#he’s going take me to Staten Island for this job interview

[plaidbooks]

The R Drug part 2

A/N: I promise I still have summer bingo fics ready to go, but this idea wouldn’t leave me alone, so here it is. This is a part 2 to The R Drug, and is a lot of talking and exposition, and a lot of Sonny hating himself. This will most likely get a part 3. No chapter will ever be darkfic or as dark as the first one was. It’s only up from here.

Tags: self-loathing, mentions of rape (like, one line--references first fic heavily) and therapy, otherwise none, just a lot of angst with a maybe happy ending?

Words: 4657

Taglist:  @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy  @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867  @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @redlipstickandblacktea @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas​  @reading--mermaid  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

For the first few days, you sat on the couch in pain and exhaustion, wallowing in self-pity and self-loathing. The doctor said that you were severely dehydrated and had kept both you and Sonny overnight after the club, though separated. Olivia and Amanda interviewed you, while Fin interviewed Sonny. You were both then sent on leave until you could come back to work…if you could come back at all.

Thankfully, you weren’t pregnant. But you were sore, every movement causing aches and pains as you shuffled around your apartment. Obviously, you weren’t pressing charges, and neither was Sonny; what happened was a freak accident, something you never wanted to think about again, but knew you’d have to in order to move past it.

When you could finally walk normally again, you went to a therapist. It took a while to find a groove; therapists specializing in rape victims had trouble dealing with the fact that while yes, you were a victim, you were also a perpetrator. The other strange thing was that you weren’t angry with Sonny; you were angry with yourself. You assaulted him, just as he assaulted you. And that was the part that was eating you up inside.

It took months of therapy, going every day and working through your confused and frustrated emotions before you finally came to terms with what had happened. You were ready to put your badge and gun back on, ready to move on with your life. You missed your job, your squad. But most of all, you missed Sonny. He was your best friend before all of this happened, and you hadn’t seen nor talked to him since the club. You missed his boyish charm, his bright smile and his loud laugh. You missed the little inside jokes you had together, and the late nights spent curled on the couch, watching reality TV and sports. You missed your Sonny.

**********************

On Monday morning, four months after the club incident, you made your way into the familiar precinct. You were heading for Olivia’s office when you stopped short. Both Amanda and Fin were at their desks like normal. Even your desk was how you left it; a few photos, baskets to hold paperwork, little knick-knacks that made it yours. But Sonny’s desk, the one next to yours, was completely different. There wasn’t a single photo of any Carisi, no Mets or Islanders memorabilia, no nothing that made it his. Instead, there was a picture of two men, one you didn’t recognize posing with…Deputy Chief Dodds?

Before you could ask questions, Amanda said, “that’s Mike Dodds’s desk. He’s the new Sergeant.”

“Where’s Carisi’s desk,” you asked, turning to look at her.

But it was Fin who answered. “He doesn’t have one.” You swore you got whiplash turning to look at Fin so quickly. “He turned in his badge and gun months ago…just after the club fiasco.”

“What?” you almost yelled. You were loud enough that Olivia heard you, and she and the new guy—Mike?—came out of her office. She beckoned you to her office, and you passed by Mike, who tried to give you a smile that you did not return.

“Welcome back—” Olivia started before you cut her off.

“Carisi’s gone?!”

She closed the door behind you before taking a seat at her desk. She motioned for you to sit, and you all but collapsed into the chair. “I tried to keep him, to talk him out of quitting. But he refused, saying he needed to work through things. I’m sorry, but there was nothing I could do.”

You stared in disbelief at the top of her desk. Sonny was gone. You had to talk to him, had to see him. You said as much to Liv.

“If you think you can get through to him, then by all means. Because it’s been hard around here not having two of my best detectives,” she replied. “Dodds has been a godsend, but he doesn’t replace either of you, and especially not both of you.”

You nodded. “I’ll talk to him, try and bring him back.”

“I wish you luck. I think he’ll listen to you; you were close before…all this.”

 **********************

After leaving the precinct, you tried texting and calling Sonny, but to no avail. In fact, it was going straight to voicemail, as if his phone were dead or off. So, you swung by his apartment. You buzzed his place, but a deep, gruff man answered.

“I just moved in a few months ago; the previous owner seemed to be in a hurry to move out,” he said. Clinging to the hope that this was still Sonny just trying to put on a fake accent, you buzzed a neighbor. But they confirmed that Sonny had moved out a couple months ago, and that a new tenant moved in.

Out of desperation, you tracked down a phone book, and looked up his parent’s place. Then you took the drive out to Staten Island. You shifted nervously on the porch, waiting for an answer after knocking.

A woman in her 60s, who could only be Mrs. Carisi, answered. Her eyes darted to your waistband, the badge there, then back to yours. You watched them slowly fill with tears.

“Please, don’t tell me yet,” she muttered, and you furrowed your brow. “Don’t tell me my Bambino is…is…” she hiccupped, and you understood; she thought you were here to deliver the news that Sonny was dead.

“No, no! I’m actually…I’m Carisi’s partner…or I was. I’m just…having a hell of a time tracking him down,” you quickly explained.

She sniffled, trying to compose herself. “Well, I hope you do find him.”

“You mean…you don’t know where he is?” you asked, heart sinking.

She shook her head. “He told us he needed some time, and that he’d be in touch. That was the last we saw or heard from him, and that was back in March.” It was June now, and you were realizing that this was going to be a lot harder than you thought.

You nodded, muttering out an apology for bothering her as you turned away, but she grabbed your wrist, stopping you. “Please, if you find Sonny, tell him we love him. And that we want him to come home.”

“Of course,” you replied before leaving, holding back tears until you were back in your car.

 ****************

Your first real clue as to where Sonny went came through looking at his bank statements. There, you found a one-way trip to Genoa, Italy. Without too much thought behind it, you booked a flight, texted Olivia your intentions, then headed to the airport. In your hurry, you didn’t pack, didn’t even book a place to stay. You only had one thing on your mind, and it was to find Sonny Carisi.

With the clothes on your back, your phone, passport, and wallet full of bills that you converted to euros, you got on the one-way trip to Genoa.

 ***************

You barely slept on the plane, landing early in the morning. The sun was just peaking over the beautiful Italian landscape. Even in your exhaustion and worry, you had to stop and appreciate the architecture of a different country. Genoa was beautiful, and you’d be enjoying yourself if the drive to find your missing partner wasn’t so high. You had a picture of him on your phone, and you went around, asking everyone you passed by if they had seen him. At first, you were asking in English—you didn’t know Italian. But eventually, you learned the phrases you needed.

“L'hai visto?” you asked desperately.

You understood “no,” and saw the look of sadness on their faces.

“Grazie,” you replied, moving on.

You must’ve asked hundreds of people. The sun was high in the sky, and you felt a hopelessness in your fruitless search. Why did you ever think you’d find him? There was a good chance he wasn’t even in Genoa anymore; he could’ve landed and moved somewhere more isolated. You had nothing to go on, and your voice and face took on a pleading, desperate tone. You must’ve looked like an unhinged person, asking the same question over and over again while pointing frantically to your phone screen.

Another thought came to you in the form of a growling stomach. You hadn’t eaten, hadn’t had so much as a sip of water since you got off the plane. Which then led you to think about what you were going to do once the sun went down. You didn’t have a whole lot of money on you, and you didn’t know how much anything cost.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” you muttered to yourself in frustrated hopelessness. You sat down hard on a bench, cursing yourself for not thinking this through better.

A woman came over to you; she looked somewhat familiar. You must’ve talked to her before. But she started speaking rapid Italian to you. You gave her a puzzled look, brow furrowed. You tried to express that you didn’t speak Italian, and she stopped, her face contorted as she thought.

“Man,” she said in slow, pronounced English. She pointed to her left. “Man...you want?”

You followed her finger and froze when you saw the tall, lanky frame of Sonny through a shop window. You jumped to your feet, shouting a “thank you!” to her as you ran on tired legs to the shop. Sonny was just paying for groceries, and was heading out of the shop when you reached him.

His eyes widened as he saw you, guilt flooding his eyes. “...[y/n]?” he asked. “What’re you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” you replied, grinning. “I thought I’d never find you.”

He gave you a hard look. “I wish you didn’t,” he muttered before turning to leave.

You stared in disbelief as he walked down the street, bag in his arms. Snapping yourself out of it, you hurried after him. “Carisi, what are you doing here in Italy?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, not breaking in his stride. You struggled to keep up with his long legs, your body and mind exhausted. “I’m trying to start over, away from my past.”

You pushed yourself to get in front of him, cutting him off. “You can’t just—just run away.... Don’t I...don’t we mean anything to you? The squad, your family—”

“Of course you do,” he replied, eyes softening for a moment. “That’s why I left.”

You looked at him, eyes pleading. “Look, Dom, I know what happened was...traumatic. But—”

“I’m not talking about that. Not now, not ever.” And then he was walking again, easily stepping around you. “Please, just go home,” he called over his shoulder to you.

You watched him retreat for a moment before heading after him again. “Dominick, you need to talk about it, if not to me, than to someone else. But you can’t bury it down, move on like nothing ever happened.”

Sonny whipped around to glare at you, face hard. “Like nothing ever happened? You think that’s what I’m doing?” He shook his head, huffing. “I’ll never stop thinking about it! This will haunt me to my grave! And when I’m burning in Hell, I’ll know why.”

It broke your heart to see him like this. “Please, listen to me. You need to work through this. It took me months to come to terms with my actions, and I know you can do it, too.”

“I’m too disgusted with myself,” he replied, shaking his head. “I hate myself too much for what I did to you.”

He tried to turn away again, but you grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. He flinched at the contact, pulling away from your touch, and you let your hand fall. “I hated me, too. Still do sometimes. But it wasn’t our fault; we were drugged. There was nothing we could do—”

“I could’ve fought it. I could’ve controlled myself.”

“And what, I couldn’t?” you shot back. Sonny’s eyes widened at your outburst. “If you hate yourself so much, then you must hate me, too. I did the same thing you did.”

He was quiet for a moment, eyes scanning yours. “I could never hate you.”

“Then why are you so hellbent on hating yourself, but not me?”

“Because I...” he trailed off, thinking through his words. You could tell there was something he wanted to say, but instead he whispered, “I don’t know.”

You moved closer to him. “Then please, let me help you.” You didn’t make the mistake of touching him again, instead just gazing deeply into his eyes.

Sonny sighed heavily, regripping the bag in his arms. “Yeah, okay. But...let me sleep on it, first?” He saw the skeptical look you gave him, and he quickly added, “I promise I won’t run away again. I just...I need time to process things. Where are you staying? I can swing by in the morning.”

“Uhh...” you said, looking at the ground.

“...please tell me you have a place to stay.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I was going to try and find a place, soon?” you tried.

You could see the inner struggle he had as he fought himself. “I could...you could stay with me, if you want.... That is, if you feel safe with me...if you can trust me.”

“Dominick, I trust you with my life,” you said softly.

His eyes widened for a moment. “Yeah...okay. Follow me.”

 ****************

Sonny lived in a small apartment. Though it was a little smaller than his place in Manhattan, it was absolutely stunning, the view from his window gorgeous. It was simply furnished, yet it still somehow felt like...Sonny. He put his grocery bag down on the little counter that acted like an island in a kitchen. In reality, it was just a piece that separated the kitchen from the living room.

“Have you eaten?” he asked as he put his things away.

You stomach grumbled loudly in response. “Uh, no,” you muttered, embarrassed.

Sonny gave you a look. “So, let me get this straight. I can tell by your no luggage or place to stay that you just flew to Genoa with absolutely no backup plan? What if you didn’t find me? What if I went to Vernazza or something?”

You smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t in the best state of mind, okay? I was worried about you; no one had heard from you, not even your parents. And your phone just went to voicemail.”

He sighed. “I left my phone in New York; I didn’t want it. Maybe I also wasn’t in the best state of mind when I left.”

You dug your phone out of your pocket; you only had 10% left on it. You unlocked it, then shoved it towards him. “You need to call your parents. Your mom is heartbroken, and asked me to tell you that she loves you. But I think it would be better coming from her directly to you.”

Tears filled his eyes as he took your phone from you. “If I do, then it’ll kill your phone battery. There’s no way the call would be less than five hours long.”

“Call them,” you urged. You could buy a phone charger in the morning. Sonny sighed, dialing the number. “I’ll give you some privacy,” you whispered, heading outside. You heard a soft, “hey ma; it’s me,” before you closed the front door behind you.

You were so relieved to have found Sonny. Sure, he was still broken and hurt, but you knew you could help him find himself, pull himself back from the darkness in his mind. You just didn’t know how long it would take, how long you’d be in Italy for. You didn’t want to rush him, couldn’t rush him if you tried. And you knew a lot of this would be an internal battle, something you knew intimately well based on your own experience. In the end, he’d have to find the strength to forgive himself on his own before he could move on. You sighed, looking up into the dark clouds above you, the muggy heat making your skin sticky.

 *********************

Sonny came and got you about an hour later. His eyes were rimmed red, but it seemed as though a weight had lifted off him as he handed back your now dead phone.

“Sorry; I can buy you a charger in the morning,” he muttered, leading you back inside.

You shook your head, smiling softly. “Don’t worry about it.”

You both ate dinner in silence; Sonny was pensive, thinking, while you were starving and shoveling the delicious food into your mouth. Once you finished—your huge bites compared to his little nibbles had you finishing in record time—you took your dishes to the kitchen and started cleaning them.

“I can do that—” Sonny started before you cut him off.

“It’s fine; you cook, I clean.” It was your rule back in Manhattan, and Sonny smiled softly at the memories of you both in his kitchen.

“Look, Sonny, I know you said you don’t want to talk—and that’s fine! But, if you ever do want to talk, I’m here, willing to listen,” you said. You scrubbed at your plate with the sponge, forcing yourself to not turn and look at him.

He sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. You resolutely stayed facing the sink, washing a now clean dish, waiting for a response that may not come.

“I...I know it was R. I know it was. But I just...I can’t stop the self-loathing I feel,” he said so quietly, you barely heard him over the water in the sink.

Slowly, you turned the water off, then turned to face him. “I know. It took me months to not hate myself. To not blame myself.”

Sonny took a deep breath, then rubbed his eyes. “I never asked; how are you?”

You knew he didn’t mean in general. “I was very sore and exhausted the first week. I was stuck in a downward spiral. But the thing about hitting rock bottom is that you can only go up.” You sighed. “I’m doing better. I doubt I’ll ever be 100% me again. But I’m working every day to get closer.”

He nodded, thinking. “See, I feel like I hit rock bottom, then grabbed a shovel. I’m still fighting to get back to rock bottom.”

“Well, just know that I do not blame you in any way. All the anger and hatred I felt was directed at myself,” you huffed out an emotionless chuckle. “In fact, you hardly came up in my therapy sessions at all. Just that I hated myself for doing that to you.”

Sonny stood then, bringing his own dishes into the kitchen. “I never blamed you, either; still don’t. I—I guess because I’m bigger and because I was...on top, I blame myself instead. I didn’t even consider the fact that you got drugged, too....”

“That’s the thing; I know you. And I know myself. Neither of us...that wouldn’t have happened without outside forces making us do it. Like I said, I trust you with my life, Sonny. And while I understand why you turned your badge in, I really would like my partner back one day,” you said, hope tinging your voice.

He reached past you to put his plate in the sink, and you gazed up at him. This was the closest you’ve been since that night in the club, his face inches from yours, bright blue eyes boring into your own. For a moment, it was like nothing had happened. You could pretend that you were in Sonny’s Manhattan apartment, having just finished dinner he made, Love Island playing on his TV. But then reality set in, and Sonny backed away from you, a look of guilt in his eyes.

“M—maybe one day. But I’m not sure I want to go back to that line of work yet,” he muttered, looking at the floor.

You nodded. “I understand—” you were cut off by a loud clap of thunder, sounding directly above you. You dropped the plate you were rinsing off into the sink, the clatter loud in the shocked silence.

Sonny looked from the ceiling to you, saw your petrified look. He knew you hated storms, would often get a call at 1am from you, asking to come over when a thunderstorm rolled in. When he saw you on the streets of Genoa, he didn’t connect that Italy had some of the most intense thunderstorms in the world.

“Hey, it’s okay; I’m here,” he murmured out of instinct; the words he would say back home to you.

You were trembling, tears in your eyes. “S-Sonny, I—”

Another loud rumbling resounded through the apartment, and he saw you shrink in on yourself, slowly dropping to the floor, curling around your legs. You tucked your face against your knees, shaking with quiet sobs. He came over to you, kneeling in front of you. Normally, he’d wrap you tightly in his arms, whispering to you that you were safe. But now, he was afraid to touch you.

“Dominick, I trust you with my life,” he remembered you saying, with no hesitation. Swallowing the thoughts propelled by self-loathing, he placed a hand on your shoulder. He knew he wouldn’t assault you, wouldn’t do anything without your consent, so why the hell was he hesitating when you needed him?

“Come on; let’s get you into bed, okay?” Sonny whispered to you. You nodded without looking up. Gently, he unfolded your limbs, helping you to your feet. He had been planning to sleep on the couch, give you his bed. Now, though, he was leading you to his bedroom quickly, trying to make it before more thunder sounded.

He got you into his bed just as another clap of thunder shook the walls. You pulled the covers over your head, tucking down as hard as possible into the bed. Sonny climbed into bed next to you, laying on top of the covers. Gently, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you back against him. He could feel you trembling, the whole bed shaking. What else could he do besides what he normally did?

“It’s okay; you’re safe. I got you,” he whispered, rubbing your arm over the blanket. You rolled over until you were facing him, and curled in against his chest. Sonny stiffened for only a moment before relaxing in the familiar position.

“I hate storms,” you choked out, tucking your face into his shirt.

He rubbed your back in comfort. “I know you do. It’ll be gone soon enough.”

But unlike Manhattan, where that may be true, thunderstorms in Genoa lasted hours. Simply because you didn’t sleep the night before, you were able to drift off in Sonny’s embrace. You’d jerk awake every time a clap of thunder was heard, though, shaking and sobbing softly as he murmured sweet words to you before succumbing to sleep again.

Sonny, however, didn’t sleep a wink. He was too lost in thought, holding you to him. You trusted him enough to sleep in the same bed, his arms around you, even after everything that happened. You didn’t blame him, felt no hatred towards him. And while most of his problem stemmed from his own self-hatred, he was always afraid that you felt the same way about him. And he couldn’t deal with that, couldn’t stand it. Not when he—

He almost said it out on the street earlier, when you asked him if he hated you. He almost told you that he loved you, had come so close. In fact, he was planning on asking you out after work that day. The day that changed his life forever, and not in the way he had been hoping. If only Liv hadn’t called you both into her office that day, then maybe there would still be a chance....

But he could never tell you, not now. How would you even begin a relationship after this? He was too afraid to even touch you, for Christ’s sake. Though, that was before the thunderstorm started. Now, you were curled against his chest, your trembling stopped for the moment, breathing deep as you slept. His arms were around you, and god he loved it, loved the feeling of you sleeping in his arms, whether from a storm or not. This wasn’t the first time he held you throughout the night, and he loved it every time, regardless of circumstances. But how could anything evolve from this? How could he kiss you? How could you be...intimate together without the memory of the club popping up in either of your minds?

A small part of him whispered that if he could get over his fear of touching you—evident by the cuddling—then he could overcome his other fears, too. But would you want that? Did he?.... Yes, yes he wanted that very much. He wanted to be able to love you without fear and/or guilt in his heart. Before the club, he had thought that his biggest obstacle would be 1PP. Oh how ignorant he had been.

He resolved that he wouldn’t tell you, not now, maybe not ever. He couldn’t, not when this darkness was still inside his head, not when his hatred for himself was so high—

Thunder rolled out, and you jumped, instantly waking. The trembling started again, and you grabbed Sonny’s shirt, pulling him closer to you.

“I got you. You’re okay, you’re safe,” he whispered to you.

But for the first time ever, you responded. “You make me feel safe, Dom,” you muttered back.

At first, he was filled with such a profound warmth and happiness, feeling protective and strong. But then a flash of your face, beet red, your body moving erratically underneath his while loud club music played, and he sunk in on himself. He felt like such an asshole, such a coward, holding you like this. He should’ve left you on the streets in Genoa, closed himself off. Or at least offer to put you up in a hotel or a hostile, not fucking take you home with him. He hated that side of him that couldn’t let you go, almost as much as the hatred of that night in the club.

“What’s wrong?” you asked suddenly. You were still shaking in his grasp, but you noticed he was deep in thought. He had stopped talking, and was humming slightly. Sonny only hummed when he was thinking hard. He didn’t respond right away, unsure of what he’d even say. So, you pressed on, “need me to comfort you?”

Sonny’s expression softened. Here you were, scared out of your mind, but still offering him help. This is one of the main reasons he loved you. “No, I’m fine. Just sleep, okay?” he murmured.

Without thinking about it, he brushed his lips against your forehead, giving you a gentle kiss. You smiled at the gesture, tucking your head against his chest again, quickly finding sleep once more.

But Sonny was silently cursing himself. Why the hell did you kiss her?! he thought in anguish. In truth, he didn’t think, just reacted. He often kissed your forehead in comfort, trying to coax you to sleep. It seemed as if when he turned his brain off, he could rely on instinct, doing things he normally did. But that nagging side of his brain never left him alone for long. Things he used to do that brought him joy, like holding you or kissing your soft skin, now filled him with regret. How was he supposed to move on and leave you behind in New York when he did shit like this?

