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Apr. 8th, 2017 06:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ifswagwasacrime"Need a hand, Counselor?"
Rafael's eyes flash with annoyance as he struggles to stand upright from his bar stool, his glare targeted directly at Carisi and that ridiculous Staten Island accent. He expects a trace of mockery in Carisi's words but comes up empty even when he replays them in his head and all that does is deepen his scowl.
The detective would probably look more entertained if they weren't at a wake. More specifically, Mike Dodds's wake, que Dios lo tenga en su gloria, and Rafael should probably be a little more sensitive because he can't imagine it's easy for the squad to lose its sergeant. Liv had told him Dodds had been met with resistance at first, Rafael had even experienced that firsthand, but that hadn't lasted too long. Dodds had been a good man, a sharp one, and Rafael has no doubt SVU and NYPD both will feel the loss keenly. He can't help but wonder if the threats on his own life were ever to amount to anything, would he be missed, too? Maybe by Liv. Maybe even by Carisi. Certainly by his mother. But he's been threatened enough throughout the course of this job that he's spent more than a fleeting moment trying to decide whether he thinks anyone would actually show up to say anything nice at his funeral.
The thing is, Carisi keeps looking at him with those big, blue eyes, concern plainly written on his face, and Rafael regrets telling him about the death threats. This isn't what he'd hoped to get out of it, a puppy-eyed detective prepared to watch Rafael's every move, or at least make sure someone else is there to do the same thing. That makes Rafael a job right now, he knows that, even if Carisi might be one of the more genuine ones. At the end of the day, though, the duty of keeping an ADA safe isn't something to take on lightly. Dodds is dead. A Corrections Officer had killed him. It wouldn't look great for the NYPD if Rafael ended up with a bullet in him, too. So he's a job, and he doesn't want to be, but Rafael can't afford not to be worried.
No matter how many times he's been through it before, this is stressing him out now, bring back his migraines and adding to the burden of juggling a major case load, all of which circles back to the SVU. He doesn't have time for this, to be looking over his shoulder, and he's been fielding death threats for months now but suddenly, it feels real. Suddenly, with a sergeant dead and a guy loaded with threats and a Glock carrying around his home address, Rafael isn't so sure he's as safe as he'd told Carisi he felt here. Here, surrounded by cops who might remember they have a grudge against the ADA who keeps going after their own.
"I didn't realize you'd added 'babysitter' to your ever growing list of skills, Carisi," he says, ignoring the hint of hurt he thinks he catches in the detective's expression. Rafael doesn't have time for that, either, trying to figure out what every little nuance in Carisi's face and voice or what several voluntarily shared shots of tequila might mean. His head isn't quite spinning but it's getting there and all Rafael really wants to do is go home and sleep this off.
"Don't worry," he appeases, a little more gently, though that's probably the alcohol's influence. "I already got an Uber."
"Barba--"
"Carisi," Rafael cuts in, sharp again, his expression hardening. "I said don't worry. I mean it. If it makes you feel better, I'll check in with you once I'm home. Fair?"
Carisi still looks uncertain but to Rafael's relief, he eventually nods. "Fair. Just warning you now, though, if I don't hear from you? I'm knockin' down your door."
Rolling his eyes, Rafael slips his jacket back on and indulges in clapping a hand down on Carisi's shoulder. "I'll check in," he promises again, giving Carisi a pointed look before heading toward the door.
He tries to pretend he doesn't notice the occasional look he gets on the way out, and he sighs as he fiddles with the button on his jacket with one hand while using the other to push his way out of this godforsaken bar. When Rafael steps out, expecting to step down on the stoop he remembers being there on the way in, he collides with another person instead. It's louder than it should be, there's a thin but present crowd on either side of him, and Rafael freezes because none of this is right. There should be an Uber waiting for him, or at least on the way. There should be a bar behind him but instead, there's a train, and the first thing he thinks is that he must have had a lot more to drink than he'd thought.
It's a dream, it has to be, even if it does feel awfully real. His mind feels fuzzy, he regrets the tequila now, and all Rafael can do is open his mouth to ask, "Where the hell am I?" He doesn't expect a real answer. After all, this is just a dream.
