other man is even talking to him, even if he won’t turn around and face him. “And between me and Fin? I haven’t been around so long. If one of these guys has history with the squad, his cover’s more likely to be blown.”
“What about Dodds? He’s newer than you.”
“The Lieu needs him. He can help with the administrative stuff, an’ I can’t.” In the dark, Sonny’s face twists into a self-deprecating smirk. “I’m disposable.”
Barba flips himself around lightning quick, fierce. His eyes bore into Sonny’s and his hands clutch near desperately at him. “No. Absolutely not. Don’t you ever say that! Don’t you ever think that!” His grip gentles just enough to be comfortable, even if it’s no less possessive. “Promise me.”
Sonny nods, suddenly lost for words. He lets himself relax into the arms holding him, safe.
Sonny hadn’t realized thread count was a thing until he found himself between the Egyptian cotton sheets of Barba’s bed more often than not. He can get by in his own bed, but the sheets provided to Smitty might as well be brambles against his skin. If he moves around too much, they might rub his skin raw. He kicks them off and works his way beneath the blanket atop them. He then winces when he realizes that the blanket is even scratchier, pins and needles. With a sigh, he rearranges yet again to his original state. Maybe he’ll pick up a decent blanket next time he goes out. It’s cold.
“Liv told me your cover was married,” Barba says. They’re sitting on opposite ends of his large leather sofa, Sonny rereading the history of his new persona, Barba with a stack of case files. Their feet are intertwined, and Chinese takeout sits untouched on the coffee table. It’s the night before Sonny’s set to leave.
“Hmm, yeah,” Sonny peers at his lover over the top of the document he’s already memorized. “Rachelle. She loves Smitty very much despite what he’s done. What he’s put her through.”
“Enough to get him a nice ring, I’d hope,” Barba says, nonchalantly. Sonny tilts his head. The lawyer seems nervous.
“I guess. Didn’t really think about it much,” Sonny replies. He’s been too busy thinking about all the other things, the horrible things, things he puts people away for, that Smitty was put away for that he’ll have to— It’s only due to a lifetime of various sports that he catches the small object thrown at him before it hits him square in the face.
“That should suffice.”
Sonny slowly opens his hand. There’s a plain gold wedding band in it, still warm from where Barba must’ve been holding it.
“It’s nice enough, right?” Barba’s voice breaks Sonny out of the whirl of emotions that the detective can’t even begin to process. He’s no longer on the other end of the couch, he’s sitting right next to Sonny. He plucks the ring from his hand and picks up his other hand, sliding the ring carefully onto his ring finger. It fits perfectly.
Sonny keeps twisting the ring on his finger. It’s the only thing Smitty has that’s Sonny’s, that hasn’t been furnished by the shelter or NYPD or a convenience store. Even if he has to lie about it and that kills him as much as anything. To talk about Smitty’s wife as he can practically feel the letters and numbers that are pure Barba inside burning into his finger nearly made him wretch. Alone in the dark, near-silence of night, he reminds himself over and over that it’s meant for Sonny only. Over and over. Rafael gave—twist—the ring—twist—to Sonny.
Sonny doesn’t even realize the ring is engraved until the next morning. He wakes cold and alone, to the faint sound of the shower in the adjoining room. The bathroom door is—not surprisingly—unlocked, so he lets himself in. He goes to set the ring on the edge of the sink where it will be safe, when he happens to catch a glimpse of the inside. Frowning, he brings it closer to his face, twisting and turning it in the light until he can read it. One side has the date they met—not the day they started dating, not the date they first kissed, but the date Barba first laid eyes on Sonny and his moustache and the suit he was wearing which Barba has since told him remains the ugliest he’s ever laid eyes on. The other side simply says “BOOYAH”.
Sonny sets the ring down as gently as he can before he joins the man who gave it to him in the shower. He knows he should be enjoying this last shower, making the most of Barba’s expansive collection of expensive soaps and shampoos and conditioners. Getting really clean for the last time in who knows how long. Instead, he stands behind his lover, wraps his arms around him, and rests his head on his shoulder. If his tears mix in with the hot water, neither of them mentions it.