He sighed, glancing at his clock and seeing that it was only a little past 1am. This was going to be a long night. And he still wasn’t sure what to say to you in the morning.

#sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing

[texastheband]

Texas V Wu-Tang Clan

Interview by Steven Daly Photography by Peter Robathan Taken from The Face - December 1997

It’s the pop story of ’97, the most unlikely end to a weird year: TEXAS collaborating with the WU-TANG CLAN. First, a Scottish rock band on the verge of slip-sliding away into a tasteful obscurity was reborn via a slew of hit singles and a glut of stylish imagery. Now, in New York, their Brit-cool meets hip hop in a mutually beneficial deal. For everyone concerned, it’s all they need to get on…

Sharleen Spiteri took the call in her front hall. "Yo, Peach," growled a strange voice over transatlantic wires. The gentleman caller was none other than Ol’ Dirty Bastard, court jester of New York hip hop dynasty the Wu-Tang Clan. Apparently Mr Bastard fancied working with Spiteri and her band, Texas. It all started in August, with one of Texas’ managers discussing Land Rovers with someone called Power in New York, who turned out to be the manager of the Clan. A video of Texas’ "Say What You Want" was dispatched, and prodigiously gifted Wu-Tang chieftain RZA signed on to do a re-recording of the single for a prospective single project. Original rapper OI’ Dirty Bastard was replaced by Method Man, the next Clan member with a solo album scheduled.

The hook-up with the Wu-Tang Clan is the perfect climax to a year that’s seen Texas rise from a tumbleweed-strewn grave to grab the pole position in British Pop. A year in which Glasgow’s Sharleen Spiteri has stared out, defiantly remade and remodelled, from every magazine cover and TV show. From a media point-of-view, Texas’ – Spiteri’s – reconfiguring of music and fashion has been the year’s dream ticket. Ever since Bryan Ferry took the innovative step of getting Anthony Proce in to design Roxy Music’s wardrobe in the early seventies, successive phases of pop’s history have thrown up performers who use the fashion photographers, stylists and designers du jour to present The Package. It is these performers who most often capture the youthful mood of their time: that’s why you can see the vulgar glamour of the Seventies in the cut of Ferry’s sleazy lounge-lizard jib; the naive aspiration of the early Eighties in the box-suited and pixie-booted "style" of Spandau Ballet; and the onset of the late-Eighties mixing and matching of different cultures in Neneh Cherry’s Buffalo Stance. When we look back at 1997 we will see in Texas’ sound and vision a new mix, all to do with living the high life but keeping it real. Catwalk and street, the designer and the understated, Prada and Nike; the slick and the cred. Ten years’ gone Scottish guitar outfit and this season’s bright young labels (in both senses). The setting too, has helped. Fashion, again, is big cultural business. Clever pop stars (Goldie! Liam!) want to be seen by the runway and hanging out at fashion parties; young designers yearn to be visible on the stage or the podium (viz. Antonio Berardi’s autumn London show at Brixton Academy). Factor in a paucity of self-motivating, button-pressing, songwriting, photogenic women in British music, and you have a ready-made media phenomenon.

Sharleen Spiteri is holding court at a New York restaurant with a gang of Calvin Klein employees who’ve just accompanied her to the VH-1 Fashion Awards. The annual ceremony is a mutually convenient arrangement, a TV cluster-fuck where the music and fashion industries exchange credibility and cachet. Texas are contemplating just such an exchange themselves, having recently been given the OK by CK. (Tommy Hilfiger has also made overtures.) Spiteri is to have an audience with Klein himself; she’s already been bribed with a trunkful of CK merch, including the streaked black dress – "inspired by [the artist] Brice Marden" – she’s wearing tonight.

Someone suggests that Texas would be perfect for Fashionably Loud, an MTV special where models strut on stage as the hot bands of the moment rock out. "Forget it," quips Spiteri. "there’s only room for one star up where we play." If Spiteri were to join Kate Moss and Christy Turlington on the Calvin Klein payroll it would not, as she sees it, detract from Texas’ music. "Fashion and music have always been connected, and now more than ever," says the singer. "You couldn’t have one without the other. If there’s shit music at a runway show it just doesn’t work."

Meanwhile, there’s the songs. With "White On Blonde", Texas’ fourth album, the music takes care of itself. Radio-friendly unit-shifters abound, helped on their way by producers Mike hedges (manic Street Preachers) and Manchester’s Grand Central. The singles have been, in sequence, nu-soul fresh ("Say What You Want"), springy pop ("Halo"), Motown-sunny ("Black Eyed Boy") and winter warming ("Put Your Arms Around Me"). The B-side remixers have covered all bases in these dance-savvy late Nineties, ranging from of-the-moment talents like the Ballistic Brothers and Trailerman to old stand-bys like Andy Weatherall and 808 State. Texas, patently, lost their dancefloor cherry by cherry-picking the brightest and the best.

Of course, while the singles have all enjoyed heavy airplay and gone top ten, and while "White on Blonde" has sold two million copies (more than its two predecessors put together), the remixes haven’t necessarily helped those sales. As the go-faster stripes of credibility on the solid saloon car, though, they’ve still been essential to The Package; all part of the thoroughly modern mix.

So now, the Wu-Tang Clan. To many, though, this latest development could smack of opportunism. One group are renegade roughnecks who mythologise themselves in epic hip hop anthems; the others are fastidiously tasteful Scots with an eye for perfectly modern consensus-pop. The Wu-Tang Clan are certainly among the aesthetically correct names that Texas always drop in interviews, but can there possibly be a legitimate connection between the two? "A lot of the Wu-Tang backing tracks have the feel of soundtracks, and we’ve always gone for a cinematic sound," says Johnny McElhone, Spiteri’s genial songwriting partner and bass player. "And I’ve always liked Al Green, and they use a lot of Willie Mitchell, Al Green, that whole Hi Records sound, and make it modern. And Marvin Gaye: Method Man, in that duet with Mary J. Blige, used ‘You’re All I Need To Get By."

Having dominated the charts in Europe this year, Texas are now, logically, turning their attention to America: the country that has always inspired them, whether it’s the dusty, pseudo-roots sound of their first three albums, or the iconic-soul and post-soul sounds of Memphis and Staten Island that they give props to now; the place where success has always eluded them. Yet given the commercial momentum of "White on Blonde", their approach to the Wu-Tang Clan is surely not driven by desperation. They are, then, viewing the collaboration with a combination of fan-like wonder and disbelief.

"Method Man is just a wicked, wicked rapper," enthuses Spiteri. "I can’t wait to hear the combination of my vocals and his – I‘m really excited about it. I have a kind of sweet, virginal thing going on, and he’s got this dirty sex vibe. It could be the perfect marriage."

It’s a Saturday night in Manhattan, and ten storeys above Times Square, Sharleen Spiteri sits on the floor of a recording studio, tinkering with her latest high-tech gadget, a Philips computer about the size of a TV remote. Across the street, three ten-foot high electronic ticker-tapes provide testimony to Monday’s stockmarket crash. No matter how much Spiteri plays with her new toy, there’s still that nagging worry: what if the Wu-Tang Clan won’t show? They’re supposed to be on a tour bus returning from a gig in Washington, DC today, but these, after all, are the original masters of disaster. The crew whose normal modus operandi seems to be chaos. The band that recently quit a national tour because only five of the nine members could be relied upon to turn up.

The studio has been booked since six, so Spiteri and McElhone breathe signs of relief when RZA and his posse finally roll in around ten. Among the dozen-strong throng, they’re surprised to see Wu-Tang member Reakwon, a stout fellow with a Mercedes cap and a Fort Knox of gold dental work. Several cigars are hollowed out, their contents replaced with weed; bottles of Cristal champagne and Hennessy are passed around as the air grows thick with smoke.

Half an hour later, method Man makes his entrance. Stooped over, he looks deceptively short – maybe only six-four in his Hilfiger fleece hoodie. "I’m John-John," he tells Sharleen, referring to his alias, Johnny Blaze. Pulling out the big blunt from behind his ear, Method Man considers the job at hand. "She got a nice voice," drawls the laconic giant. "This band not exactly my type of listening material, but they going in the right direction, if you ask me, by fucking with us. I’m waiting for RZA to put down a beat, hear how the vocals sound melded with the track before I come with ideas. I’m one of those guys."

As his friends get on with the serious business of partying, RZA goes to work, feeding a succession of sample-laden discs into a sampler. He has a diffident, genius-at-work charisma about him as he sits with his back to the room, keyboard at side. With a flick of his prodigiously ringed hand he reaches out and conjures up a brutal bassline. The speakers pulse violently. RZA takes a sip of Hennessy. "Record this, right here!" he tells the bewildered-looking engineer.

RZA has decided to dispense with the original master tapes, shipped over from Britain. He wants a completely new version, recorded rough-and-ready without the standard safety net of a time-code. This convention-trashing, wildstyle approach to recording elicits some consternation from the studio’s engineer, a central-casting white guy who warns RZA: "You won’t be able to synch to this, you know." RZA waves him away and turns to Johnny McElhone. "This riff is in E," McElhone tells RZA. "Maybe we should try it in the original key, D." "What are you saying? I understand no keys," says RZA. "You want me to sing the whole song straight through?" asks Spiteri, trying to divine RZA’s intentions. He orders the lights turned down, and offers Sharleen some herbal inspiration. She politely declines and walks to the vocal booth. "What’s her name? Sheree?" asks RZA as Spiteri warms up. The engineer wants to know if he should maybe start recording. "Always record everything!" exclaims RZA. "Ready, get set, go! Play and record, play and record!" Spiteri rattles of a perfect new version of ‘Say What You Want’, grooving along by herself and passionately acting out every word, even the ones borrowed from Marvin Gaye’s ‘Sexual Healing". Now it’s time for Method Man, who at this point is so herbally inspired that he can hardly open his eyes. He jumps up and lopes around the main room, running off his newly written rhymes and clutching a bottle of Crystal. Method walks up to the mic and opens his mouth, and that treacly baritone sets a typically morbid scene: "Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest…" The Texas duo just look at each other, shaking their heads in awe.

The hours and the rhymes pass. Around 6am, things are starting to get a little weird. As Method Man snoozes on the sofa, RZA bounces off the walls, dancing like a dervish. "These are the new rhythms," he yells. "These are the new dances from Africa. I learned them when I was there last week!" McElhone and Spiteri crack up. The engineer probably wishes he were in Africa right now; he further draws RZA’s ire by making a mistake as he runs off some rough cassettes. As everyone says goodbye, RZA decides that he’s taking the studio’s sampler – he already has two of the $3,500 items, but at this point it’s all about the wind-up. The engineer, though, having last seen the end of his tether a good few hours ago, has had enough. By the commencement of office hours that morning, the rest of the session will have been cancelled and the band and Clan banned from this studio.

After a few frantic phone calls later that morning, a studio is found that is prepared to let the Wu-Tang Clan through the door. With one precondition: only two of them are allowed in the studio. Now it’s midnight, and four-fifths of Texas watch a trio of RZA-hired session men go through their paces. They shift effortlessly through a handful of soul and funk styles, and the Scots mutter approval. These are the kind of players that are so good they can get away with wearing questionable knitwear.

Soon, another couple of Wus pop in. Then another couple. In the control room RZA orders up a bottle of Hennessy and talks about hearing "Say What You Want" for the first time. "I didn’t fully understand the sound of it," admits the soft-spoken maestro. "It was obviously a popular song, a radio song, and my sound is the total opposite. But I thought that the artist had something, so I thought: "Let’s take her and rock her to my beat."

"Sweet soul, that’s what her stuff sounded like to me. Smooth. It reminded me of the Seventies: in those days, they did songs that would fit anywhere. If you went to a club getting high it would fit; if you was cleaning up your house it would fit. That’s when you’ve got a real great song right there." Whether or not "Say What You Want" is a great song, it’s not quite coming together tonight. Despite the best offers of the studio management, a full complement of Wu posse members ended up in the house. As the night drags on the trio of musicians don’t get with the track, and by eight the following morning there is little in the way of usable material. But everyone stays upbeat. Texas will work on the track in Glasgow, and send it back to RZA to finish, along with a new song based around one of his samples. After vowing to stay in touch, everyone stumbles out into the Manhattan morning light together, the Scots with an American name, and the Clan without a tartan.

From a distance the collaboration will continue. But it’s only a different kind of distance. Culturally, creatively, the gap between the Wu-Tang Clan and the old twang clan is considerable. Yet so it goes, this cross-cultural exchange programme. Whether it’s The Stones copping blues movies, Bowie digging the Philadelphia Sound, Lisa Stansfield getting soulful with Barry White, Sting getting doleful with Puff Daddy… Whether it’s Todd Terry reviving Everything But The Girl or Armand Van Helden making Sneaker Pimps the unwitting jumpstarters of speed garage, naked opportunism and risk-taking innovation have always been confused. Now, with genres blurred and tricknology proceeding apace, anything is possible and everything is permitted. Perhaps it is this, the sheer unlikeliness, that makes the Texas-Wu experiment the most illuminating collaboration of the year. Whether it works or not.

"If you play her stuff in a club, everybody be dancing, but it’s a clear room and you can see everybody’s face," RZA reflects on the departing Sharleen Spiteri. "But if you play mine, the room is smoky." And perhaps it is here, among the clouds and the clarity, between the smoke and the mirrors, where a new sound and vision lies.

Text originally posted on texasindemand.com

#article #whiteonblonde #wob #the face #the faculty #wutangclan #wu-tang clan #saywhatyouwant #texas #texasband #texas band #texastheband #texas the band #sharleenspiteri #sharleen spiteri

[chelsfic]

Vampire Seeking Familiar - Nandor x Guillermo Fanfic (One-shot)

WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: Nandor places an ad for a human familiar and Guillermo responds. My take on how they first meet!

A/N: I woke up with the urgent need to write this. I was inspired watching Harvey’s AMA where he mentions that maybe Nandor placed an ad on Craigslist for a familiar. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Fluff, Crack, Smooching, Light mention of sex (not explicit)

---

"Greetings, peasant. I require your assistance with the electronic computing device."

Nandor hulked over the reference desk, looking like an anachronism standing amidst the dull, institutional decor of the public library. He wore a floor length cape trimmed in gold embroidery over a brocade tunic and deerskin pants. He attempted an awkward smile, putting his fangs on full display.

He wasn't the strangest thing the librarian had seen that day.

“Sure,” she replied with a guarded smile. “What are you trying to do?”

"I am attempting to post an advertisement on a list kept by a man named..." he glanced down at a scrap of paper in his hand, "...Craig."

Ninety painstaking minutes later the librarian breathed a sigh of relief as the strange man finally clicked “publish.”

“Now, you just keep an eye on your email,” she kindly explained, “and wait for someone to respond.”

Nandor’s eyes lit up with a kind of hungry delight as he switched tabs to his empty Hotmail inbox.

“Your assistance has been most appreciated,” he thanked her, reaching into his tunic and flicking a heavy, gold coin in her direction.

She flinched as the coin flew at her head, awkwardly catching it and placing it beside the keyboard. 

“You’re welcome, Mr. Relentless. But I can’t accept a tip. Have a nice night.”

She stood up and walked back to her desk with a look of repressed hilarity on her face. She doubted anyone would reply to this guy’s post. But then, she reminded herself, she’d certainly seen stranger things happen…

Nandor clicked refresh and frowned when his email remained stubbornly empty.

---

Vampire’s Familiar (Staten Island)

Attention Mortals!

Do you weary of your pathetic human lives? Do you wish to find purpose in serving your evolutionary superior? Can you lift at least 50 lbs without assistance?

I, Nandor the Relentless, Conqueror of Thousands and Immortal Vampire, seek a human familiar to do my dark bidding. Duties include, but are not limited to, daytime errands, cleaning of a large mansion, laundry, personal valet services, securing the house against sunlight, blowing out candles, and waste disposal. The successful contender will be provided room and board for a fair rate ($1200/month) and the promise of eternal life after their term of service (length TBD).

If you possess the courage, kindly respond by electronic letter.

---

It had to be fake, right?

Guillermo sat in the break room at Panera Bread, idly scrolling through job ads on Craig’s List when the heading “Vampire’s Familiar” caught his eye. For a second he felt his stomach swoop with excitement before he got a hold of himself. It was probably just another jerk looking for attention. Guillermo knew in his heart that vampires were real, despite never having met one in real life. And it was his dearest, secret dream to become one of them. But so far, his internet sleuthing had uncovered nothing but a whole lot of pathetic internet trolls.

But what if this was the one?

He clicked the link, biting his nails as the text of the job posting loaded on the screen. He read through it, a smile tugging on his lips. He really shouldn’t get his hopes up, but his eyes kept darting back to that name. Nandor the Relentless. Conqueror of Thousands. What a cool vampire name.

He opened his Gmail app and started a new message.

---

Dear Nandor the Relentless,

My name is Guillermo de la Cruz and I am writing to you in response to your Craigslist posting seeking a human familiar. I have long been an enthusiastic admirer of vampires and it would be a dream come true to meet one and work for them.

I’m a responsible, hard worker who’s eager to learn new things. While I have never worked as a familiar before, I do have a background in customer service and a Bachelor’s Degree in History from Stony Brook University. I have attached a copy of my resume.

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Guillermo de la Cruz

---

Guillermo suggested they meet at a Panera Bread on Staten Island because it was familiar and, more importantly, public. He was less worried about meeting an immortal, murderous creature of the night than he was about the possibility that the guy could turn out to be a regular human serial killer.

He picked a comfy armchair by the window and sipped his tea while he watched the door, feeling a thrill every time it opened. He was early. If this guy turned out to be the real deal, then he desperately wanted to make a good first impression. When a tall, darkly handsome man with long hair and a cape walked through the door Guillermo gulped and raised his hand in a shy wave.

“Nandor?” he asked, just to be sure. 

The man turned to him and there was no mistake. Guillermo’s breath caught in his throat. His skin was pale, almost glowing in the restaurant’s warm lighting. His eyes were dark brown and penetrating. Guillermo felt struck when the vampire’s gaze fell on him, as if he could see straight through him and into the most secret parts of his soul. He stepped closer, looming over Guillermo and looking somehow both self-important and unsure.

“And you are…” Nandor glanced upward, searching for the name. “Guy...Gil...Gilbert?”

“Guillermo,” he corrected with a shy smile. He shifted on his feet and adjusted his glasses nervously. He knew vampires were sexy by nature, of course. But he hadn’t been expecting to feel an immediate attraction to his prospective employer. This guy had his own gravity and he was sucking Guillermo in.

“Guillermo, of course.”

Hearing his name in the vampire’s rich, accented voice sent a tingle down his spine.

“Shall we, uh, sit down?” Guillermo stammered and then smacked a hand to his head, gesturing to the display case of pastries, “Unless you want something…?”

Nandor hissed dramatically and Guillermo got his first good look at his fangs. Honestly, he felt faint. This guy was either an excellent cosplayer or he was for real.

“Vampires cannot consume human food,” Nandor announced with a grimace of disgust. “Lesson number one.”

Nandor sat with a sweep of his cape and Guillermo followed suit.

“Oh! Of course! I have a lot to learn… Mr. Nandor--Mr. Relentless, sir,” Guillermo stammered, finally picking up his tea and taking a big gulp just to shut himself up.

“Master will do just fine,” the vampire replied as he adjusted the fall of his impressive cape around him. “That’s how you’ll refer to me if you get the job.”

“Oh! That’s--um,” Guillermo tilted his head and narrowed his eyes as he pondered the right word, “very...antiquated?”

“Well, hello! I’m a vampire! Kind of comes with the territory,” Nandor scoffed dismissively. “If you’re not interested--”

“No! No, I’m...I’m definitely interested,” Guillermo insisted, blushing furiously at his own words. He was interested...in more ways than one, apparently. He couldn’t stop glancing down at the vampire’s mouth, his full lips and the delicious hint of sharp fangs. God, what would it be like? To be bitten…

Nandor watched as the human’s full cheeks darkened with a blush. He parted his lips and inhaled longingly, scenting the sweet, spicy aroma of the man’s blood and barely suppressing a growl. 

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat and abruptly asking, “So, you want to tell me a bit about why you are wanting to become my familiar?”

The interview--oh my god, I’m having an actual interview with an actual vampire!--flew by somehow. At first, Guillermo was all nervous stammers and sweaty palms, but after a few minutes he couldn’t help the natural urge to gush and he found himself barraging the vampire with fascinated questions. Not just about the job, but about himself. How old was he? Could he fly? Turn into a bat? Use mind control? What about sunlight, was that really a thing? Garlic? 

Rather than becoming annoyed, Nandor seemed to preen under the human’s obvious admiration. He held his head high and his word choice became increasingly grandiose as he waxed poetic about his existence as a creature of the night.

As the meeting finally wound down, Nandor turned his deep, liquid eyes on Guillermo, capturing him in his gaze as he spoke.

“Now, Guillermo, you must tell me one thing. If I choose you for this job, are you willing to give up all this,” he gestured around at the interior of the Panera Bread. A cashier wiped down the glass display case and an infant wailed somewhere in the back of the dining area. “And come and live with me, putting yourself under my control and becoming subject to my dark power?”

Guillermo gulped down his nerves, feeling the momentousness of the occasion as he whispered, for the first time, “Yes, master…”

“Wonderful!” Nandor cried with a clap of his hands. “I will reach out to you through the ether after the checking of your background.”

The vampire stood, moving away from the table before Guillermo could formulate a response.