Rafael's eyes flash with annoyance as he struggles to stand upright from his bar stool, his glare targeted directly at Carisi and that ridiculous Staten Island accent. He expects a trace of mockery in Carisi's words but comes up empty even when he replays them in his head and all that does is deepen his scowl.
The detective would probably look more entertained if they weren't at a wake. More specifically, Mike Dodds's wake, que Dios lo tenga en su gloria, and Rafael should probably be a little more sensitive because he can't imagine it's easy for the squad to lose its sergeant. Liv had told him Dodds had been met with resistance at first, Rafael had even experienced that firsthand, but that hadn't lasted too long. Dodds had been a good man, a sharp one, and Rafael has no doubt SVU and NYPD both will feel the loss keenly. He can't help but wonder if the threats on his own life were ever to amount to anything, would he be missed, too? Maybe by Liv. Maybe even by Carisi. Certainly by his mother. But he's been threatened enough throughout the course of this job that he's spent more than a fleeting moment trying to decide whether he thinks anyone would actually show up to say anything nice at his funeral.
The thing is, Carisi keeps looking at him with those big, blue eyes, concern plainly written on his face, and Rafael regrets telling him about the death threats. This isn't what he'd hoped to get out of it, a puppy-eyed detective prepared to watch Rafael's every move, or at least make sure someone else is there to do the same thing. That makes Rafael a job right now, he knows that, even if Carisi might be one of the more genuine ones. At the end of the day, though, the duty of keeping an ADA safe isn't something to take on lightly. Dodds is dead. A Corrections Officer had killed him. It wouldn't look great for the NYPD if Rafael ended up with a bullet in him, too. So he's a job, and he doesn't want to be, but Rafael can't afford not to be worried.
No matter how many times he's been through it before, this is stressing him out now, bring back his migraines and adding to the burden of juggling a major case load, all of which circles back to the SVU. He doesn't have time for this, to be looking over his shoulder, and he's been fielding death threats for months now but suddenly, it feels real. Suddenly, with a sergeant dead and a guy loaded with threats and a Glock carrying around his home address, Rafael isn't so sure he's as safe as he'd told Carisi he felt here. Here, surrounded by cops who might remember they have a grudge against the ADA who keeps going after their own.
"I didn't realize you'd added 'babysitter' to your ever growing list of skills, Carisi," he says, ignoring the hint of hurt he thinks he catches in the detective's expression. Rafael doesn't have time for that, either, trying to figure out what every little nuance in Carisi's face and voice or what several voluntarily shared shots of tequila might mean. His head isn't quite spinning but it's getting there and all Rafael really wants to do is go home and sleep this off.
"Don't worry," he appeases, a little more gently, though that's probably the alcohol's influence. "I already got an Uber."
"Barba--"
"Carisi," Rafael cuts in, sharp again, his expression hardening. "I said don't worry. I mean it. If it makes you feel better, I'll check in with you once I'm home. Fair?"
Carisi still looks uncertain but to Rafael's relief, he eventually nods. "Fair. Just warning you now, though, if I don't hear from you? I'm knockin' down your door."
Rolling his eyes, Rafael slips his jacket back on and indulges in clapping a hand down on Carisi's shoulder. "I'll check in," he promises again, giving Carisi a pointed look before heading toward the door.
He tries to pretend he doesn't notice the occasional look he gets on the way out, and he sighs as he fiddles with the button on his jacket with one hand while using the other to push his way out of this godforsaken bar. When Rafael steps out, expecting to step down on the stoop he remembers being there on the way in, he collides with another person instead. It's louder than it should be, there's a thin but present crowd on either side of him, and Rafael freezes because none of this is right. There should be an Uber waiting for him, or at least on the way. There should be a bar behind him but instead, there's a train, and the first thing he thinks is that he must have had a lot more to drink than he'd thought.
It's a dream, it has to be, even if it does feel awfully real. His mind feels fuzzy, he regrets the tequila now, and all Rafael can do is open his mouth to ask, "Where the hell am I?" He doesn't expect a real answer. After all, this is just a dream.