Dawn glows soft grays and hazy rose through the window. Sonny longs to pull the covers over his head the way he would at home, when Barba’s alarm goes off on his day off, but he thinks he might suffocate if he does. Instead, he shoves the scratchy, oppressive covers off of himself and dresses in the cold light of the morning, pulling on Smitty’s ragged outfit. He doesn’t recognize himself anymore. Only a golden sliver of Sonny remains.
They’d had their farewell in Barba’s apartment. It was full of desperate kisses and the words ‘home’ and ‘safe’ and ‘soon’.
Still, the lawyer turns up at the precinct, asking for files, just as Olivia is giving Sonny his final briefing. She casually excuses herself to gather them for the ADA, leaving them alone in her office. It’s almost too convenient. Sonny doesn’t think he’s ever loved anyone more.
There’s not much they can do down at the precinct, even in the relative privacy of Olivia’s office, but that doesn’t stop Barba from running his fingers over the ring on Sonny’s finger. His ring. He’s silent in the way Sonny knows means he’s likely some combination of scared, angry, and helpless.
“C’mon, Raf. I’m good at what I do. It’ll only take a few days, at the most. Maybe I’ll be back for dinner tomorrow night.”
Barba snorts, but it’s out of habit. It lacks humor or bite. “Sure. See you in a month, detective.”
It’s not quite a month, but it’s certainly more than a few days by the time Sonny drags himself to Barba’s office. He’s never been so happy to see Carmen in his life. Or at least he is until she informs him that Barba’s in court and won’t be back for at least an hour. He must really look like shit—he certainly feels it—because she keeps giving him worried glances and speaking gently like it will soften the impact of the words that are keeping him apart from the ADA.
“Can I wait for him in his office?” Sonny asks. His head aches, his back aches, his heart aches. He thinks he’s swaying slightly. “Please?”
Carmen nods. He can feel her watching him make his way to the office, like he’ll collapse on the way there. When the door closes behind him, he breathes for the first time since he became Smitty.
Sonny curls up on the couch. He barely has the strength to kick his shoes off. And yet, he can’t even sleep here, in the warm, well-lit office that smells like Barba—like home. It feels like an eternity before the door opens, but it’s just Carmen poking her head in to let Sonny know she’s leaving for the night. Sonny nods, and dredges up what he thinks is a smile.
Time is sticky, pulled too long, but Sonny knows he must’ve been waiting for several hours because by the time the door opens again, the light has leveled out from bright glare to soft honey gold. It catches just right on Barba’s face as he walks in. Sonny whimpers because it’s all he can do. Barba freezes at the sound. His eyes meet Sonny’s, and he literally drops the coffee he’s holding. It splatters across the floor, and Barba doesn’t even notice, eyes not leaving Sonny’s for a second.
“Sonny,” he breathes. He steps around the puddle on the floor unconsciously and suddenly he’s there, sitting warm and solid beside him. He leans over to press gentle kisses to Sonny’s face as his hands trace feather-light over his body, searching for any injuries, tender spots. Sonny’s suddenly glad his back is pressed against the back of the couch because he really doesn’t want to explain that right now. He’s surprised when Barba doesn’t comment on the way his nails are bitten to the quick, the skin of his fingertips ragged and bloody in spots from his nervous chewing. Instead, it’s the ring—since moved to Sonny’s right ring finger—that finally causes him to still. “You kept it?”
“’f course.” Was that even a question? Sonny is too tired for this. “’s mine. You gave it to me.”
Barba smiles, warm. “So I did.” His smile turns to a frown at Sonny’s lack of response. “Do you need anything?”
Sonny pauses. He needs a lot of things, decent food, sleep, a hot shower with soaps that smell like home and everything good in the world. Mostly he needs Barba to not leave his side. He holds Barba’s hand, the ring catching ever so slightly as he interweaves their fingers. “How’s the case going?”
Barba laughs, startled. “Really? You want to talk about work?”
“Uh-uh.” Sonny shakes his head. He uses the last of his strength to pull Barba down next to him, to twine their arms and legs. The couch isn’t really big enough for two grown men to lie on, but Sonny doesn’t feel trapped, doesn’t feel like he’s suffocating at all. He just feels warm and safe. “I want you to talk. ‘Bout anything. Doesn’t matter.”
Sonny feels Barba press the gentlest of kisses on each of the eyelids he didn’t even realize were closed. “Okay, cariño.” He does end up talking about the case, but Sonny doesn’t catch most of it. For the first time since he left home, Sonny sleeps.