“The...ether?” he finally asked, his brows knitting together in confusion. “How will that work?”

Nandor waved away Guillermo’s confusion with a flick of his wrist and answered, “Very simple. My voice will come to you in the evening before you are a falling into the slumber.”

Guillermo was silent for a beat, wondering how this answer was meant to clear up his confusion. 

“Right,” he finally murmured. “Of course…”

Nandor turned to stalk out the door and Guillermo jogged after him, “Wait! There’s just...just one more thing, before you go.”

Nandor turned back with an annoyed expression, “Yes, what is it? I’m getting pretty hungry over here!”

Guillermo choked down an enthusiastic squeak at this admission and attempted to school his features into neutral calm as he asked, “How do I know you’re legit? Can you...show me proof?”

Nandor’s eyes darkened and he seemed to grow even taller as he turned his full focus on the human man, “You require proof? You require proof from Nandor the Relentless, who has twice turned the waters of the Euphrates red with his enemy’s blood. Proof, you say?!”

“Yeah,” Guillermo shrugged, holding onto what he hoped was an aloof calm as he quaked internally.

Nandor sighed and rolled his eyes as he answered, “Fine! Come with me. Fu-cking guy…”

He led Guillermo to the alleyway behind the Panera. During the day you might find a delivery truck back here or an employee taking out the garbage, but it was deserted at this hour of the night. Nandor stomped ahead of Guillermo, clearly aggravated at this request. He stopped and turned to face the human with a dramatic flare of his cape.

“Prepare your puny mortal brain,” he warned and then, without ceremony, he transformed into a bat.

Guillermo gasped, his face splitting into a wide grin as the tiny, squeaking thing flew circles around his head, landing in the lush curls of his hair for an instant before taking flight once more and erupting back into his vampiric form.

Guillermo rushed up to Nandor’s side, positively gushing, “It’s true! You’re real! A real vampire! Oh my god, I--”

Nandor suddenly broke out into an aggrieved hiss, grimacing and turning his face away.

“Watch it with that shit!” he complained loudly. “You can’t say...the g-word around vampires! You understand?”

Guillermo tilted his head in confusion for a second before realization lit his eyes.

“Oh! The g-word, of course! I’m...I’m sorry, master. I promise I’ll learn quickly,” he babbled. Now that he knew for certain that Nandor was a vampire, he was desperate to land this job. It was everything he’d dreamed of since he was a little kid first watching Antonio Banderas as Armand.

“Yeah, well--you’d better!” Nandor griped, but his face smoothed into a self-satisfied smirk at Guillermo’s obvious hero worship. A thought occured to him as he watched Guillermo’s adoring gaze. “There’s one more thing--I’ve just remembered. You can never fall in love with me, human. I know a lot of vampires who get into the whole sex thing with their familiars and it always ends up...messy. Understand? That’s a condition of your employment.”

Guillermo felt his face once again heating up with mortification. Had he been so transparent?

“Of course, master. I understand,” he murmured. 

Nandor nodded, looking satisfied with Guillermo’s answer.

“Alright, then. Remember, you will hear my voice through the ether! Night, night!”

And then Nandor braced his knees and leaped into the air, soaring over Guillermo’s head and into the night sky.

“Wow!” Guillermo sighed, watching the tiny pinprick that was his vampire disappear into the darkness. “He’s so fucking cool…”

---

Some years later…

Guillermo sat in the fancy room with his legs tucked up underneath him, typing away on his laptop as Nandor fed another piece of wood to the fire. He paused long enough to enjoy the view of his boyfriend’s ample (yet firm!) backside as he bent over the fireplace. 

“Guillermo,” Nandor started, dragging out the last syllable adorably. “What are you working on over there?”

“Why don’t you come here and see?” Guillermo replied with a shy smile. He patted the cushion next to him. He was still bashful about flirting with his master. Their relationship had finally--finally!--advanced after years of longing and pining. But even after a week of learning everything Nandor had to teach him about the joys of vampiric sex, he still felt unaccountably shy about their new relationship status.

Nandor settled down beside him, pressing their sides together and peering down at the thin computing contraption with a look of trepidation. 

“You need to be careful with these things, Guillermo!” Nandor admonished, wrapping an arm around his familiar and pressing his face into the warm crook of his neck. He breathed in his delightful scent before continuing, “There are witches on the internet who can curse you through the electronic post!”

“Don’t worry, mas--Nandor. I’m being very careful,” Guillermo assured him. 

The night they first made love, Guillermo had been overwhelmed, beside himself with a heady mix of physical sensations and emotions. He’d cried out at Nandor’s touch, using the title that he’d been trained to use for almost a decade. Nandor had felt his stomach drop and ice flow through his veins at the sound. “No...no, my Guillermo. Call me Nandor. Please. Call me by my name…”

“What do we have here…?” Nandor pondered, squinting his eyes as he read the text on the screen. “Guillermo! What is this all about!?”

“You said it yourself, Nandor,” he replied with a sly smirk. “Not falling in love with you was a condition of my employment…”

The words hung in the air between them for a moment and Guillermo felt as though he’d just opened up his chest and revealed his beating heart to the vampire’s hungry gaze. 

Nandor’s dark eyes softened and sparkled in the firelight as he murmured, “Oh, my Guillermo… I--I love you too.”

Nandor took the laptop and set it on the coffee table before taking Guillermo into his arms and laying kiss after kiss across his sweet face. 

“Are you ready?” Nandor’s voice was hushed. Guillermo looked up at him and was awestruck all over again at his luck. That such a man could love little ole Memo.

“Yeah, just--hang on a sec,” he said, leaning over Nandor’s lap to reach the computer and hitting “enter.” He fell back into Nandor’s arms, looking up at him with perfect trust and saying, for the last time, “Yes, Master. I’m ready.”

---

Vampire Couple seeking Human Familiar (Staten Island)

Do you long to explore the hidden world of magical creatures all around you? Do you have a strong stomach? A career as a vampire’s familiar might be for you!

Nandor the Relentless and Guillermo the Great seek a human assistant to do their dark bidding...

#nandermo #nandor x guillermo #guillermo x nandor #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #wwdits fanfic #what we do in the shadows fanfic #wwdits

[australiancarisi]

Secrets ~ Sonny Carisi

You are the newest detective at SVU, things are great until things from your past come back to haunt you.  Look at me starting a new story when I have a million stories to be written... oh well.  Also, I know my stories are very dialogue-heavy, I'm working on it  Also posted on ao3 Words: 1360

You took a deep breath as you looked up at the building in front of you. The 16th precinct in New York City, the home of SVU, your new home. With one last big breath, you walked in. The precinct was relatively busy with unis coming in for change of shift and a few perps in handcuffs. A Sargent sent you to the elevators towards the back of the precinct.

“Can I help you?” A blonde lady looked up from her desk.

“I’m looking for Captain Olivia Benson” you say, holding your hand out “I’m detective y/n Diaz, LAPD”

“I’ll get her for you” she shook your hand before walking into an office.

“Y/n nice to you” Olivia said shaking your hand “we’re really looking forward to having you”

“I’m really looking forward to working here, heard good things about SVU” she quickly gave you a tour of the precinct and showed you to your desk. You were setting up your computer when two people walked in.

“Hey who’s sitting at Carisi’s desk?” the man asked

“Carisi?” you asked Amanda

“Former detective now our ADA” Amanda filled you in.

“Y/n this is Detective Kat Tamin and Sargent Tutuola, guys this is detective y/n Diaz, she’s transferring from LAPD Major Crimes unit”

“Call me Fin” he said shaking your hand before you shook Kat’s hand. “Liv, you didn’t mention that were getting a transfer”

“It was very fast, Chief Dodds told me about it a couple of days ago”

“What brings you to New York?” Kat asked

“Wanted a change” you shrugged “my captain thought New York would be a good fit”

“Well, I’m glad to have you we need more help around here” Fin nodded as everyone go on with their work. 

A few hours later, you were standing behind the one-way glass of interrogation 1 as Fin and Kat worked over a perp.

“What have we got?” A man with a heavy accent asked as he walked into the room. Staten island you were pretty sure. You looked him up and down. He was tall and lanky, carrying a briefcase. 

Must be a lawyer, you thought to yourself. He had also been carrying his phone as he walked in but had slipped it into his suit pocket.

“Jack Davis, 24, he’s the Vic’s ex-boyfriend they broke up a week ago. We’ve got footage of him following her out of the club and through the park and then 20 minutes later he’s walking out and she’s found dead in the morning” Amanda said

“And you are?” He looked at you

“Detective y/n Diaz, just transferred from LA Major Crimes” you said

“she’s your replacement” Amanda smirked at him

“So, you’re Carisi?” you asked

“ADA Dominick Carisi Jnr” Amanda introduced him

“Call me Sonny” he said as Amanda mouthed along with him. Sonny pushed her lightly with his elbow “I thought Kat was my replacement”

“Well y/n got your desk, Kat can be Dodds’ replacement about time we got more detectives” Amanda grumbled before you all turned your attention back to the job at hand.

You groaned as you sat down at your desk. You were tired, exhausted really. You had barely slept last night after deciding just to stay in the cribs last night after realising it was 2am, you had finally made a break in a high-profile case. A ‘highly respected’ senator had been accused of rape of a 15-year-old schoolgirl and after you finally convinced Sonny to get a warrant to look through his computer you had found child pornography of not only the girl that came forward but a three of her classmates that you guys had interviewed and a number of unknown girls.

“Do you ever leave?” Liv asked as she walked into the prescient with Kat and Fin.

“Not last night” You shrugged, and Liv gave you the look.

‘The Signature Liv Look’ Fin called it. Also known as her mum look. From the moment you started at SVU, it didn’t take long for you to learn that Liv was fiercely protective of her squad.

 Mama Bear.

“y/n” the tone was one of warning “you’ve been working too much lately; you need to get more than three hours sleep and when was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”

“When was the last time I ate with Sonny?” you grinned at her

“Last Wednesday” Sonny called. He walked in with Amanda “After court, we went back to yours”

“Last Wednesday” you said to Liv

“y/n- “

“I promise I’ll take care of myself, but this is a big case” you pointed out

“They are all big cases” Liv said “Carisi what are you doing here?”

“Well” he held up a box from the bakery around the corner from his apartment “Happy 9-month SVU anniversary Detective Diaz”

“Oooo” you made grabby hands at the bag

“You promised me something?” Sonny asked

“Uh fine” you rolled your eyes before getting on your laptop to pull up the photos “found these last night”

“Does this mean we don’t have to plead him out?” Kat said

“So long as we can get these girls to talk at least Dianna and her classmates we’ll have this in the bag” Sonny nodded

“Fin Amanda go talk to the girls” Liv said

“So, did I do good?” you grinned at Sonny. All he did was hand you the box “Cannoli! My favourite”

“Happy 9-month SVU anniversary” Sonny winked

“Do you always give people cannoli on their 9-month work anniversary?” Fin raised his eyebrows

“Where was mine?” Kat smirked

“Or does it have to do with the fact Detective Diaz’s 9-month anniversary for SVU also happens to be your 6-month relationship anniversary?” Liv joined in on the teasing and your face turned pink. You never intended to get in a relationship with Sonny, it just happened. You and Sonny worked well together even though you bickered. You managed to hold yourself out for a while but after a particularly hard case you and Sonny went out for drinks and the night ended with you in Sonny’s bed. After 3 months at SVU, you and Sonny started dating. It was the worst kept secret.

“How do you even remember that?” Sonny asked “He’s had to remind me for the past week” “You finally disclosed on your 3-month anniversary, that was 3 months ago” Liv said

“How does she remember that?” You mumbled around the cannoli you had just shoved in your mouth.

“Charming” Fin shook his head

“Alright come on let’s put his pig behind bars” Liv changing into boss mode. Sonny leaned down and kissed your lips.

“We still on for tonight?” He asked

“Depends on how-“

“Yes, you are. She is not staying here any later than half-past five” Liv called over her shoulder making you roll your eyes.

“I’ll see you then” you pecked his cheek and pushed him towards the door “Thanks for the cannoli!”

You sat at your desk and savoured your cannoli while Liv went over all the details that you had collected overnight and shared them with the rest of the squad. While Liv was talking you took a moment to realise how much your life had changed in the nine months you had been at SVU. Besides the fact that you had a great job and amazing boyfriend who treated you like the princess deep down you wanted to be, you were also a part of an incredible squad who had quickly become like a second family to you, especially Amanda, having her as your partner was great. Overall you were just so much happier now than you ever thought you could have been nine months ago.

“We’ve got him” Kat smirked

“Let’s not get too confident” Liv sighed as a uni walked up to you handing you a letter that had been dropped off “we never know what could happen when it goes to trial” you slowly opened the letter. As you opened it all the colour in the world instantly drained away and you thought you were going to fall apart

we’ll be together again soon baby girl

#law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #law and order svu imagines #sonny carisi fanfic #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi imagines #sonny carisi imagine

[lovemesomerafael]

Becoming Mike                     Chapter 1:  Blindsided

Source: @erenu

I’ve been interested in the idea of Dorisi for a while, and I was finally inspired to give it a try by this post from @erenu.  They gave Dodds so little backstory or personality, which gives me plenty of room to explore who he might be.  

***********************

All Mike Dodds ever wanted to be was the lead singer in a band.  All his father ever wanted Mike to be was Commissioner of the NYPD.  So Mike was Mick Jagger in the shower and William Dodds’ son at work.  Very, very seldom was he Sergeant Dodds, and even more seldom did he get to be Mike.  

That wasn’t going to change anytime soon, because he’d just accepted a position with the Manhattan Special Victims Unit.  Why?  Because he wanted the job?  Oh, hell no.  He didn’t want the job.  He wanted to be Mick Jagger.  And if he had to be a cop, he’d much rather be ESU; something where he could run around with big-ass weapons and play with man toys like he’d done when he was Special Forces. Actually, his time in the Army - although like everything else, that had been his father’s idea – was the time when he’d been the most himself.  Because he wasn’t in New York.  He wasn’t under his father’s wing, or in his shadow.  Nobody at Fort Bragg or any of the places Mike had been stationed knew William Dodds from Adam, and nobody cared.  It was as close to happy as he’d ever been.  

But.  

Mike was on his father’s “five-year plan” to success – success as defined by William, not Mike – and that plan involved Mike taking the job with SVU.  But only as a bridge to the next move Mike didn’t want, which was the Joint Terrorism Task Force.  So Mike had found himself on an elevator, standing next to his father, who would now also be his Chief, about to meet Lieutenant Benson, his new boss.  He would have given anything to be able to walk into the Manhattan SVU squad room without being escorted by his father as though it was his first day of kindergarten, but he wanted a lot of things where his father was concerned.  He was very used to not getting them.

As always, his father bragged about Mike’s accomplishments, as Mike tried his best to stop him without making a thing of it.  Mike liked Olivia Benson.  His father had told Mike she gave him heartburn, which was always a good thing in Mike’s book.  And, standing with the two of them, he could see that the heartburn was mutual.  

Mike had rarely given his father heartburn.  One of the few times was when he’d refused to go into the Police Academy straight from Special Forces.  He’d seen and done some things he needed to think about for a while, and after the experience of being just Mike, rather than William Dodds’ son, for the first time, he was not eager to give that up.  Besides, he still had his music dreams, and it wasn’t too late.  So he’d taken a job at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen and gotten very serious about his guitars.  His father, of course, had been livid.  He’d even shown up at Lucky’s to berate Mike and try to shame him into submission but, for the first time in his life, Mike had told his father to go to hell.  He’d threatened to cut all ties with his father, and he’d meant it.  

To his credit, William Dodds loved his son.  He truly was as proud of Mike as he claimed to be.  In William’s eyes, Mike could do anything he set out to do.  Mike was all he had left; Ingrid had left him and taken Matthew, so William had poured all his love and care into raising Mike and making him everything he could be.  It simply never occurred to him that what Mike could be wasn’t necessarily what Mike wanted to be.  And it never occurred to him to ask what Mike wanted.  

So Mike had spent a year as a bartender and wannabe rock star.  It had been a good year.  He hadn’t made it big, but he’d discovered a lot of things about himself.  That included learning that he actually liked a little more structure in his life than bartending provided, and that he actually liked men more than he did women.  In the Army, especially Special Forces, he just found it much easier to go along with the macho culture and date only women.  His few short, intense affairs with men were on the down-low and of very short duration.  But it was easy to be a bisexual bartender in Hell’s Kitchen, and Mike found that when he was free to screw whoever he wanted, he wanted men.  He realized that he had been settling for women because it was easier, and he was no longer interested in doing that.  He didn’t worry too much about the label; in Mike’s experience, labels were more a matter of convenient shorthand about possibilities than accurate descriptions of something as complex as sexuality.  But he decided that “gay” was closer to his truth than “bi”.

He had absolutely no interest in trying to deal with his father on that issue.  He could only imagine what that would be like, and he just couldn’t be bothered.  He was well over thirty and they lived in a massive metropolis.  Mike’s father never met his dates.  If and when he ever fell in love, that would be the time to come out to his father.  Until then, what was the point?  Whenever his father asked about his love life, he played the pronoun game and changed the subject as soon as possible.  

His desire for a life with a bit more structure to it, however, he did discuss with his father. Mike was ready to be done with the bohemian life of a guitar-obsessed bartender and pick up the reins of his life. He realized that meant climbing back under William’s wing, but he also realized he was fortunate to have a father who could launch him successfully on a career with the NYPD.  He’d been willing to pay the price of putting himself squarely in his father’s shadow.  After the Academy, he’d been assigned to Anti-Crime in Crown Heights and had distinguished himself there, working up the career ladder (with no small amount of help from William) to achieve the rank of Sergeant.  But that wasn’t good enough for Mike’s father.  

Which is why Mike found himself standing in Lieutenant Benson’s office when Detective Rollins came in to let the Lieutenant know they’d caught a rape call at a hotel.  Benson made ready to go to the scene, which would have been a graceful way for Chief Dodds to make his own exit and let Mike get on with meeting his squad and settling in.  But no.  As though arranging for him to go on a field trip, the Chief had “suggested” to Lieutenant Benson that she should take Mike along to the crime scene.  Having no choice, she’d agreed.  

And that’s where Mike had first seen Sonny Carisi.

Carisi had been in the squad room when Mike had first entered, but his father had propelled Mike into the Lieutenant’s office too fast to notice any of the detectives as he passed them. Which seemed impossible to him now, when Mike couldn’t imagine ever being in a room where Sonny was and not be absolutely, utterly aware of him.  But that’s what had happened.

Arriving at the hotel, Mike and Lieutenant Benson had stepped off the elevator into a hallway where several cops were standing, a few speaking quietly with one another, a couple others interviewing witnesses.  And at the end of the hall, just before it turned a corner, stood the two members of his squad Mike hadn’t yet met.  He was introduced to Fin Tutuola and Sonny Carisi, and probably shook hands and muttered some pro forma words of greeting.  But he didn’t know, because of the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears and his complete inability to see anything but Sonny.  

Mike had a type.  Mike definitely had a type.  He was tall with a boxer’s body: hard muscle everywhere, with a small waist, broad chest and thick, muscular arms.  He wasn’t looking for a man built like he was.  The men who caught Mike’s attention were the ones with long, thin limbs they didn’t seem to know quite what to do with.  Men who moved a certain way that just did something to Mike’s insides.  He also had a thing for light eyes.  He appreciated any guy with pretty eyes, but there were certain men whose eyes captivated him. Sonny Carisi checked both Mike’s major boxes.  And then there was everything else.

Where to start?  Probably the first thing Mike noticed after Sonny’s eyes were his lips as he briefed Benson and Dodds on what they knew so far.  Mike didn’t think he heard one word.  He just watched those lips and imagined what they would feel like to touch, to kiss...  At one point, Sonny had smiled briefly, and Mike could actually feel his smile. Sonny’s mouth was a weapon.  Mike wondered whether he knew that.  Actually, Mike was wrong in thinking he hadn’t heard what Sonny said.  He must have, because he noticed the accent.  Mike had never known a Staten Island accent could be sexy.  In fact, he’d have sworn it couldn’t be.  He’d been wrong about that, too.  Over time, Sonny Carisi would teach Mike Dodds he’d been wrong about a lot of things.  

The jury was out on Sonny’s hair.  It definitely worked for Sonny, but Mike liked to run his hands through a lover’s hair, and he didn’t want to end up with his hands feeling like they’d been visited by the Exxon Valdez.  But if he got Sonny in a shower, he could wash all that stuff out, and then…

Mike tried to keep his head in the game.  It was his first crime scene on his first day with SVU.  When Benson told Fin and Carisi to get the security footage, Mike remembered that the head of hotel security was a friend of his father’s, so in his eagerness to be helpful and fit in with the team, he’d suggested that they could drop his name.  Big mistake.  In a handful of syllables, Fin made it abundantly clear that he didn’t appreciate the suggestion.  Mike couldn’t even think about looking at Sonny.  He didn’t want to see his reaction.  

He hadn’t seen this coming.  The possibility that he would walk into this new job, a job he hadn’t even wanted, and be hit between the eyes by a man like Sonny Carisi had never crossed his mind.  But here he was.  And at this moment, he didn’t have time to figure out the implications.  He had a job to do.  In fact, when they’d returned to the station, Benson had assigned him and Carisi to interrogate the suspect together.  

Thank God Dodds was Special Forces and knew how to focus his mind for a mission.  Focusing his mind for a mission had never before involved jacking off, but each mission was different.  When he was about to spend God knew how long in a small room around a small table with the most beguiling man he’d ever seen, it was mission critical.  

As it happened, Mike and Sonny worked well together.  During the interrogation, and during the shakedown at a motel that followed, their styles and instincts meshed from the beginning. It felt as though they’d worked together for years.  Mike was relieved and found himself looking forward to working with Sonny from a purely professional point of view.  He was concerned about Amanda Rollins, who appeared to be a hot mess.  But it was obvious that he was meeting her at a particularly bad time, very pregnant and dealing with family issues from hell, so he decided to reserve judgment and even recommended that Lieutenant Benson cut her some slack.  Detective Tutuola clearly resented Mike’s presence and completely distrusted him.  Mike had expected that.  He’d seen it before, even when his father wasn’t the Deputy Chief over Mike’s particular division.  

So it shouldn’t have bothered him when he caught a couple of looks between Fin and Sonny that clearly told him Sonny didn’t trust Mike, either.  Nor should Sonny’s muttered comment to Amanda about being careful what she said around Mike. But both bothered him quite a bit. Professionally, he got it. Personally, the idea that this beautiful man thought he was a rat punched him in the gut.  

Mike was exhausted when he finally made it to his small, utilitarian apartment and collapsed onto his bed still in his suit.  Had it really only been the first day?  It felt like it had lasted a month.  And what the hell was he going to do with Sonny Carisi? Well, the answer to that question was obvious.  He wasn’t going to do anything with him.  He was Carisi’s direct superior.  The real question was what he was going to do about Carisi.

He lay there, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch one of the million thoughts running through his head and follow it.  Benson had called him on about a thousand mistakes. That was humiliating, sure, but it was also Day One.  And he appreciated a boss who simply gave it to him straight and in the moment.  That, he could definitely work with.  His dad had been embarrassing as fuck, escorting him in and then coming by at the end of the day for a parent/teacher conference. But that was life on Planet Mike. The case was twisty and interesting, especially the mind fuck of finding out the escort had been Rollins’ sister, and then the sister stabbing her pimp in the junk.  Adam’s balls, if this was what every day in SVU was going to be like, Mike was going to need to start taking more vitamins.  Maybe he should get some of those vile little energy drinks to keep in his desk, just in case.

 Mike tried to ignore the part of him that couldn’t wait to see Carisi the next morning.  Like an idiot teenage girl, he found himself on the subway wondering what Sonny was going to wear, for fuck’s sake.  He needed to get over this crush, and quickly.  Maybe a couple of days, or a week, and he’d be over that body, and those eyes, and that mouth…  

Then again, maybe not.  The first thing Sonny did when Mike arrived was present him with a cup of coffee from the cart outside the station, and smile at him.  At thirty-plus, Mike didn’t often get involuntary wood, but damn, the little creases around Sonny’s eyes when he smiled!  And those fucking dimples… Mike wondered whether this was going to be a real problem.  He’d had a hundred crushes before, but this was on another level.  And the fact that not only was Carisi a good detective but apparently thoughtful of the new guy, too, was disturbing.  Very, very disturbing.

Mike’s second day was a bit less of a wild ride than the first had been.  He managed to have a real conversation with Detective Tutuola, which was a step in the right direction, although he could tell it was going to take a very long time for that relationship to thaw.  He was willing to put in the time.  He’d done his homework before beginning at SVU, as he always did, and he knew Tutuola was well worth the investment of building some kind of working rapport.  He had a thick file of commendations, and the case records Mike had studied showed he handled undercover frequently and expertly. Besides which, Mike just liked Fin. He appreciated a guy who could think fast enough on his feet to toss off the one-liners he did and, like Olivia, Fin was straight up about what he was thinking.  

When Olivia and Amanda had gone to the courthouse where Amanda’s sister was being arraigned, and Carisi was out of the squad room following up on another case, Mike had taken the opportunity to step over to Fin’s desk and sit in the visitor’s chair next to it.  

Fin looked over at him, his face giving nothing away.  

“Detective Tutuola, I-“

“Fin.”

“Fin.  I did my homework before taking this job, and I wanted to let you know, in case you wondered, that I know your record.  It’s impressive as hell.”

Fin said nothing, nor did he change expression.

“The other thing I wanted to do is acknowledge the elephant in the room.  You don’t know me.  But you do know my dad, which is not a good thing.  I’m aware that there’s been some tension between him and this unit, and I’ve known my dad for a while now.  I can imagine the kind of things that have gone down.  So if I’m you, I’m thinking things just went from bad to worse, because now you got my dad in your face 24/7 in the form of his kid.  Am I right?”

“You’re right,” Fin said, nodding slightly, in the same tone of voice he’d use to agree with Mike that it was daytime.  

“That’s not how it is.  My loyalties lie with my unit.  Always.  I wouldn’t believe me, and I don’t expect you to just take my word.  But I’ve got a lot of respect for you.  I know you were Rangers, and being ex-Special Forces myself, I got mad respect for that, on top of your police work.  You’re a man whose respect I’d like to have, and I intend to earn it.  I just thought I’d let you know.”

Fin again nodded slightly.  Mike got up and went back to his desk, hoping that at least acknowledging the situation was a start.  

It was.  Fin thought that Chief Dodds would never have bothered with such a conversation, let alone show his cards like that.  He certainly wouldn’t have said he wanted to earn Fin’s respect; he simply demanded it as his due.  Maybe Sergeant Dodds wasn’t quite as much of a dick in a starched shirt.  But Fin would let the Sergeant’s actions do the talking. He wasn’t in the habit of taking anyone at their word.  

The case they caught was an ugly one.  Mike and Fin responded to a flat in Chelsea where a woman had been murdered, with definite evidence of sexual assault.  Mike had worked any number of murder scenes, and something about the act of murder always pissed him off – his need to find and collar the murderer had always been more about justice for taking a life, rather than getting a win. But this- the vic yesterday had been bad enough.  It was difficult and disturbing to hear her statement – no, it’s called a disclosure when it’s a rape, Mike reminded himself – and it had raised in him the same level of anger as a murder, but of a different type.  Now, today, the idea that this woman had been sexually brutalized before being killed aroused in Mike a combination of those two reactions that he could feel somewhere in his chest.  

“You with me, Sarge?”  Fin asked quietly and not without a note of kindness.

“Yeah.  This just pisses me off, is all.  Murder is one thing.  This is a whole other floor of the building.”

“I’d tell you that you get used to it, but I’d be lyin’.”

“Roger that.”

They went to work.  Carisi joined them when he could, and together the three worked the scene, supervising the CSU techs, conferring with the Medical Examiner, and interviewing witnesses until the early evening.  

When they had finished, they braved the various smells that assailed them on the stairway, Fin in the lead, Dodds next, and Carisi in the rear.

“Sarge, I’m guessin’ the squad car you’re in is signed out to Fin, amirite?”  Carisi asked as they descended.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“They always are,” Sonny smiled.  “You’ll learn quick enough that no one drives Fin but Fin.  You wanna ride back with me?”

Mike felt a swirl of tingles in the pit of his stomach.  “Yeah, sure.  Whatever.”

As Carisi pulled out of his parking space, Mike noticed that his legs were so long that his knees actually bracketed the bottom of the steering wheel.  Mike was actually taller by a couple inches, but apparently Carisi didn’t like the seat back far enough to stretch out the way Mike did.  That should not have been sexy.  The way his hands looked on the steering wheel, however, was just objectively, scientifically sexy and Mike didn’t question it.  He did look away, however, because he could feel himself responding to just the sight of those hands, and he had to clamp down when his mind naturally went screaming to thoughts of how they would feel on him.  

“Was there a particular reason you wanted me to ride with you, Carisi?”  He asked, hoping like hell Sonny would distract him with a question or some advice or something.

Sonny shrugged.  “Not really. I guess I just wanted to get a chance to get to know each other a little is all.  This unit’s pretty small, and we all gotta have each other’s backs.  So, you know, we need to know each other, know how each other thinks.  That’s all.”

“Yeah, I got you.  So what do you want to know?”

Sonny grinned and shot Mike a look that had Mike repositioning himself in the seat.  “I dunno. I didn’t prepare a questionnaire or anything.”

“I did have a conversation with Fin earlier that maybe I should have with you, too.  I told him that my loyalties lie with the unit, with SVU.  I get what you all must think, me being the Chief’s son and all. And I get that it’s gonna take some time to be able to trust me.   But you can.  I’m not my father’s spy at SVU.”

“Nobody’s saying you are,” Sonny said.

“Oh, brother,” Mike gave a short laugh.  “I don’t know how you’ve done as well as you have undercover, if you can’t lie any better than that.”

Mike wished he’d been looking somewhere else when Sonny laughed at that.  That crinkly-eyed, dimpled smile was going to be the death of him.  He changed the subject.

“So you got any words of wisdom for the new guy?  My father says the smartest thing you can do in a new assignment is learn all you can from the people who’ve been there a while.”

Sonny hesitated.  His open face clearly showed that he did have something he wanted to say.

“What?”  Mike prompted.

“It’s just…  No offense, but you oughtta take the phrase ‘my father says’ outta your vocabulary, at least around SVU.”  Sonny glanced briefly over to see how Mike took that.

Mike nodded, looking out the passenger window.  “You’re not the first person to say that,” he admitted.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not knockin’ your dad.”

“I didn’t take it that way.”

“And I look up to my dad a lot, so I get that, too.  It’s just… this situation…”

“Right.  Got it. And thanks.  I appreciate your candor.”

They talked about SVU, the other detectives, and Lieutenant Benson for the rest of the drive back to the station.

Later, alone in his dingy little apartment sipping a beer and staring at something on ESPN without really seeing it, Mike thought about that conversation.  About his relationship with his father.  At bottom, Mike loved his dad.  He respected him.  He understood who his dad was and, for the most part, he liked the man.  But he knew his father was abrasive in a way that was part stereotypical New Yorker, part uniquely William Dodds.  He knew that his father was an ambitious, political animal who thought strategically at all times and in all situations.  But he was just as ambitious for Mike as he was for himself, and Mike knew in his soul that that was about Mike, not himself. Mike had certainly known parents whose ambitions for their children, and pride in their accomplishments, existed only for the greater glory of the parents.  That wasn’t William Dodds.  William Dodds was simply a man who loved his son by pushing him, driving him toward ever-greater successes.  That was his way of showing love.  Mike got it, and he loved his dad for it.  

He also hated the hell out of him for it.  

When his phone vibrated on the coffee table at his feet, Mike knew without looking that it was his father.

“Hey, Dad,” he answered.

“So?  How’d your second day go?”  

“Caught a rape and murder in Chelsea.  Wasn’t pretty.”

“I heard.  And I heard you were pretty on top of things at the scene.”

“Shit, Dad, are we gonna have this conversation again?  I cannot succeed in the NYPD if my father’s constantly coming in behind me demanding praise for the job I’m doing.”  Mike had long ago stopped noting that it also bugged the fuck out of him.  William Dodds didn’t even hear him say that.  But he did hear anything that might be a hindrance to Mike’s career.

“That’s not how it was, Son.  I just happened to run into Maury Kaplan from Homicide, and he mentioned he’d seen you there.  He offered the praise, I didn’t ask for it.”

“OK, Dad.  I appreciate it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with pointing out the job you’re doing. That’s how you get noticed.  A shrinking violet doesn’t make Lieutenant, Son.”

“Yeah, I get that.  But I don’t need a publicist.  People resent that, Dad.”

“Aw, they’re just jealous because you’re a rising star.”

“Look, we’ve been through this a million times, let’s not rehash it.  But you told me to sink or swim at SVU.  Just… don’t tie a rock around my neck, huh?”

“All right, Mike.  All right.  I just wanted to check in, see how your second day went.”

They discussed the day for a few minutes, and eventually said good night.  

At the end of the week, the team went to Steve’s Place, a cop bar that was between the station house and Mike’s apartment.  Mike had been there many times.  It was very convenient because it was walking distance from home, and just enough of a walk that it cleared his head a little on the way on those rare occasions when he overindulged.  

The conversation was light and friendly.  Mike was pleasantly surprised that Rollins came with them, having expected that she’d be exhausted after a day at work, as pregnant as she was.  It was a nice chance to get to know the squad as people, and let them see who he was, as well.  He made a point not to mention his father even once.  He figured it was a good thing that the squad even wanted to have a drink with him, given that they all thought he was more or less a mole.  He wanted to use the opportunity to make a little progress with them.  

They all stood outside Steve’s and said their goodbyes, then Mike put his hands in his pockets and headed up the street toward his apartment. As he passed the empty storefront next door to the bar, Sonny stepped up to walk beside him.

“You live around here, Sarge?”

“Yeah, about eight blocks uptown.  You?”

“Yeah, I’m just off of 2nd and 12th.”

“Shit, Carisi, that’s about three blocks from me.  Guess we’re neighbors.”

“Guess we’re government employees who can’t afford a better neighborhood.”

“I heard that.”

Mike wasn’t particularly bothered by this new information. New Yorkers who lived on the same block could go a lifetime without meeting.  In fact, it could be convenient that the two of them lived near one another if the squad had to pick both of them up to go to a scene sometime.  

He noticed the way Carisi walked, essentially throwing one leg out in front of the other.  Their strides matched pretty well, and they ate up the blocks quickly, making small talk and occasionally finding something to laugh about.  A couple of times, their hands touched as they walked, each time sending a jolt of electricity up Mike’s arm and to his guts.  He wasn’t drunk by any stretch, but Mike reminded himself not to say or do anything that might betray his interest in Sonny as a man.  He thought they could become good friends if he could just shake off this ridiculous crush.  He no longer expected it to go away in a week, but he hoped it would eventually wear off.  Not only because he couldn’t do anything about it, but because he was on his way to really appreciating Sonny as a cop, and liking him as a person.  

It occurred to Mike to wonder whether Sonny might be straight. That would make things easy.  He’d certainly made it clear that he had no issues where sexual orientation was concerned, but Sonny might still be one of those men who gave off gay vibes while being entirely straight.  Mike hoped so.  

They reached the corner where Mike had to turn off.  They stopped briefly on the corner, standing finishing the conversation they were having about Rollins’s family problems. Standing there in the nighttime glow of the city, Sonny looked beautiful.  Mike purposely took a step back to make sure he wouldn’t get too close and do something catastrophic.  

And Sonny closed the distance again.

Mike wondered whether he’d done it intentionally.  He could imagine that Sonny was making a bit more eye contact than a normal, casual conversation between coworkers would warrant, but then Mike wanted to imagine that.  He also didn’t want to, but that wasn’t in his control.  He was a man with a bad crush, and Sonny was a fucking snack to look at. Not to mention a good cop and a guy Mike could be friends with.  

Mike couldn’t help it.  He’d had just enough beer to make a slightly risky decision.  He stood his ground, just waiting to see what Sonny would do as they talked.  He’d played this game a million times; it was one of the ways Mike could determine whether a guy was interested.  If they stood just a bit too close, if they touched him in a supposedly casual way…  

Sonny did both of those things.  

Fuck.  Mike Dodds might just have found himself in serious trouble.  He ended the conversation as quickly as he could and strode home as fast as his legs would take him.

#law & order svu #law & order: special victims unit #mike dodds #andy karl #sonny carisi #peter scanavino #olivia benson #fin tutuola #amanda rollins #Law & Order SVU Chief Dodds

[neverbacksdown7476]

Don’t Say It (Part 3)

Hello all! Sorry this chapter took so long. Holidays, and what not! Not my best work, but here we are. Part 4 in the works! Also, Not My Gif!

Warnings for this Chapter: Kissing? (Is that a warning?)

Part 2     Part 4

Five drinks, a sandwich, and a couple stories into the night you were starting to feel a whole lot better about Barba being your boss. Maybe it wasn��t a bond that wouldn’t last a lifetime, but it was something at least. Better yet, the tired feeling you had all day had just disappeared. Maybe you had gotten so tired that you just weren’t tired anymore.

“So, you grew up in the Bronx? You weren’t some rich kid?” You asked sipping on the whiskey that was in front of you.

“Definitely not, what about you?” He lifted the glass of bourbon in front of him, and swirled it around the glass just a bit, before taking a drink.

“Staten Island, with my three brothers.” You told him, “All older, my parents really wanted a girl.” You laughed and looked at him from the corner of your eye. Allowing yourself to check him out earlier in the night was a mistake, because after a few drinks you couldn’t stop yourself. Especially when he was being so nice.

“I didn’t have any siblings, what was that like?”

“They tortured me growing up. When we were kids it was wrestling matches I could never win, as pre-teens it was name calling, and as teens it was them never letting me date.”

“Over-protective brothers?”

“Extremely.”

“That must have been hard.”

“I guess, but I found out it can be a lot more fun sneaking around.” Your eyes seemed to have locked onto his as you said that, only being broken when his eyes flicked down to your lips, and your eyes returned the favor. Silence fell over the two of you for a moment before he cleared his throat, and you took in a deep breath, both looking away. “Enough about childhood.” You said finishing off your whiskey.

“It is very late, and we both need sleep.” Opening his wallet, he threw down some cash closing out our tab.

“I’ll pay for the cab,” he laughed shaking his head slightly.

“Come on, you payed for our drinks, and meal it’s the least I can do. Besides that, it is either that or I will get on a subway.” You tempted him further into just sharing a cab with you. He stood up, fixing his sleeves, and putting his jacket back on.

“Let’s share a cab then.” Turning away from his on your heels, you walked out of the bar. Hearing the almost silent click of his heels behind you. The air of the outside was wipping through the streets, pushing your hair all around. Through your limited vision you waved your hand at the taxi that was driving down the street. As it stopped at the curb you watched as Barba opened the door for you so you climbed in, and he followed.

Sitting on complete opposite sides of the cab you watched the buildings go by for only a moment before you looked over at the man. Hw was already looking at you, his elbow resting on the door, and his cheek resting on his hand. Analyzing you.

“What?” A smile inched across your lips

“You know, we both had a lot to drink tonight.”

“Does that mean you are planning on making a pour decision or two?”

“I really hope not,” the words had barley left his mouth before his hand was on the back of your neck. Closing the space between the two of you, his lips were on yours. You moved into the middle of the seat, resting a hand on his knee, the other resting on his chest. The kiss was by no means rough, but it wasn’t sweet either. It was needy, as if neither of you had felt something like this in a long time. Sparks shot up and down your spine, as the thrill of feeling his lips on yours took over. His tongue ran along your bottom lip, so you gladly opened up. His fingers tangling in your hair.

“We are at the first destination.” The cab driver cleared his throat, as the vehicle came to a stop. You pulled away, and your face turned bright red.

“Right, this is my stop.” Barba said with cool exterior, seeming to be that the moment hadn’t even fazed him. He adjusted his blazer, and looked to the front of the cab, “How much do I owe?”

“Oh, no, my treat, remember?” I asked, looking at him out of the corner of my eye, not sure if I could look him dead in the eye without your head exploding.

“Alright,” Even though you were only half staring at him you could see a half smile across his face, followed by an almost awkward laugh. “I will see you tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll see you.” You said, as hek climbed out of the cab, and closed the door behind him. As the cab drove away, you melted into your seat with complete devastation. What just happened? You only had about twenty minutes to relish in the moment. Admire how great of a kisser he was, how soft his touch was. Even as you climbed the steps of of your apartment complex. Leaving a trail of clothes from your door to your bed, not caring enough about the mess you were leaving, it would have to be tomorrow’s problem. As you laid in bed you were only able to appreciate for a few more seconds before falling into blissful sleep.

~~~

Walking into work that morning, there was nothing to calm your nerves. Your heart was thumping so hard against your chest as your feet carried you closer to Barba’s office, as the hundred thoughts pounded in your head.

I kissed my boss last night. No! My boss kissed me last night! I was the one who checked him out, and spent the whole night flirting with him! Were we supposed to talk about it, or pretend it never happened?”

Not having a clue what those thoughts, and your heart beating so hard you were worried everyone around you could hear it.

“Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N.” Barba’s secretary said, as you smiled at her. As much as you hated to admit it, you couldn’t remember her name for the life of you.

“Good morning,” you muttered in return. “Is Barba in already?”

“Yes, and he is waiting for you.”

Oh God. Oh  God, oh God, oh God! What did that mean?

“Thank you,” you walked into his office, closing the door behind you. There he sat behind his desk. Both of his elbows resting on his desk, and he was rubbing his temples. “Good morning.”

“Yeah, it sure is morning.” His eyes finally bolted up to mine.

“Was last night that bad?” You said jokingly, not realizing what you had said until it was already out there, too late to take it back. You watched as his lips twisted into a devious grin.

“Not particularly.” He said, causing your cheeks to turn slightly pink. “I do have a splitting headache from the task we have just been assigned.

“Task? Important I assume.”

“You don’t watch the news?”

“With what time?” You retorted and Barba chuckled half-heartedly.

“You’ll learn with this job, you’ll want to have the news playing in the background constantly.” He said, tossing a newspaper across his desk. Peaking your interests, you walked over picking it up.

“‘Unarmed black kid, shot and killed.’” You read out loud, “Killed, by cops?”

“Yes, almost a week ago.”

“Well, I did just get back into the city three days ago.”

“No excuses.” Barba said, standing up from his chair. “We have to work quick, and efficient. No room for error in this case.”

“Well where do we start then?”

“We review the interrogation from IAB, go over the files of the police officers, and then to the Grand jury.”

“Grand Jury? Where will I be, while you are trying the case to the grand jury?”

“You are going to be by my side the entire time. Except when I am actually in the courtroom, you will be sure everything out here is ready for me.”

“Alright, so the tapes, from IAB?”

“Yeah.” It didn’t take long for the two of you to get the interviews set up on his laptop, and started watching them. You were kind of thankful things seemed to be normal. Once you got to work there was no awkward silence, or even thoughts of the night before. Only the case and how much a pain in the ass it had already turned out to be.

#law and order svu #rafael barba #fanfic #barba x reader #rafael barba x reader

[lowcarbnutrients]

If You Sleep Less Than 8 Hours, This is What`s Happening to Your Body Right Now

According to the docudrama, Sleepless in America, coproduced by the National Geographic Channel, 40 percent of Americans are sleep deprived. Many get much less than five hrs of rest each night. Percentage-wise, teens are among the most rest deprived.

The consequences are dire, not simply for the individual that isn't really getting sufficient rest, yet for those around them. While most individuals do not provide lack of rest much thought, there are in fact lethal consequences.

Notably, "professionals currently believe that sleep deprivation might have played a role in the Exxon Valdez oil spill, the Staten Island ferry crash, and also the Three-Mile Island nuclear meltdown," the film states. Numerous individuals have actually also lost their lives to worn out vehicle drivers who merely fallinged asleep behind the wheel.

It's essential to understand that getting less compared to six hours of rest each evening leaves you cognitively hindered. Rest deprivation has actually additionally been connected to wellness results such as weight problems, diabetes, heart disease, Alzheimer's, 1and cancer. Anxiety as well as anxiousness conditions are likewise adversely influenced by absence of sleep.

The Importance of Staying in Sync with Nature

Maintaining an all-natural rhythm of exposure to sunlight during the day and also darkness in the evening is one critical fundamental element of sleeping well.

This was attended to in a previous interview with researcher Dan Pardi. In it, he clarifies how direct exposure to intense daytime functions as the significant synchronizer of your master clock-- a group of cells in your mind called the suprachiasmatic cores (SCN).

These centers integrate to the light-dark cycle of your atmosphere when light enters your eye. You likewise have other body clocks throughout your body that are integrated to your master clock.

One reason why many individuals get so little sleep, and/or such poor sleep, can be traced back to a master clock disturbance. In other words, a lot of individuals invest their days indoors, protected from intense daytime, then spend their nights in too-bright fabricated light.

As a result, their body clocks obtain out of sync with the all-natural rhythm of daytime and also nighttime darkness, when that happens, corrective rest ends up being elusive.

An approximated 15 million Americans also function the evening change, as well as the damaging health and wellness impacts of functioning evenings are well documented. As just one instance, 3 years of periodical graveyard shift job can raise your threat for diabetes by 20 percent, and also this risk continuouslies climb with time.

What Takes place When You're Rest Deprived?

What makes rest deprivation so detrimental is that it doesn't just impact one aspect of your wellness ... it impacts several. Among them are 5 major dangers to your psychological as well as physical wellness:

1. Reaction time slows: When you're sleep-deprived, you're not going to react as quickly as you normally would, making driving or various other potentially unsafe tasks, like making use of power tools, unsafe. One research even located that sleepiness behind the wheel was virtually as dangerous as drinking and driving.2

2. Your cognition suffers-- both brief- and long-term: A single night of resting just 4 to 6 hours can influence your ability to think clearly the following day. In one animal study, 3 rest deprived mice shed 25 percent of the nerve cells found in their place coeruleus, a nucleus in the brainstem related to cognitive processes.

Hence, if you're sleep-deprived you will certainly have difficulty refining information as well as deciding. This is why it's so vital to get a great evening's sleep before crucial occasions at the workplace or home.

For example, study reviewed in the film located that diagnostic blunders soared by 400 percent among medical professionals that had actually functioned for 24 successive hours.

Sleep denied clinical residents likewise reported a 73 percent rise in self-inflicted needle sticks and scalpel stabs, and also when driving home from work, they had a 170 percent boosted threat of having a significant automobile accident.

Research4 also suggests that individuals with persistent sleep problems might create Alzheimer's illness quicker compared to those who rest well. Among the reasons for this is due to the fact that rest is crucial for brain cleansing-- a procedure throughout which damaging healthy proteins linked to Alzheimer's are removed out.

3. Memory and discovering decreases: The procedure of mind growth, or neuroplasticity, is believed to underlie your mind's capability to manage behavior, including discovering as well as memory. Rest and sleep loss change the expression of a number of genetics and also genetics products that may be important for synaptic plasticity.

Furthermore, specific forms of lasting potentiation, a neural process linked with the laying down of learning and also memory could be evoked in sleep, suggesting synaptic links are strengthened while you slumber.

4. Emotions are heightened: As your reaction time and cognition reduces, your emotions will certainly be kicked into high equipment. This means that debates with colleagues or your partner are most likely, and you're probably reallying going to be at mistake for blowing things out of proportion.

The amygdala controls fundamental feelings like worry and anger. As talked about in the movie, an additional location of your brain called your frontal cortex, plays an essential part in the policy of feelings, and also rest is crucial for its function.

When you're well relaxed, your frontal cortex is well connected to your amygdala-- that deep emotional center-- and also functions virtually like "a break to your emotional gas pedal."

Sleep starvation triggers a detach between these two brain centers, permitting your emotions to run amok. Sleep deprival likewise plays an important role in mental disease, and has the tendency to cause even more negative psychiatric outcomes.

5. Immune function and also health wears away: Sleep deprivation has the same effect on your immune system as physical anxiety or disease, 5 which could aid describe why absence of sleep is linked to an increased threat of countless chronic diseases.

For instance, research study shows that resting much less compared to six hours per evening greater than triples your danger of hypertension, as well as females who get less than 4 hrs of slumber per evening double their chances of dying from heart disease.6

You Need Around Eight Hrs of Rest Every Night

The research studies are rather clear and most experts concur, you are seriously deceiving on your own if you believe you can do great on less compared to eight hours of rest. Eight hours of sleep is not 8 hours in bed. If you go to bed at 10 pm and also rise at 6 am, you might claim you've slept for 8 hrs. Actually, you probably spent a minimum of 15-30 mins going to sleep and also might have woken throughout the night several times.

With the development of fitness-tracking devices nonetheless, we now have accessibility to actual sleep information (as well as much more) from wristband customers. The data is rather beneficial on an individual level as well as they assisted me understand that I have to start obtaining to rest around 9.30 PM if I intend to obtain a full eight hours of sleep, which I currently normally do.

The Glorification of Sleep Deprivation

According to the 2013 International Room Survey by the National Sleep Foundation, 7 25 percent of Americans report having to reduce down on rest due to lengthy workdays. Typically, Americans obtain only 6.5 hours of sleep on weeknights, yet report needing 7.25 hrs in order to operate ideally. As noted in a previous article in The Atlantic: 8

" For some, sleep loss is a badge of honor, an indication that they don't require the eight-hour biological reset that the remainder people softies do. Others feel that maintaining up with peers needs sacrifice at the personal level-- and at least in the short-term, sleep is an undetectable sacrifice."

Modern male's propensity for equating sleep with unproductiveness (if not outright laziness) can be traced back to the heyday of Thomas Edison, that was understood for working around the clock. According to the highlighted post: 9

" Edison spent considerable amounts of his very own and also his team's energy on in publicizing the idea that success depended in no little part in staying awake to remain in advance of the technological and also financial competition." No one ... did even more to frame the problem as a simple choice in between efficient job and also unsuccessful remainder ...

Over time, kids's books as well as journals started to promote this sort of Edisonian asceticism ... Edison encouraged all Americans to follow his lead, asserting that resting 8 hours a night was a waste as well as also hazardous. "There is truly no reason why guys need to go to bed in any way," he stated in 1914."

This society of sleep deprival began with the innovation of the light bulb, and has just worsened with the proliferation of light-emitting electronic devices, which disrupt your all-natural waking-sleeping cycle. The complying with infographic, developed by BigBrandBeds.co.uk, illustrates just how your electronic gadgets damage your sleep when recruited before bedtime.10

The Importance of Attending to Rest Apnea

As gone over in the film, sleep apnea is another usual reason of rest deprival. Rest apnea is the lack of ability to breathe properly, or the restriction of breath or breathing, during sleep. Obstructive sleep apnea consists of the constant collapse of the air passage during rest, making it hard to take a breath for periods lasting as long as 10 seconds. Those with an extreme form of the disorder contend the very least 30 interruptions per hr. Not only do these breathing disruptions conflict with rest, leaving you uncommonly tired the following day, it additionally lowers the amount of oxygen in your blood, which can harm the feature of interior organs and/or intensify other health problems you may have.

The condition is closely connected to metabolic illness such as excessive weight as well as type 2 diabetes mellitus, and also according to research, 11 also a small weight decrease can stop the development of obstructive rest apnea. Shedding excess pounds could also cure it, according to one five-year lengthy study.12 That claimed, you do not have to be obese to suffer from sleep apnea. As discussed by Dr. Arthur Strauss, a dental medical professional and a diplomat of the American Board of Dental Rest Medication, factors such as the sizes and shape of your mouth, and the positioning of your tongue, can additionally play a substantial role.

If your rest apnea is associated to your tongue or jaw placement, specialized qualified dental professionals could design a customized dental appliance to deal with the issue. These include mandibular rearranging devices, developed to change your jaw ahead, while others help hold your tongue onward without relocating your jaw. Relief could likewise be discovered through speech therapy treatment called oral myofunctional therapy, which assists to re-pattern your dental and also facial muscle mass. To learn more about this, please see my previous interview with Joy Moeller, who is a leading professional in this form of treatment in the US.

How to Support Your Circadian Rhythm and Rest Better for Optimum Health

Making little changes to your everyday program as well as sleeping area can go a lengthy method to make sure undisturbed, relaxing sleep and also, therefore, much better health and wellness. I suggest you review my full set of 33 healthy and balanced sleep guidelines for all of the details, however to start, take into consideration implementing the complying with adjustments to make sure even more shut-eye:

Avoid seeing TELEVISION or recruiting your computer system in the evening, at least an hour or so prior to visiting bed.These gadgets give off blue light, which techniques your brain right into assuming it's still daytime. Generally, your mind starts secreting melatonin in between 9 as well as 10 pm, and these gadgets discharge light that could stifle that process. You can likewise download a cost-free application called F.lux13 that automatically lowers your monitor or screens in the night, which can assist decrease the damaging results if you have to recruit them in the evening.

Get some sun in the early morning, and also at the very least HALF AN HOUR of BRIGHT sunlight direct exposure mid-day. Your circadian system needs brilliant light to reset itself. 10 to 15 mins of early morning sunlight will certainly send a solid message to your body clock that day has arrived, making it much less likely to be perplexed by weak light signals during the evening. If you work inside your home, make a point to get outdoors for at the very least an overall of 30-60 minutes throughout the brightest part of the day.

Sleep in a dark room. Also the slightest little light in your room can interrupt your body's clock as well as your pineal gland's melatonin production. I recommend covering your windows with drapes or blackout shades, or using an eye mask.

Install a low-wattage yellow, orange, or red light bulb if you require a source of light for navigating during the night. Light in these transmission capacities does not closed down melatonin production in the means that white as well as blue transmission capacity light does. Salt lights come in handy for this purpose.

Keep the temperature in your bedroom below 70 degrees F. Many individuals maintain their homes too cozy (especially their upstairs bed rooms). Studies reveal that the optimal room temperature for rest is between 60 to 68 degrees F.

Take a hot bathroom 90 to 120 minutes before bedtime. This raises your core body temperature level, and when you obtain out of the bathroom it abruptly goes down, signifying your body that you prepare to sleep.

Avoid magnetic fields (EMFs) in your bedroom. EMFs can interrupt your pineal gland and also its melatonin manufacturing, and also might have various other adverse organic impacts. A gauss meter is called for if you wish to determine EMF degrees in various locations of your residence. Preferably, you must switch off any type of wireless router while you are resting. You don't need the Internet on while you're asleep.

Use a health and fitness tracker to track your sleep. Chances are you're not getting almost as much rest as you think, and using a physical fitness tracker that monitors your sleep can be an useful device to assist inspire you to obtain to bed previously so you can get 8 hrs of sleep. When I initially began making use of a fitness tracker, I was striving to obtain 8 hours of sleep, but my Jawbone UP commonly tape-recorded me at 7.5 to 7.75. Part of the equation too is going to sleep earlier, as the majority of us have to obtain up at a predetermined time.

#diet #health and wellness #lemonade diet #wellness

[mforpaul]

Uncle

Sonny bit his lips and his eyes, if possible, seemed even more blue than usual. This is how Rafael knew, something was wrong.

“What is it, cariño?”, he asked.

“It’s just…”, Sonny threw him a shy smile. “My niece Mia has this job interview for an internship she really wants, but she has nothing to wear.” Rafael raised a brow, he had expected a real problem. “The interview is the day after tomorrow. She was gonna go shopping with Bella, but her baby is sick. Well, Teresa and Gina have to work. Ma has a cold. And I also work. So Mia is kinda bugging out.”

“Huh”, was the only word Rafael could find to show his compassion. He had stopped listening somewhere after ‘interview’. He had turned his attention back to his phone where he read some work-related emails. Damn it, he finally needed reading glasses. He became an old man after all.

Sonny was drumming his fingertips on the table. Rafael had answered two emails, before he realized that Sonny was looking at him pointedly. Maybe glasses weren’t such a bad idea. He could create dramatic effect by looking over the top of the glasses.

“What?”, Rafael asked.

“You know”, Sonny hem and hawed. Rafael had already returned his attention to his blackberry and sent another text. He only gazed back to his boyfriend when Sonny didn’t continued speaking. Sonny only stared at him, friendly and handsome faced as always.

“Me?”, Rafael asked. “You have got to be kidding me!”

“Raf, she’s eighteen, insecure and you clearly know about dressing.”

“I have met her literally once.” A month ago during Christmas. And isn’t it weird if an eighteen year old girl goes shopping with forty eight year old man she’s not related to?

But Sonny used his magic which was simply being him to convince Rafael otherwise.

Mia was adorable and shy. And genuinely thankful for Rafael’s help. Her sweet nature touched something in Rafael’s heart so that he did his best to be friendly. While walking through the mall, he asked her about her major and where she was interviewing.

“I’m an English major and the interview is at this publishing house. It’s even paid”, her cheeks flushed from excitement.

“Sounds great”, Rafael offered helpless. “But don’t go into media, it’s not a good time to become a journalist.”

“We need good journalists to fight that buffoon”, Mia answered. And Rafael smiled to himself, he liked her young spirit.

Rafael knew the right places to shop and as she was a natural beauty, Rafael chose a simple combination for her.

Only the first time Mia came out of the changing cubicle was awkward. As shyly as she fiddled with her blouse as shyly Rafael let his gaze trail over the outfit. Their eyes met and they both let out a laugh. And with this, they let the nervousness behind them.

After three more outfits, they decided on a classic combination of a grey skirt and blazer and a white blouse. “Ma gave me her credit card, but she also gave me a budget”, Mia started to worry.

“No, no, it’s on me.” Buying affection with clothes sounded like a great idea to Rafael.

“No, I cannot accept that”, Mia was genuinely shocked and too polite. She reminded him very much of her uncle.

“Look, this is the benefit of having gay uncles, they can spoil other people’s children”, Rafael tried to joke.

“I thought, you are not gay”, Mia replied. She must be the first one in the Carisi clan who gets that, Rafael thought.

“No, but the outcome is the same. So let me buy that for you”, Rafael insisted.

“The second outfit is cheaper…”, Mia started, but Rafael cut her off right away: “You are more comfortable with this one. It’ll give you confidence.”

“Thank you”, she said honestly and gave him a warm smile.

When they were waiting at the cashier, she asked: “Does that mean you and Uncle Sonny are not gonna have children?”

Rafael shook his head lightly. He didn’t mean “no”, he meant that he was not ready to talk about it. Mia seemed to understand him.

“Can I invite you to lunch then?”, Mia asked with a charming smile playing on her lips. “As a thank you.”

Rafael’s face softened. Who could reject such a sweet invitation?

Later, they met up with Sonny at Rafael’s place. Sonny was going to bring Mia back to Teresa’s house in Staten Island.

Sonny beamed at Rafael, clearly trying to hold back his enthusiasm about Rafael’s effort to help his niece. “Did you guys had a nice time?”, Sonny asked all too nonchalantly.

“Yes”, Rafael and Mia answered at the same time. Out of the corner of his eyes, Rafael observed Mia rolling her eyes to Sonny. It amused him.

Mia turned to him, softly lifted a hand to wave good bye: “Thank you, Uncle Rafa.”

Sonny set his jaw in order to bite back a huge smile, knowing that it would put Rafael off. Sonny’s usual goodbye kiss on the cheek landed and lingered on Rafael’s lips. “Thank you”, he mouthed and followed Mia outside.

Rafael felt dumbstruck. He had no siblings. Most of his cousins lived far away in Cuba or Florida. He had never thought about himself as an uncle. But found himself happy to be called such by such a bright girl like Mia.

With that came the realization that loving someone seemed to make him a better man.

This scene could take place somewhere after this fic of mine.

#barisi drabble #barisi bits #barisi fluff #barisi #barba x carisi #rafael barba #sonny carisi #sonny carisi is amazing #law and order svu #svu fanfiction #svu

[justgotham]

SPOILER ALERT: Do not read until if you have not yet watched the season four finale of “Gotham” on Fox.

The final moments of the season four finale of Fox’s “Gotham” essentially rebooted the series, with some characters leaving town, multiple villains rising from the underground and one series regular signing off for good.

In the episode, Solomon Grundy (Drew Powell) was shot but then healed and seemingly returned to his normal Butch state, only to be murdered by Penguin (Robin Lord Taylor).

Powell tells Variety after first learning he was going to be shot again, he wasn’t that worried. “This is the fourth time I’ve been shot on the show,” he notes. “Clearly I can survive a bullet wound.” But what made this one different was the fact that he got shot in the heart.

“[That] would probably take another dip in the Slaughter Swamp to recover from,” he admits.

Here, Powell shares with Variety the emotional moments while filming his final scene, what he will miss about playing the character, and if he would ever join the DC Universe again.

How did you learn that Butch aka Grundy wouldn’t make it to the end of the season finale?

I kind of found out by accident, if I’m being honest. I was at work. The process of Grundy is always a couple hours of make-up coming on and a good 45 minutes to take it off. So, I’m usually there before people and there after people. I was in the makeup room, and I read an outline, which sometimes you do. I don’t know if we’re supposed to do that, but any actor that says they don’t is lying. I glanced at it and I kind of got to the end and it said, “Blah, blah, blah and then Penguin shoots Butch in the heart.” I’m like, “Ooh, that doesn’t sound good.” …I called up [executive producer] John Stephens and he said, “Ah, well. I was just about to get on a plane to come tell you tomorrow,” which he did — I saw him the next day.

How did it feel to know you wouldn’t survive the season?

It was a mix of a lot of emotions. Obviously I’m so close to this group. This show has really been an important show in my career. I moved my family from one coast to the other. I’m now kind of forever linked in this really cool world of DC and Batman lore. It’s really special for me. But the cool part was that the overwhelming feeling I had was not anger or resentment or sadness — although there was some of sadness — but it was gratitude. I just felt so grateful that I’ve had four great years of this. Look, who knows what’s to come, but I can feel like I’ve done good work and had a great experience.

How do you think you’ll feel after the episode airs?

It will be very interesting to feel the catharsis of this coming to life and how people will react. It’s been very interesting the last couple of weeks. “Gotham” did a poll of which character they liked better: Butch or Grundy. I didn’t see the final results but with a day left it was 50/50. It was absolutely down the middle. That warms my heart. It was risky on the same level to take this. I believe what people love about Butch was that he was kind of the every man in the scenario. You have crazy Penguin, nutty Riddler, and all this craziness going on. Then, you’ve got the cops that are stern and hard. Then you’ve got Butch who has managed to survive in this crazy town. He ducks and weaves and survives and does it with a little bit of humor and a wink and smile. I think that was really important to have in this show. I think when Bruno [Heller] wrote this character, he told me at the beginning, “People are going to underestimate Butch until it’s too late for them.” It was really true. Even the fans were like, “Oh, he’s just some henchmen for Fish.” Then by the end of season one, they were like, “Oh my gosh. No, he’s way more than that!” It’s going to be really interesting to see the fan reaction. It’s very shocking. I would love to have a camera on fans watching that scene. I do think the reaction will be physical for a lot of people.

How far in advance did you know before you shot the episode?

That was the other tricky part. I was in the middle of shooting 4.20 (episode “A Dark Knight: That Old Corpse”) so we still had two more episodes to go which equals about a month. So I had three, four weeks of dealing with [it]. I think a lot of actors will tell you when you end a long-term job that you really like –particularly, because people feel like we’re a tight group, especially as actors but also crew — you have to go through the five stages of grief. By the time we actually got to that scene, I had been living with it for almost a month. I have to be honest when I say it’s been really tricky. It’s been a long haul to have a month before we shot it. Then we shot it — that was the beginning or middle of March. So I’ve been sitting on it to most of the people outside of my close circle for the last few months, so it’s been a long haul. There’s a part of me that will be very relieved as this comes out.

When did the rest of the cast find out? Did you tell them?

That was kind of a weird thing. Some of them, yeah. There were a couple people I saw the next day that were working the next day so we talked and grieved together a little bit. I don’t mean for it to sound so dramatic. It was definitely a bond that formed so you have to deal with that. But I think people found out through word of mouth. I told some folks, but it was kind of awkward. There’s no real easy way to do that. It’s been true for the other characters that have passed on from our show. It’s all a little bit awkward. But that was the good thing about having time. By the time we got to the end, we had all talked about it. There was a sense of closure on that last day.

How was it filming the final scene and having Penguin be the one who offs your character?

I’ll never forget it. I don’t think any of us will. It’s a beautiful scene. The one thing I said to John Stephens when we talked was what was most important to me was that we need to give Butch a proper death. I think [the] words actually were a “noble death,” and he agreed. Not some cliffhanger. I think the fans, who’ve really grown to love Butch as I have — and Grundy — [would want] a proper send off for him. I think they did that. I was kind of dreading it. We finally got there. The director was Nathan Hope, who’s just a great guy and one of our favorites on “Gotham.” …I don’t think we ever did it without crying, even Jessica [Lucas], who is way tougher than Robin and me. It was just so emotional and so hard. Robin and I are very good friends and have been since the very beginning. So, it was hard for him. It was hard for me. Jessica, as well — those are the guys I’ve spent the most time with over the course of the show with the exception of Jada [Pinkett Smith]. It was really powerful. It was a moment where we had a culmination of this incredible life experience. As an actor, it’s hard to separate [from] that because it changed my life. That’s true. I think it’s true for any actor that has a job that like that moves you from one place to another and you have over a period of years. But also the relationships and the emotion of the scene. I think Robin and I have always had this chemistry that was really special and it really made the Butch and Oswald scenes work. I was really glad to have a few more of those toward the end of season four. By the time we got to that [scene], he was crying and snotting, as he will admit. Jessica had some tears. Then, I’m dead on the ground with tears streaming down my eyes. We got through it. I haven’t seen it, but I’m hoping it cut together OK. We felt like we got it in the end.

Penguin apologizes before he shoots Grundy. Do you think he was being sincere?

I think the wonderful paradox about Oswald, particularly as Robin has brought him to life in this iteration, is that he is at once an emotional character, a passionate character, but also calculating and smart. He’s always three steps ahead of the game. I think after losing so many people that have been close to him and then I think his experience with [Edward] Nygma, the one thing he won’t let happen anymore is to let his emotions get in the way of what’s important to him which is revenge and power. It’s funny. We’ve talked about this. The fact that Tabitha [killed] Ms. Cobblepot was never going to sit well with him. He wanted to get back at Tabby for killing his mother, the most important thing to him. I always assumed that she would be the one to get it and not me, but I guess I had to be the proxy in this one.

What was the hardest part about saying goodbye to Butch?

It’s funny because I’ve said goodbye to him once. That took me by surprise. There was a moment after we did the Grundy scene — in episode five of the season, they dump Butch in the swamp and Grundy rises out of the Slaughter Slump. The way we shot that out in a pool in the middle of nowhere in Staten Island, we did the rising out of the swamp scene and then hobo scene, and then the last scene we shot was Butch getting into the swamp and then they kind of pulled me out of the water. So that was like the very end of Butch, at least at that point. I was surprised. [For] three years I’ve really grown to appreciate this character. Not often do you get that opportunity as an actor. One of the things I love about TV is that you can live with the character for a while and kind of inhabit him or her. I really did that with Butch. We’ve had a lot of different paths on this particular show. I surprisingly felt a sadness of losing Butch. Then, Grundy presented his own challenges. The makeup alone was something that really took some getting used to. There’s part of me that thinks another season of Grundy with all of that makeup and that wig and the whole thing would’ve been pretty tough. But I loved him too! The death of both characters at once [in the season four finale] was really emotional. It was emotional for all of us.

What is one thing you’ve learned since the start of “Gotham” that has helped you grow as an actor?

I think the experience has taught me to prepare. Not that I didn’t before, but the importance of thinking about what you’re doing [and] understanding that there’s an arc here. That there will be an evolution throughout time. It took me a while to kind of get the knack of who Butch was. To spend time in thought and contemplation and study of who this character is so that you can really bring him to life. I learned how cool it is to be a part of the world of comic book characters — the DC world, the whole general genre. I hadn’t had that experience before and getting to do some of these comic-cons and meeting fans that are so passionate and being a part of something that’s 75 years old — this American mythology — is really cool. That’s one of the things I loved about being Grundy, too, was to be a part of the canon, which was a creation by the brilliant Bruno Heller. It was great to be able to create that role. I secretly hope someday, somewhere there’ll be a Butch Gilzean in a comic somewhere. Being able to be this iconic villain, or anti-hero as I like to think of him, who started in 1944, boy that’s a legacy that it’s so neat to be a part of. That was really special. Also, you get to practice with incredible people. You get to do it over and over with really talented crew members and directors and writers and cast. I think that last part is the thing I’ll miss the most — the camaraderie we had. We’re like a family. I think about our trips to comic-con in the last couple of years in this plane together flying out and the laughter and the stories that we’ll have forever. That doesn’t happen on every show. I’ve been on a lot of different shows and you have sometimes different personalities that just don’t click. But for whatever reason, this group of people really did, and I’ll forever be grateful for that.

Would you take on the role of Butch again or another character for a DC film?

In the blink of an eye. Absolutely. Having said that, the last three months, I did the pilot for “L.A. Confidential” which was amazing. I did a couple of movies — the movie I’m doing now is about Ted Kaczynski. So it’s been fun to kind of explore other things. That’s something I feel very lucky to have got to do right away to kind of help clear my head a little bit and know there is life after “Gotham.” But of course, I’d be a fool to say no to getting back into the DC Universe. Every time I see Geoff Johns I’m like, “I’m in, for my career! Whatever you need, I’m in!” Not the least of which is I’m the father of a 7-year-old boy, so I get to be the coolest dad in the world since I get to work with Batman.

The finale ends in a way that could reboot the series. What were your thoughts when you first heard about the decision to potentially switch-up the show?

It was never really made clear to us that that’s what was happening. Not having seen the episode yet, I’m still unclear, other than what I’ve read, about what that really means. A good friend of mine, John Rogers, a writer and producer who I’m very fond of, tweeted that we’re getting to a point where we’re going to have to accept the fact that series are basically going to be five years and that’s what you’re going to get. I think he’s right about that with a few exceptions. You get to a point in storytelling in our society today which expands looking for the next shiny object or light button. Even something serialized like a comic book show which you feel like could go on forever. It’s also hard to shoot that show. There’s a lot that goes into it. This isn’t your procedural point and shoot and talk about whatever cop lingo is it — there’s a lot going on there. So, I understand the need to kind of give it a little jolt and see what happens.

#Butch Gilzean #Drew Powell #Solomon Grundy #Oswald Cobblepot #Robin Lord Taylor #Tabitha Galavan #Jessica Lucas

[acehotel]

A World of Wonder Behind It: An Interview with LAND Gallery’s Myasia Dowdell

As part of Inside Job — our monthly artists’ profile series led by LAND Gallery’s Sophia Cosmadopoulos — Myasia Dowdell talks animals, positivity and Michael Jackson. Dowdell’s work is equal parts imagination and careful observation, alternating between naturalistic portraits of her favorite celebrities and cartoonish renderings of fantastic creatures.

Sophia Cosmadopoulos: Take it away, Myasia.

Myasia Dowell: My name is Myasia Dowdell. I am a very special person because of how expressive I feel. I am an artist.

S: You are an amazing artist, I love working with you at LAND. Would you describe your art?

M: It’s a form of expressions. The art I do is based on the moods I feel. Sometimes I do happier art when I feel that it’s a good day. Sometimes when I am not feeling happy, it might turn bad.

S: How old were you when you first started making work?

M: I don’t remember a lot, but I was three. I started drawing little creatures like bunnies and dogs. I also remember seeing cartoons back then, the earliest cartoons. I decided to draw by myself. In the beginning, it didn’t turn out too good. I used to draw in books and walls and I would get into trouble. Then I drew in papers from notebooks. My sister gave them to me.

S: And how did you find out about LAND?

M: Well, I was still in my old college when I heard about it, Medgar Evers College. My guidance counselor took me to LAND and I applied. It could have been in early 2010.

S: Would you describe your commute? I always think you are the most diehard LAND member because of what you have to do to get here from Staten Island.

M: I wake up really early like at six o’clock am. I usually take my shower and get my stuff ready. Then I say goodbye to my aunt and uncle and I leave for the ferry by taking the bus. Afterwards I take the subway and get to LAND at 8:30am or 9am.

S: Epic! What art did you first start making at LAND?

M: I drew special sheep, seasonal sheep. They are special, magical sheep that have grass for wool and the wool changes depending on the weather or season. I thought of it because when I first came here with my guidance counselor it was a cold day and that was the first time I did a seasonal sheep. I used to draw normal sheep.

S: I love your season sheep. What else do you like draw and paint?

M: I do portraits of faces, of musicians like Stevie Wonder and Michael Jackson.

S: Yes, Michael Jackson is your favorite right? One of the first pieces of art I bought was one of your Michael Jackson paintings. How are you able to capture him so well?

M: Michael brings positivity to people and to me. I like his music, it really makes me feel more positive and happier. I just look at the photo or picture of him and I try to imagine in my mind about how I could fit something special in them.

S: Can you talk about your crowds of animals series?

M: Well, a few years ago, I started with a painting of cats and dogs. I like doing it because of the beauty in all the creatures. My favorite is the kangaroo because they are really amazing and they get to hop around and protect their families.

S: And what about your cloud series?

M: I like clouds because they look very beautiful. I animate them because I would like to know how clouds think and how they feel. I think they are always happy and they get to show happiness to people.

S: I love that. The world you create in your art is so sparkly and idyllic. Is that how you see the world?

M: Sometimes I do. Well it’s kinda hard to explain but it is really great. There are bright colors and people are happy and all the objects are happy too.

S: What would your world look like if you could paint over it?

M: It would be more peaceful, futuristic type of world. A future in which there wasn’t any problems. In my future there won’t be no violence, no arguments, and all the people get to go and achieve their dreams.

S: What are your dreams?

M: My dreams are traveling. For starters I would like to go around to Orlando and California and Texas. I want to go to Japan.

S: That sounds fun. Tell me a little about your family, is anyone else an artist?

M: My twin sister doesn’t make art, but she often does my hair. My grandma was an artist. I don’t really know what she made. My aunt is a singer of gospel songs. That might be it.

S: Will you tell us about the award you just won?

M: I won a Wynn Newhouse award. I am really happy that my art’s being recognized for being very grand. It feels really amazing. I want my art to be shown in different places around the world and in other countries in galleries and museums.

S: What about your heros? M: There’s this artist Magritte, he did some earliest portraits, he is the one who does surreal paintings. It really feels like there is a world of wonder behind it.

S: What about anybody in your immediate life?

M: My uncle John. He gives me some good advice, like how to be a better person and to have faith.

S: Is there anything else you would like people to know about you?

M: I can be very wonderful and kind.

S: That’s very true Myasia, thank you so much for letting me interview you.

#myasia dowdell #land gallery #inside job #Cosmadopoulos #interview #art #nyc #new york #ace hotel #yes

[olderjustneverwiser]

Start Again (Sonny Carisi)

Hey look who actually worked on a request she’s had sitting in her inbox for probably a year. When inspiration hits, I suppose. 

Masterlist

Request for anon: Can you possibly write a Sonny imagine where you’ve been working together for a while and you moved to New York to get a fresh start and get away from a really bad ex who caused a lot of problems and he somehow tracks you down at the precinct and then Sonny gets super dominant and protective of you and then ends up admitting to all of his sweet, gushy feelings for you once your ex finally leaves? *Unrelated, i’ve gotta say, you’re one of the best writers i’ve seen on here so far:)*

While I don’t agree with you, I thank you for the nice compliment! Enjoy!

gif is very relevant

You had many reasons for leaving your small Southern town and moving to New York City. You craved the rush of big city life; the constant hustle and bustle, the city lights at night, and the plethora of different people and cultures you were destined to be exposed to. It had been a dream of yours for years, to pack up your life, move far away, and find out once and for all if you could hack it in a place like San Francisco, Seattle, or New York. Still, over the years you came up with excuse after excuse to stay in your hometown; your comfort zone.

In all honesty, you were terrified. Not about the so-called “dangers” of living in a city like Manhattan or Oakland, but you were scared of not making it once you were there. You knew you were a good detective, the number of closed cases under your belt was proof, but could you handle a big city? Were you good enough to handle that challenge? You wondered if you could ever make yourself do it. To take the plunge and go for the one thing you had always wanted. You finally got the push you needed a little over six months ago.

You really thought you were going to marry him one day. He was kind, and thoughtful, and giving at the beginning. He bought you things and made you feel beautiful, but after two years, you were finally starting to see what kind of man he really was. Manipulative, mentally and emotionally abusive. He was used to getting what he wanted, including other women, while he was still dating you. After finally convincing yourself that you deserved better, you began actively looking for openings in a few of your favorite cities, and after countless phone interviews, Lieutenant Olivia Benson with the Manhattan Special Victims Unit offered you a place in her crew.  

You decided to only tell a few select people that you were leaving; you didn’t have many close friends to begin with and you made the few you did tell promise not to tell Him where you were going. You packed all of your belongings in a single day, not wanting to waste anytime, and only two after you were offered your new job, you were off, leaving your ex-boyfriend a note telling him that you were leaving. No more, no less.

After being with the SVU for about four months, you were just starting to feel like one of the team. Benson was fearless and expected a lot from her crew, but she was a hell of a detective. Finn never failed to make you laugh, and you and Rollins quickly became close, the two of you bonding over being from the South. As cliche as it sounded, Mike was more like a brother to you, and you enjoyed spending time with him, (although, you admit you did have the smallest crush on him when you first arrived.) And then, there was Sonny.

Sonny was your partner, but he had become your closest friend in the city. It was hard not to become good friends; the two of you spent a lot of time together on the job, but you and Sonny just clicked. Whether it was going out for drinks after a tough case or hanging out at his apartment while he cooked for you, you always had a good time with one another. There was no pressure, no expectations. Just two friends enjoying one another, for the most part.

You would have had to been blind to think Sonny was unattractive. His killer dimples and bright blue eyes were hard to miss, and you found yourself admiring his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves in the bullpen. You believed that he thought the same of you, you had caught Sonny staring a few times. Neither of you acted on it, though. You knew sleeping with a co-worker would not be the smartest idea, and you were still raw from your break-up. Sonny knew about your ex, and being the gentleman that he was, he never brought up the two of you being anything more.

You had just finished your paperwork for the day and was shrugging on your coat, finally able to go home and relax. Walking over to Sonny’s desk, you noticed he still had a stack of unfinished work.

“Sonny, it’s almost eight. Why don’t you finish that tomorrow?” He set his pen down and leaned back in his chair at your question.

“I don’t know, I wanna finish tonight. Might take a break in a bit though, get some food.”

“Do you want some help? You’ll be here another hour or two at least,” you didn’t want to stay, but you hated to think of him here all night.

He chuckled and shook his head, “Like I’d ask you to stay. I’m good, really. Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too,” you made your way out of the office. In the elevator you thought about dinner, if you wanted to cook yourself a meal or just pick up something on the way home. You didn’t necessarily feel like cooking, and on your way out the door of the precinct you decided to just stop at Shake Shack. Quickly making your way down the steps, you heard a familiar voice call your name, making you stop in your tracks.

You knew who was behind you, but you were almost afraid to turn around. How the hell had he found you? In a city of almost nine million people, how did he know that this was where you were? Better yet, how had he known that you were in New York? Slowly you turned around, finding yourself face-to-face with your ex, fearing what he would have to say.

“How did you find me here?” You tried your hardest to keep your voice level, when all you wanted to do was run. You were not going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know he made you nervous.

“Easy,” he answered. “I knew you wanted to move somewhere different. And I know you love New York. Once I figured that out, a quick google search and a few calls were all I needed.”

“Oh, so you stalked me? That’s healthy.” Reminding yourself to stay calm, you hadn’t noticed that he had backed you up against the wall outside of the precinct. Now you were scared, but still, you tried not to let it show, “I have a gun, you know.”

He laughed smugly, “You won’t hurt me with that. Now, it’s time to come home with me. We can go to my hotel and talk.”

“I don’t think so. Now let me leave, or I can arrest you,” you tried once again to move past him, but he had both arms on either side of you. You stared into his eyes, not backing down, only taking note of your surroundings when he was pulled off of you. Sonny had grabbed him by his shirt and shoved him next to you against the wall.

“The hell you think you’re doin’, huh?” Sonny still had his hands on your ex, giving him a look he normally saved for suspects during an interrogation. For the first time since you’d known him, your ex looked genuinely scared. Sonny turned to you suddenly, his eyes softening, “You okay?”

“Yeah Sonny, this is my ex.”

“What, is Long Island here your new boyfriend?” your ex asked from his place against the brick, causing Sonny to shove him harder.

“You shouldn’t be talkin’ right now, you piece of crap. Now, I could arrest you for harassment, and if I wanted to I could add in assault to that, but let’s make a deal. Go home and leave her alone, and I won’t slap a restraining order against you. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it,” he responded.

“Good, because I’m serious,” Sonny said, “if I see your face anywhere near her, her apartment building, or this building, I’ll lock you up so fast your head’s gonna spin. And another thing, I’m from Staten Island, you moron. Now get outta here,” with a final shove Sonny let him go. Giving you a nasty look, your ex finally started walking the other way. You closed your eyes and let out a breath, and you felt Sonny’s hand on your shoulder.

“You sure you’re alright?” He asked.

You nodded your head, “Yeah, he just startled me. I’m glad you were here. What were you doing out here anyway?”

“I took a break to get some dinner. Right after you walked out, I thought about askin’ if you wanted to come with me, but then I saw you and him out here.”

“Ahh,” you didn’t know what else to say. The two of you stood in silence for a moment, until Sonny decided to break it.

“Hey, so, um, this probably isn’t the best time to say this, but there’s no time like the present right?” He laughed at his own comment before frowning and shaking his head. “That was a dumb thing to say, sorry. Uh, look, I like you. I’ve kinda liked you for a while but I didn’t say anythin’ because I knew you had just gotten out of a relationship, and we’re partners anyway so I didn’t want things to be weird between us, but I do really like you. And I’ve been wonderin’ if you’d go on a date with me some time?”

You were stunned and you felt your heart swell. You figured Sonny found you attractive, but you had no idea about his feelings for you.

“You know, there may be rules about co-workers being together.” you said quietly, causing Sonny to look down at the cement in defeat. You smiled, “But I think I’d be willing to skate around the rules for you.”

Sonny looked up at your last comment, his eyes shining. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Sonny. Do you want to go on that date now? I’m starving and I think your paperwork can wait until the morning.”

He smiled and nodded, and you swore you could see the faintest blush on his cheeks. “Italian okay? There’s a place a few blocks from here that serves the best cannelloni in all five boroughs.”

#no this doesn't mean I'll accept requests again #sonny carisi #sonny carisi imagine #sonny carisi fic #sonny carisi x reader #svu #special victims unit #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #dominick carisi #dominick carisi fic

[wsmith215]

Mental health challenges during the coronavirus pandemic – 60 Minutes

Hundreds of millions of Americans are at home. Most of them don’t want to be. Simple choices about what to touch, where to walk and what to wear are fraught. More than 100,000 people have died worldwide, and fears of how much more those numbers could grow have stopped much of daily life. But the bills have not stopped coming, though the paychecks in some cases have. We don’t know when it will end. It’s a recipe for anxiety, stress, and grief which puts more of us than ever before in a struggle to stay well. The regimen of physical hygiene is well-established: wash your hands; stay six feet away, cover your face. But the rules for good mental hygiene are not as clear. Psychologists told us that after Americans get past the worst of it, the worst of it may not be over. There may be mental health aftershocks. It’s hard to predict, and living with that unpredictability is part of the challenge.

John Dickerson: What does it feel like when that phone rings?

Francesca Santacroce: We run and we pick it up right away. And we’re just waiting.  Just we don’t know what to expect. We don’t know if they’re going to tell us good news or bad news. We’re just really anxious about it.

Francesca Santacroce

Francesca Santacroce is describing the daily update from the hospital treating her father Joseph, a COVID-19 patient on a ventilator. Before the coronavirus hit her home in the close residential neighborhood of Staten Island, New York, her father took care of the family while Francesca worked in a doctor’s office, saving money for medical school. A 23-year-old biomolecular sciences major, she is the first in her family to graduate college. But when we first interviewed her, at the approved distance, in her driveway two weeks ago, Francesca was shouldering her father’s duties, cooking, cleaning and caring for her 16-year-old sister, and mother, who needs five days a week of home dialysis. This video was shot by Francesca’s sister on a cellphone, after their mother was also diagnosed with COVID-19.

Francesca Santacroce: I literally feel like I’m about to shatter in a million pieces right now. I feel like one wrong move and I’m going to break. And I’m going to fall apart. But I know that I can’t. I can’t do that. Because I need to take care of my family right now.

John Dickerson: You’ve been doing this now for a week…

Francesca Santacroce: Yeah.

John Dickerson: How long do you think it’s going to last?

Francesca Santacroce: We don’t know. The doctors don’t. We don’t know. And I don’t care how long it takes, as long as he comes home.

Uncertainty. Anguish and hope. In the age of coronavirus, it’s not just Francesca who is straining. The pandemic that has rocked her family has touched nearly every American life.

Daniel Kaplin: In the last few weeks, I think, COVID has dominated all my sessions.

Daniel Kaplin

Daniel Kaplin is president of the New York State Psychological Association and Francesca’s therapist. He spoke to us with her permission. 

John Dickerson: Everybody’s racing to get back to their previous lives. But once that moment comes, what psychological effects of this do you think will linger?

Daniel Kaplin: I don’t think the world’s going to be the same. I think the loss of jobs–  even after the virus is gone, people are still going to struggle. They’re going to struggle with, “How am I going to pay my rent, my mortgage? How am I going to feed my family?” So, it’s going to be an ongoing stressor for many people in this country.

John Dickerson: And there’s also a psychological benefit to doing productive work–

Daniel Kaplin: Sure. Right. What do you do when a person had their identity taken away from them because they no longer can work?

John Dickerson: Their identity taken away from them and then they can’t move about to replace that identity with any other useful, purposeful activity.

Daniel Kaplin: Absolutely. Yeah.

John Dickerson: It’s a double whammy.

Daniel Kaplin: Yeah. It is.

Days blend together when so much of what used to distinguish them has been paused. Bridge club is on hold. Graduation ceremonies are cancelled. This week’s religious services have been virtual. Those who live alone are vulnerable, particularly the elderly. But Kaplin says we must all fight against the blurring of the days by establishing a routine. 

John Dickerson: What happens if you don’t have routine? 

Daniel Kaplin: When you don’t have that structure, that routine– can, for some people, reduce their motivation to do the activities that they still need to do, but from home. And long term, they can become overwhelmed, “Oh, I’m not accomplishing my goals.” And then they could spiral into a depression.

Many of us look for connection in social media and the news, but too much of that can be harmful. A preliminary study done in China after the outbreak found that high social media exposure nearly doubled one’s chances of depression and anxiety.

Dr. Yuval Neria: We know already from previous disasters that ongoing anxiety during trauma is a huge risk factor for PTSD and depression in the long term.  

Yuval Neria is the director of trauma and post traumatic stress disorder at the New York State Psychiatric Institute. He’s a former Israeli tank commander whose own traumatic experiences in the 1973 Yom Kippur War informed his career studying the brains of veterans with PTSD.

Dr. Yuval Neria

Dr. Yuval Neria: The brain is really obsessed about identification of fear, you know, of what is safe and what is dangerous.

John Dickerson: And what I wonder about though, there is the part of the brain that is always alive to fear. Part of the brain that says, “It’s okay, don’t be fearful, you’ve been through this before.” But we’ve never been through this before so…

Dr. Yuval Neria: Oh, that’s so true what you just said, because most of us don’t have a comparable memory or set of memories that can serve our understanding of what’s going on right now.

Neria led research and training efforts in New York in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, which has led him to be particularly concerned about the health care workers on the front lines of this pandemic.

Dr. Yuval Neria: I mean we saw that after 9/11. We saw how many first responders really left out without sufficient medical care and psychiatric care.

John Dickerson: In New York City, at 7 o’clock, people open their windows, they applaud. But then what happens when the clapping stops?

Dr. Yuval Neria: Right.

Neria estimates that after 9/11, 1% to 5% of New Yorkers suffered from PTSD four years after the attack. He worries there will not be a plan or enough money this time to treat a similar share of a vastly greater population.

Dr. Yuval Neria: There is kind of almost like a honeymoon phase right now. There is consensus, high adrenaline, adrenaline, and let’s do it together. I think once this is ended, and we face the reality of the aftermath, coupled with financial difficulties and shortage of services– all of those things can rapidly elevate the risk for a second pandemic, which will be a mental health pandemic.

The cascading challenges were already falling on Francesca Santacroce, who was managing them through therapy. But the day after we first talked to her, the hospital called. Her father Joseph Santacroce passed away. He was 50 years old. 

John Dickerson: Francesca, I’m very, very sorry about your father. 

Francesa told us she had been unable to see or speak to her father in the hospital, but after he died, she was given permission to enter the intensive care unit.    Francesca Santacroce: And they walked me through the ICU to see him. And just to see all those people on ventilators, it was really sad. As I walked in, the nursing staff, all the physicians, everyone who was on his case, they were– they were crying too. They were so upset and he looked like he was sleeping honestly. And I said to him, “I’m here. I’m going to take care of everyone. You know, and everyone’s in good hands. You know, I got this.” And I told him I loved him. And that he can, you know, that he can go to heaven and I’ll take care of everyone down here.

Francesca’s first task was taking care of her father’s belongings and his car which he had driven to the hospital. 

John Dickerson: And what was going through your head, Francesca, as you were driving home?

Francesca Santacroce: I apologized to him.

John Dickerson: Apologized why?

Francesca Santacroce: I was so sad that he had to, you know, go through that alone. He had to spend his last– last week in quarantine, you know. He didn’t get to talk to us or see us. I wish that I was able to hug him one last time and tell him I loved him one last time and, you know, have him play a joke on me one last time. If I would’ve known that this was coming, I would’ve used that time more wisely. 

Daniel Kaplin: One of the areas of guilt and regret is not being able to say good-bye. 

John Dickerson: What do you think are the challenges that Francesca now faces?

Daniel Kaplin: She’s in her early 20s. She is not financially secure. Mom is medically fragile. Just the anxiety around, “How do you float the household,” and then long term– how does she take care of the family while truly pursuing her dreams?

Wynton Marsalis honors father on 60 Minutes

The day Francesca learned of her father’s death, jazz great Wynton Marsalis’ father checked into a hospital. 

Wynton Marsalis: He was in New Orleans.   John Dickerson: And you were in New York?

Wynton Marsalis: I was in New York. I was kind of torn between, if I go down there, he doesn’t have it, and I bring it to him, it’s going to be worse. 

Four days later, Ellis Marsalis, a respected jazz musician and teacher, passed away from complications of COVID-19. He was 85 years old.

Wynton Marsalis: He just didn’t complain. He had a world view. He said, “Man, I don’t determine my time.” He said, “The fact that you lose a loved one is no more significant than all the other people who are losing loved ones.” And that was always his philosophy. 

John Dickerson: We’re all part of the same human family.

Wynton Marsalis: He felt that. He believed it. He played it. He taught it. And– you know, and he accepted death in that way, also.

While Marsalis grieves, he is also responsible for Jazz at Lincoln Center, where he is managing and artistic director. The nonprofit has had to close its performance space and has lost millions of dollars. And Marsalis says things are even harder for freelance musicians.

Wynton Marsalis: My father was a freelance musician. If this had happened when we were growing up, we would literally just have to go from house to house on our street and– just to eat. This is a very serious time– for the survival of a lot of our musicians. 

A man used to juggling projects, he once contributed to this broadcast, Marsalis has been touching base with musicians around the world and trying to raise money for Jazz at Lincoln Center and also for struggling artists. All of this returns him to the lessons of his father. 

John Dickerson: So if he taught you about philosophy as much as about music– what would his advice be for this moment we are in, where we’re sitting in an empty theater, we don’t know when this is going to end, people are suffering.

Wynton Marsalis: You know, he would say, you know– “Where you at, man? What are you gonna do?” He said, “You talkin’ about doin’? You doin’? Do sumpin’. Let’s go.”

Wynton Marsalis with correspondent John Dickerson.

John Dickerson: So how does that work when you’re talking to all the people who are involved at Jazz at Lincoln Center, and you’re–

Wynton Marsalis: I say almost the same mantra. You know, we– we’re in a bad position. And we’re not going to get out of this overnight. But everybody is in our position. So let’s embrace this space. Let’s work on the trust that we’ve built up all of these years. Let’s go out and make stuff happen that we want to see happen, we have to move very fast, but we have to be even more process-oriented and more deliberate. And that’s how you master a moment of chaos. And that is also the strength of jazz. 

John Dickerson: I was just going to say, jazz – all of that practice, and then in the moment, you have to be ready–

Wynton Marsalis: That’s right. You marshal all your forces.

John Dickerson:  And be ready to improvise.

Wynton Marsalis: And be ready to meet the demands of that moment. Another thing that we say to each other is, “Let’s see if we are who we said we were before we had to deal with this.” When…

John Dickerson: And what does that mean? 

Wynton Marsalis: When everything is normal, it’s easy for us to be full. Full of arrogance and commentary. Now we have to be for real. Our morality, our concept, our integrity, All these things are coming to bear in this moment. 

John Dickerson: Because it’s a test.

Wynton Marsalis: Yeah, let’s see, man.

Wynton Marsalis: We have a tendency to hear all the negative. Everybody’s dying, this and that, skull and crossbones. There’s also this reaffirmation of what makes us great, not just as– people in a country, as human beings.

Recognizing the good amidst the sorrow is at the heart of the second-line funeral celebrations of Marsalis’ native Louisiana. When his mother died three years ago the jazz community took up their instruments. For Ellis Marsalis that celebration will be delayed.

John Dickerson: Since we’re here in this beautiful space, would you– like to play anything for your father?

Wynton Marsalis: Oh yeah, definitely. 

John Dickerson: Yeah. 

Wynton Marsalis: I’ll play something for him. I wanna– wanna lay down my burden down by the riverside.

Produced by Andy Court. Associate producer, Evie Salomon. Broadcast associate, Claire Fahy. Edited by April Wilson.

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[poipoi1912]

Barisi Episode Tag, 18x15

(and 18x13, and 18x14, and 18x11. Let’s just say it’s a multi-episode tag, spanning the entirety of S18, because I wanted to make up for the ones I didn’t write all season long. Inspired by the messy schedule, by Sonny’s temper, by Barba’s secret, and by my ability to see Barisi in everything. 16.4K.)

Note: This is a 3-part story. 3 mini-episode tags, rolled into one. Each “part” of the story takes place after each of the last 3 episodes, except I’m tackling them in their intended order, namely: 1) Know It All (18x15, with the reveal of Barba’s secret) 2) Genes (18x13, with Sonny’s subsequent outburst) and 3) Net Worth (18x14, with a happy Sonny doing a crossword puzzle). And I’m also heavily referencing Great Expectations (18x11, with the reveal about Sonny’s past).

Please enjoy.

~~~

Flan

~~~

Sonny braces himself before he enters Barba’s office.

It’s been a while.

He doesn’t know which Barba he’ll encounter. Worse than that, he doesn’t know which Sonny he’ll be.

Sonny swears there only used to be one of him. One Sonny, for all seasons.

Not anymore.

Now it’s spring, one day, and then it’s winter, and Sonny smiles with the sun and he frowns with the snow, and the snow keeps falling and falling, for days, for weeks, and Sonny forgets to smile, and some days he thinks he’ll be covered by a thin, grimy blanket of snow forever.

Today is a snow day.

Sonny was hoping for spring, this morning Sonny was hoping he’d be able to scare up a smile for Barba, but now he knows that won’t be happening.

Not for a lack of trying.

Sonny does forget to smile, some days, but today he remembered.

Today he tried.

He still couldn’t manage it.

It’s not as easy as it sounds.

Smiling.

Words will have to do.

“Hey, counselor. Nice to see you back.”

Barba doesn’t raise his head, but he does raise an eyebrow.

“Is it?”

Sonny nods, even though Barba can’t see him.

It’s always best to act casual. To pretend he doesn’t know what Barba’s talking about. Sonny is too transparent for his own good, and sometimes Barba will call him out on it, but most of the time Barba lets it slide.

Especially lately.

Barba has been letting a lot of things slide.

That’s not good.

It’s blurring the boundaries.

Sonny needs someone to push back. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop on his own.

Barba has stopped pushing back.

Sonny clears his throat.

“Sure it is. It’s… You’re back where you belong, Barba. We all heard about your suspension. It wasn’t… I mean, whatever it was, witness tampering, whatever the D.A. wants to call it, you didn’t deserve a month without pay. You’re a great A.D.A. Everybody knows it. You should be the one workin’ our cases. You’re part of the squad, same as all of us.”

Barba hums.

He’s still facing away from Sonny, head down, as if he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him.

As if he’s not ignoring Son-

“Right. Lucky for you, Carisi, the D.A. agrees. That’s why he only suspended me for four weeks. Which I spent relaxing on a friend’s yacht in the Caribbean. A most terrible punishment. I’m so happy to be back in New York, with all the perverts and my dear friends at Manhattan SVU.”

Sonny isn’t sure if Barba means that or not. The sarcasm is obvious, but Sonny doesn’t know what’s hiding behind it.

“Lucky for me? How ‘bout you, Barba? Aren’t you happy?”

Barba smiles, but it’s empty.

“No.”

No.

It’s that simple.

Barba narrowly escaped getting fired, and all he can muster is an empty smile and complete apathy and ‘no’.

Sonny tries not to react.

“You don’t care? You could’ve lost your job.”

Barba takes his time before answering.

“I care, Carisi. I wanted to keep my job. I want to be here. Most of the time. When people aren’t trying to kill me. But does it make me ‘happy,’ whatever that means? No. The two aren’t mutually exclusive. Yes, I’m grateful I can continue my work with SVU. No, I am not happy.”

Oh.

That’s understandable.

Sonny hasn’t felt happy in a long time.

Difference is, unlike Barba, he’s not sure he loves his job.

Working Special Victims.

Day in, day out.

How do you come out of that clean?

The longer Sonny stays with SVU, the more he realizes all his superior officers were right, all those years ago, when they warned him to stay with Homicide.

Frankly, Sonny doesn’t know if that would have helped.

It’s not SVU.

It’s being a cop.

That’s what Sonny has a hard time loving.

Being a cop, it changes you for the worse.

Sonny has been changing lately.

Ever since that job interview Barba set up for him.

For that job he didn’t get.

‘Well-rounded applicant,’ ‘extensive background in working with victims,’ ‘excellent criminal law credentials,’ ‘lacks the necessary trial experience.’

That’s what the Brooklyn D.A.’s office said, in their rejection email.

‘Consider private practice for a few years, Carisi, and then you can reapply. You’d make a great Assistant District Attorney. Just not now.’

That’s what La Rossa said, when Sonny called him after getting the news.

Sonny thought he aced that interview.

Not so much, apparently.

He d-

“Enough about my happiness, Carisi. What about the new case? Liv said it involves some sort of group therapy for rapists? Who all claim they carry a ‘rape gene’? And then you wonder why I miss St. Barths.”

Barba’s got him there.

Forget missing St. Barths, Sonny misses Staten Island, sometimes.

That’s how bad it’s gotten.

“No. I mean yeah, we’re working the case. Uh, Nick Brown, the guy we picked up for the rape, he says he can give us the identity of the River Rapist. That’s why I’m here. His lawyer wants to know what kind of deal we can offer.”

Barba sighs, almost in boredom.

Like he’d rather be doing anything else but this.

“What does he mean by identity? Name? Address? I need more than a vague hint, Carisi. You know that.”

Sonny does know that, and he does not appreciate the condescension.

“Just gimme a ballpark offer, Barba. A carrot to dangle in front of his attorney. You know how this works.”

Barba smirks, probably because Sonny tried to out-condescend him.

“Of course. I’ll check with the A.D.A. who is handling the River Rapist case, and I’ll get back to you within the hour. Will that be all?”

Sonny doesn’t know if that’s a polite way of kicking him out, or if Barba is just done talking about the case.

About work, maybe.

About the job, in general.

Barba, with his fresh tan, and his fancy suit, Barba, who’d rather be on a yacht, is tired talking about a job he barely feels like doing. Barba won’t even pick up the phone to call the other A.D.A. He’ll probably make Carmen do it. No rush. It’s not like they’re trying to catch a serial rapist.

Sonny exhales.

It doesn’t matter.

“Yeah. That’s all. Call the station when you got an offer, we still have Brown in lockup.”

Barba doesn’t even acknowledge that. He just starts jotting down… whatever.

It doesn’t matter.

Sonny leaves.

~ ~ ~

Barba didn’t listen.

Barba didn’t use the case Sonny spent hours researching, Barba flat-out refused to do what Sonny said, and it almost cost them the conviction.

All because it was from Delaware, so it didn’t automatically apply. As if that means anything. As if Barba couldn’t have made the exact same arguments presented in that case, and hope for the best. Maybe their judge would have ruled just like her Delaware counterpart. Why not? Sonny’s research was sound. Why wouldn’t the judge agree?

Why waste taxpayers’ money? Why waste all this time? Why should Sonny have to literally pull a guy away from a ledge, hoping he’ll testify five minutes after almost attempting suicide? Why should Sonny have to go through that, just because Barba wouldn’t listen? Their case would have b-

“Carisi. You’re here. Again. Carmen warned me you seemed, and I quote, ‘agitated,’ but watching you seethe in person is much more dramatic. What is it this time? Did you come to finish what you started at the courthouse? Maybe add some four-letter words to your tantrum, now that no one else is listening?”

That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually, but Sonny is not that immature.

Or that angry.

Not anymore. He was seething at the courthouse, and he was still pretty ‘agitated’ when he passed Carmen on his way in, but waiting in Barba’s office for thirty-five minutes has calmed him down significantly.

That said, watching Barba taking his sweet-ass time as he pulls off his coat, as he hangs it carefully on that fancy coat hanger, like he’s not bothered at all, it’s kind of testing Sonny’s patience.

Sonny starts yanking on the buttons of his own coat, lying across his lap, just to have something to do while Barba moves in slow motion, probably just to annoy him.

“No, counselor. No four-letter words. We’re all adults here. I just wanna know why you’d take my research and throw it in the trash, when it could have won us the case?”

Barba rolls his eyes as he sits behind his desk.

That’s not good.

Sonny is already starting to pick out cuss words in his head, some of which have way more than four letters.

“I don’t know how to be any clearer, Carisi. I told you at the courthouse, the case you brought me was similar, even relevant, but not directly applicable. The judge would have never let me use it to establish th-”

“You don’t know that, Barba.”

“Of course I know that. I know Judge Morris. I know her record. Her views. She’s presided over dozens of my cases. In fact, one time, about four years ago, I tried to introduce a case from out of state, too. I knew better, unlike you, but I was desperate, because I had no alternative. No other witnesses to fall back on. See, Carisi? That’s when you take a risk. Not when the detectives working a case fail to convince a witness to testify. Consider that a free lesson.

“And my case was identical, by the way. No interpretation needed. Unlike your flimsy connection between rapists and white supremacists, the facts were exactly the same. That’s why I tried to use it. But Judge Morris wouldn’t have it. The facts were the same, but the statutes weren’t. And she let me know. ‘This isn’t Rhode Island, Mr. Barba. This is New York. Do you need a map?’ That’s what she told me.”

Oh.

Sonny didn’t kn…

“Listen, Carisi. You graduated law school five minutes ago. I’ve been at this for a while. Spending fifteen years as an A.D.A. gives you some insider knowledge. It teaches you to pick your battles.

“Being belittled in court before losing a motion helps no one. It only weakens your case. It makes you look desperate, which may very well be true, but you don’t want the judge to know that. You have a reputation to uphold, and a case to protect. There are Hail Marys, and then there are stupid moves.”

Right.

Stupid.

Sonny didn’t know that.

Didn’t know any of that.

Sonny doesn’t have ‘trial experience.’ He doesn’t know the judges, he doesn’t know the defense attorneys, and they don’t know him. Sonny has no reputation to uphold.

Sonny just knows the law. And the victims.

Sonny knows the victims, and that’s the problem.

That’s why h-

“Alright? Does that satisfy your curiosity? Are you convinced I am not, in fact, an idiot who threw his own case for no reason? Or, wait, did you think I had a reason, Carisi? Did you think maybe I didn’t use your ‘research’ because it came from you? Because we’re not buddies anymore, apparently? Did you think I’d let my ego cost us the case?”

The way Barba intones ‘buddies’ makes Sonny wince.

That’s not what he meant.

“That’s not what I meant, Barba.”

Barba starts typing on his laptop.

Like he’s bored.

Done.

Like he’s done with this conversat-

“I don’t care what you meant, detective. Are we done here?”

No.

“No. We’re not done. Sure, maybe you tried before, with the same judge, but that was four years ago. You can’t be sur-”

“Enough, Carisi. And I would appreciate it if you stopped raising your voice every five minutes. If you’re trying to intimidate me, it’s not working.  Also, if you’re trying to intimidate me, you’re dumber than I thought.”

Well.

Barba hadn’t insulted Sonny’s intelligence in over a year.

The streak had to end sometime.

The worst part is, Sonny didn’t even realize he was yelling.

“I’m not tryin’ to intimidate you, Barba. I’m just mad. Okay? Can’t a guy be mad?”

Barba keeps typing.

“Sure. Just go and be mad outside my office, please. I’m busy.”

‘Busy.’

Busy booking another vacation, probably, while Sonny tries to talk to him about a case. About justice. About what’s right.

Barba doesn’t car…

That’s not true.

Barba cares.

Barba gets frustrated, too. He just doesn’t get mad.

Sonny hasn’t mastered that trick yet.

Maybe it comes with experience.

Sonny doesn’t have experience, so he gets mad, and he tries to intimidate people, apparently, which is something he swore he’d never do, and if that’s how he comes across now, then what’s the poin-

“I can clearly see you being mad in my office, Carisi. When I specifically asked you not to.”

Sonny gapes.

Is Barba quoting The Office?

That kinda takes the wind out of Sonny’s sails. It’s hard to stay mad at someone who’s quoting Michael Scott.

“Uh. Well… I gotta… Where else am I gonna go? You’re the one who made me mad, Barba. Now you gotta suffer.”

Barba keeps on typing.

“I’m not the one who made you mad.”

It’s funny how Barba thinks he can psychoanalyze Sonny while compiling an email.

“That so?”

Barba clicks his mouse.

Hits ‘send,’ probably.

“Yes. I don’t know why you’re mad, detective, but it’s not because of me. I’ve been playing nice, if you hadn’t noticed. For a long time, now. I’m sure I’ve done nothing to upset you. No jokes, no insults.

“I’ve just been doing my job. Incidentally, it is my job. Not yours. It’s my job to decide which arguments to use during a trial. It’s not your job to do ‘research,’ or to provide me with strategy tips, when you don’t have all the facts.”

Sonny bites his tongue.

Literally.

Metaphorically, he can’t help opening his big mouth.

“You don’t even want this job.”

Barba picks up his phone.

More distractions.

More reasons to look away.

The light from the screen illuminates his face.

His tan hasn’t even faded yet.

“Don’t I?”

Sonny tries not to lose his temper.

“No, Barba. You don’t. You don’t want this job. You say you do, but you don’t act like it. You almost got fired from bein’ a Manhattan A.D.A., a job others would kill for, and you don’t give a shit. You went on vacation during your suspension. You d-”

“Would you kill for this job, Carisi?”

Dammit.

Barba failed to psychoanalyze Sonny while compiling an email, but he’s definitely succeeding now, while compiling a text.

“I didn’t s-”

“Is that what this is about? Envy? That’s why you’ve been so angry? Why you barely talk to me, ever since I helped you get that job interview in Brooklyn?”

Sonny doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t have to. Barba knows wh-

“I suppose I was wrong. I am the one who made you mad. I apologize for thinking you could handle rejection like an adult.”

‘Rejection.’

Great.

Barba knows what happened.

Of course he does.

He always does.

Sonny didn’t tell him.

Sonny didn’t talk to Barba after the interview at all.

For days.

Not even to say thank you.

At first, Sonny was trying not to jinx it.

Sonny thought he aced that interview.

Then, after the email, Sonny just didn’t feel like seeing Barba’s smug face as he explained he was grateful for the recommendation, but he failed to get the job.

Sonny doesn’t like to admit failure. He’s worked too hard, all his life, and he’s had more hits than misses, but that only makes the misses more painful. That’s why Sonny thanked Barba, way back when, before the results of the bar exam were even posted. Just in case.

That one was a hit. Sonny passed the bar exam, with flying colors.

The job interview was a miss. And it stings. And this is the first time Barba’s mentioned it, since then. Even though he’s clearly known about the rejection, this whole time.

That stings even more, for some reason. Sonny never told anyone he was rejected. Liv, and Fin, and Amanda, they all asked, and he mumbled something about wanting to stay with SVU ‘for now.’ Like staying was his choice. Like he had a choice.

Sonny was hoping Barba would assume the same thing.

That was obviously too much to hope for. La Rossa probably forwarded that rejection email to Barba himself. They’re friends. They probably had a good laugh over it. Barba read all about Sonny’s shortcomings, all about Sonn-

“For my personal safety, Carisi, I feel I should tell you this is not how we do things here at the D.A.’s office. You will not get my job if you murder me in a fit of rage. You know that, right? You’d just be creating a vacancy. There’s a whole process, after that. Applications, deadlines, two rounds of interviews. Killing me would only be the first step.”

Sonny snorts.

Much as he appreciates the joke, he hates this.

Sonny hates that he’s so mad. He swore he’d never become this person again, and now here he is.

Sonny hates that he keeps snapping at Barba for something that isn’t Barba’s fault. Sonny is the one who failed. Barba only tried to help him. Barba didn’t do anything wrong. Barba may be arrogant, and he may be flaunting the fact he’s an A.D.A. while Sonny is not, but that’s just the truth.

Sonny couldn’t get the job. What’s done is done. No need to murder anybody.

“I don’t wanna kill you, counselor.”

Barba chuckles.

“That’s a relief. If only your face didn’t suggest otherwise.”

Barba is in a good mood, all of a sudden. Probably because he thinks he figured out Sonny’s big secret. His jokes are all pointed, they’re all subtle jabs at Sonny’s attitude, but there’s no malice behind them now.

Barba is rarely in a good mood these days.

Sonny’s current mood leaves a lot to be desired, but still, this could be an opportunity to clear the air between them.

Sonny hates that he’s so mad.

Maybe talking about it will help.

Maybe Sonny can understand Barba’s point of view.

“Do you want this job, Barba? Be honest. ‘Cause, let me tell you, I would kill for it. Not you, but… You know what I mean. It’s not envy. It’s resentment. I don’t wanna be, but I am resentful ‘cause you have the job I couldn't get, and you’re puttin’ it at risk, like it’s not a big deal. I busted my ass to finish night school, to get my law degree, and I studied day and night to pass the bar exam, and I wanted…”

Sonny exhales.

“That job, in Brooklyn, it was a way out. A different way to help. I wanted it. And I couldn’t get it. And now here you are, jeopardizing your position doing God knows what, tampering with witnesses God knows why, and you get busted, and you’re lucky enough to keep your job, and you don’t even care. You come back from your relaxing vacation, with your golden tan and sand still in your shoes, and you won’t even look at me when I wanna discuss a case, ‘cause you’re that bored. ‘Cause you don’t wanna be here. ‘Cause y-”

“I love this job.”

Sonny blinks.

His anger, his resentment, they dissipate instantly.

There’s more emotion in Barba’s eyes than Sonny has ever seen.

Barba is looking right at him now, and Sonny regrets asking.

“I do. Oh, I really do. But sometimes…”

Barba is smiling.

Not at Sonny.

Not because of Sonny.

Barba is smiling a crooked smile that Sonny can’t decipher.

“Sometimes what?”

Barba’s smile gets wider.

Sonny thinks he can see wistfulness, now. And a hint of condescension, probably because Sonny had to ask. Because Sonny doesn’t get it.

How is Sonny supposed to get it? He and Barba are nothing alike. Barba has been an A.D.A. for fifteen years. Sonny graduated law school five minutes ago. Sonny doesn’t have the experienc-

“Sometimes I think it would be better if I left it.”

Oh.

Maybe Sonny and Barba do have something in common.

“That why you came clean? Liv said… She said you talked to the D.A. about your… Whatever it was, whatever Willard had on you, Liv said you confessed. Even though your secret wasn’t exposed. Is that why? Were you hoping you’d lose your job? Deep down?”

Barba smiles.

This time, it’s because of Sonny.

Sonny can tell.

Barba is smiling genuinely, for once.

Not an ounce of condescension.

“I see you remember our conversation. The one about my suicidal streak.”

Sonny can’t help smiling back.

He could never forget that conversation.

Simpler days.

Happier days.

Sonny could never forget the look on Barba’s face, in that corrid-

“Maybe you’re right, Carisi. I don’t know. I don’t know what I was hoping for. I just wanted to roll the dice. Let the chips fall where they may. Wait, am I mixing metaphors?”

Barba smiles again.

He’s in a very good mood.

Maybe he didn’t know what he was hoping for, when he went in for that meeting with the District Attorney, but it’s clear he likes what he got.

He got to keep his job.

Barba loves this job.

Even if he was ready to leave it.

Love isn’t enough, sometimes.

What Sonny saw as indifference, it was fatigue.

They’re all tired.

Barba just took a chance.

Sonny wishes he could take a chance too. Roll the dice. Except he feels like someone else is holding the dice, and he’s just along for the ride, and now Sonny’s the one mixing metaphors, and Barba is still smiling, they’re smiling at each other, and Sonny remembers what it was like to feel good.

“How did you feel, Barba?”

“Hm?”

“When you found out you still had a job to come back to, after the suspension. After you booked your trip to the Caribbean, after you packed your linen suits, how did you feel?”

Barba keeps on smiling.

“I was relieved.”

Sonny thought as much.

“Because, when the chips were down, you knew you wanted to stay?”

Barba shakes his head.

“No. I was relieved because the D.A. thought I deserved to stay.”

Oh.

This never occurred to Sonny. Barba, doubting himself like that.

Sonny gets the urge to defend Barba, which is something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Of course you deserve to stay, counselor. Come on. If anybody does, it’s you.”

Barba narrows his eyes.

“Is that so? I thought I was, and I quote, jeopardizing my position doing God knows what, and tampering with witnesses God knows why, and I got busted. End quote.”

Sonny sighs.

“I’m sorry, Barba.”

Barba looks amused.

“For?”

Fair enough.

“I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t my place. Whatever you did, it’s in the past. I told you. You’re a great A.D.A., and… And of course you love your job. I know that. It’s been almost three years now. I know you. I see how hard you fight. I see how hard these cases hit you. Every day. And I ain’t helping, either. Not anymore. I’m… I’m making things worse for you, sometimes. I’m sorry.”

Barba opens and closes his mouth in surprise.

“I wasn’t expecting to get that apology tonight, Carisi, but it was long overdue, so I’ll take it.”

Sonny wasn’t expecting to deliver that apology, either.

It was long overdue.

Sonny hates that he’s so mad. Sonny hates that he keeps snapping at Barb-

“I was expecting an apology for suggesting I would ever willingly jeopardize a case. For thinking I would let the River Rapist walk, just because I didn’t want to use your suggestion. For thinking I would let Willard walk, because I had a weak spot, and he found it.”

Wait.

“I never thought that, Barba. Honest to God. The Delaware case, sure, I didn’t know why you wouldn’t use it, and I got mad. I took it personally. I’m sorry. But the blackmail? Never. I knew you wouldn’t drop the charges against Willard, no matter what dirt he had on you. You wouldn’t let him get away with it. I never doubted that.”

Barba looks like he may or may not believe that.

It’s the truth.

Sonny was surprised Barba even had a weak spot, at least one which could be easily discovered. Sonny was shocked to hear Barba would ever tamper with a witness, at least not without making sure he wouldn’t get caught. But Sonny never doubted th-

“No? Well, thank you for the vote of confidence. But, just for the record, there’s no dirt.”

No.

Sonny doesn’t want to hear this.

Barba’s weak spot, whatever it is, whatever reason Barba had to tamper with a witness, Sonny doesn’t want to hear it, because he already resents Barba for it, for risking everything, and he doesn’t want to know what it is that Barba values more than the job.

It’s not anything disgraceful.

Sonny knows that in his gut.

Barba is a good person.

Sonny knows that, and that’s all he needs to know. The details don’t matter. Sonny has no desire to hear wh-

“I don’t know what you think I did, Carisi, but there’s no dirt. No shame. What I did was wrong, but the truth is, I’d do it again.”

Oh.

Sonny may not want to hear this, but it seems that Barba wants to tell him.

‘Just’ for the record.

Maybe Barba doesn’t want Sonny to think the worst.

To think he’s dirty.

Sonny would never think that.

Barba keeps staring.

Clearly waiting for a question.

Sonny may not want to hear this, but he will ask.

It’s what Barba wants.

Barba wants to talk.

Maybe talking about it will help.

“What did you do, Barba?”

Barba’s shoulders relax.

“Willard hacked my bank account. He discovered that, for the past several years, I’ve been making regular payments to an account belonging to a young woman. Willard assumed the money was in exchange for sexual favors.”

Whatever Barba’s secret is, Sonny knows that’s not it.

“So what’s the real reason? Why are you’re sending her money?”

Barba smiles that lopsided smile again.

“She’s the daughter of a witness, from an old case. About ten years ago, I was prosecuting a man who raped and killed two women. The mother, she was a heroin addict, but she was also my only witness. On the day of the trial, she showed up so strung out she could barely talk. The judge wouldn't give me a recess. I had to put her on that stand, or I had no case.”

Sonny leans in, and wishes that desk weren’t between them. Barba’s never shared anything about his past.

“And?”

“And, she asked for a loan, and I gave it to her. I knew what she was going to do, and I still gave her money. It was the only way. So, she bought what she bought, and she did what she did, and she got on the stand. She buried the guy. She sent a really bad man to prison for the rest of his life, and she died of an overdose, eight hours later, leaving behind her ten-year-old daughter.”

“The girl you’ve been helping.”

Barba nods.

“She lives with her grandmother. They're broke. I do what I can.”

Sonny smiles.

That’s not dirt.

Barba is clean.

Still.

Fifteen years as an A.D.A. and Barba is still clean.

There’s no need for resentment anymore.

If Barba values anything more than the job, it’s justice.

That’s why Barba risked everything.

Why he ‘tampered’ with a witness. To get a truthful testimony. To get justice.

Sonny is grateful he got to hear this.

“Thank you for tellin’ me, counselor. Witness tampering, my ass. You didn’t obstruct justice. Justice was served. Like I said, you deserve to be here. You did a good thing.”

Barba tilts his head.

“A good thing? Really? Even though a woman’s death is on my hands? Even though I’m the one who made a ten-year-old girl into an orphan?”

Sonny doesn’t hesitate.

“Yes. It’s terrible that a woman had to die, but yes. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

Sonny knows Barba did the right thing. He wishes he had done the sam-

“Don’t say that, Carisi. Don’t say I did a ‘good’ thing, so casually. I may not regret it, but it was still wrong. I may not be ashamed, but I still blame myself for her death. You don’t know what that’s like.”

If only that were true.

“Trust me, Barba. I know. Maybe you think that woman’s death is on your hands, but the truth is, she was sick. You didn’t cause her death, and you couldn’t have prevented it. If it hadn’t been that hit, it would have been the next one.

“You didn’t get her killed. You made her death count. She saved people. You saved people. The women this guy would’ve raped and killed. That’s what counts. This guy, he’s still in prison, right? That’s what counts. You stopped him. Imagine knowin’ he was out there, killing people, because of you. That’s guilt. Knowin’ you could have stopped it.”

Barba stays silent.

For far too long.

That’s never a good thing.

“What is it, Carisi?”

Sonny frowns.

“What? Nothing, I’m just…”

“What is it? What do you think you could have stopped? Someone’s death?”

Sonny can feel his heart rate spiking.

He wants to sink into the chair.

He wants to run out of Barba’s office, and never come back.

He doesn’t talk about this.

To anyone.

Sonny hadn’t said Bobby Bianchi’s name out loud in years, until that interrogation. It took him days to recover, afterwards. To stop feeling guilty. To stop being angry.

It didn’t last, of course. Sonny’s had his bouts of anger since then, but those first few days, they were bad. He doesn’t want an encore. If he dredges that up again, it might take him weeks to calm down.

Sonny is angry enough as it is.

He doesn’t need that.

He needs to get up and walk away.

Like he always does, when someone asks.

Sonny can’t t-

“I showed you mine, Carisi.”

Barba has a point.

Barba isn’t letting this slide.

Barba is asking, and Sonny can’t just walk away. Not during this conversation. Not after what Barba told him.

Not when Barba is looking at him like that.

With curiosity.

With concern.

Sonny takes a deep breath. The faster he gets it out, the better.

“It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, counselor. Scrawny kid gets picked on. Bullied. At school, in the neighborhood, you name it. It’s the same old story.”

Barba smiles knowingly.

Like Sonny’s abrupt opening actually makes sense to him.  

Like maybe he got picked on, too, when he was a k-

“Were you always this scrawny, Carisi? I always pictured you as a tubby kid. All that homemade Italian food. I figured you hit a growth spurt later in life.”

Sonny starts laughing.

He wasn’t expecting that from Barba.

A sweet joke.

Anything sweet.

“I, uh… Well, my mom’s cooking is amazing, so you got that right, but no, I was always pretty scrawny. All that running around, probably. Gettin’ into trouble. You know how that goes. I mean, I did hit a growth spurt when I was, like, seventeen, but it just made me even scrawnier.”

Barba nods.

He doesn’t push for more.

Barba seems content to watch Sonny laugh.

For a moment, Sonny forgets what he’s doing. Sonny forgets he’s supposed to be sharing a deep, dark secret, and he thinks he’s just recounting an old schoolyard tale to a friend.

A fun memory.

Sonny’s heart rate is normal again.

Maybe that’s the trick.

What he’s about to say is not fun, but it is a memory. It’s over. It’s in the past, and maybe Sonny can leave it there. Maybe, like Barba, Sonny can learn not to be ashamed.

“Anyway, uh, everybody used to pick on me, but the worst was this one kid, Bobby Bianchi. One day, when we were at school, he grabbed me by the hair and he shoved my face through a plate glass window. I was bleeding, I was all cut up. It was a mess. One of the teachers called the principal, and he asked me what happened.

“I could have put an end to it, right there. All I had to do was say Bobby’s name. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t want Bobby to get into trouble. So I just kept quiet. I said I tripped. Nobody ever knew what happened. Bobby kept on bein’ a bully, and I kept on bein’ scared, until he changed schools when we were in seventh grade. I was ecstatic. I thought I’d never have to hear his name again.”

Barba looks equal parts captivated and confused.

Sonny doesn’t blame him. Barba is expecting a story about guilt and death, and Sonny is talking about schoolyard bullying. That’s a pretty big leap.

Except when it’s not.

“Bobby Bianchi, he’s in Sing Sing now. He stabbed some poor sap to death during a bar fight. I found out from my mom, a few years back. Our moms are still friends. ‘Cause… ‘Cause my mom doesn’t know it was him. She just knows she has a klutzy son who walks into windows face-first.”

Barba no longer looks confused.

He looks exasperated.

“You can’t possibly blame yourself for that, Carisi. This Bobby, he bullied you when you were, what, ten years old? And you blame yourself for a murder he committed two decades later? You think you could have stopped that? By telling the principal? You think that would have made a difference?”

Sonny does.

“Yeah. I do. Not a day goes by that I don't regret keeping my mouth shut. I always think, what if I would have said something? Maybe that guy would still be aliv-”

“Oh please. If you had said something, Bobby would have kicked your ass, next time he saw you. And then you would have learned that, sometimes, keeping your mouth shut is a perfectly valid choice. At least if you want to stay in one piece. And I say this from experience.”

Oh.

Barba did get picked on, when h-

“You know better than this, Carisi. You can’t blame the victim. Not even when it’s you.”

Huh.

Sonny hadn’t thought of it that way.

With good reason.

“I’m not the victim, Barba. That guy who got stabbed, he’s the real victim.”

Barba raises both eyebrows.

“Real? All victims are real, Carisi. Just because Bobby Bianchi didn’t kill you, it doesn’t mean you weren’t hurt.”

Sonny’s knee starts bouncing.

Barba is right.

Sonny was hurt.

Sonny was changed.

That’s when he started getting angry.

After he had to have nineteen stitches. After he had to suffer through months of ridicule from all the kids at school, including his own sisters, who were making fun of him both for his busted face and for the dumb way he got hurt.

Sonny never told them the truth, either.

After that, Sonny started shoving around other, smaller kids at the playground, until Theresa grabbed him by the ear and told him to behave.

Sonny kept picking fights, but only when she wasn’t there to see it.

That anger, it never went away.

Throughout high school, throughout college even, that anger was always there.

It’s still there, but it’s kept at bay, when things are going well.

When things are tough, Sonny has to struggle with it.

He doesn’t always win.

When he was a senior in high school, after a bad breakup, Sonny got drunk for the first time. Somehow, someway, he and his best friend Jason came to blows. They used to be inseparable. Sonny broke Jason’s nose. They fell out, after that fight. Sonny still doesn’t remember what started it. He only remembers blind rage, and blood gushing from Jason’s nose. Blood, getting on his shirt.

When he was a junior in college, after a final that didn’t go his way, Sonny picked a fight at a frat party, with some guy he’d never met. The guy accidentally shoulder checked him, and Sonny snapped, and within ten seconds a shoving match turned into an all-out brawl. Sonny had started working out by then, looking to get into the Academy, so he handled himself a little too well. The people at that party, some of them Sonny’s friends, they looked at him differently after that.

Like he used to look at Bobby.

Sonny hated putting that look on people’s faces.

That’s why he tried to stop.

To change.

To be less angry.

Sonny tried, and it wasn’t easy, and it took time, but he succeeded.

After college, Sonny got into the Police Academy, like he always dreamed, and then he graduated at the top of his class, and then he got into law school, and then he made detective, and then he found a home at SVU.

That helped.

Sonny found peace. He managed to simmer down, as the years went by. With age comes wisdom. Sonny left that angry college kid behind.

Sonny found his old self, his carefree self, his innocent self, his goofy self, his happy self, and he remembered what life was like before he knew about the Bobby Bianchis of the world.

Sonny liked being happy.

He swore he’d never get that angry again.

It didn’t work out that way.

Sonny had gone years without an outburst, but streaks are meant to be broken.

Right?

And Sonny broke his streak.

Many times.

So many, it’s hard to keep track.

Sonny remembers that dentist, who molested his own niece. Sonny remembers almost breaking his fingers.

Sonny remembers Tommy, bailing out on Bella. Sonny remembers grabbing him by the throat.

Sonny remembers seeing that little girl in a cage. Sonny remembers wanting to kill whoever was responsible.

Sonny remembers that pastor who raped a thirteen-year-old and got her pregnant. Sonny remembers wanting to punch him in the face.

Working Special Victims isn’t easy.

That’s why Sonny has been cutting himself some slack, in the past few years.

He thinks that’s where he went wrong.

That can be a slippery slope.

Sonny used to be able to shake those incidents, moments after they happened. That anger, it was transient. It came and it went. It didn’t permeate him. It didn’t fester in him.

It’s gotten worse.

He’s gotten worse.

Now, it’s not just heinous crimes, or somebody hurting his family.

Now, Sonny gets mad over nothing.

Over anything.

Sonny is having a tough time, he’s under pressure, and his anger keeps building, and festering, and he keeps snapping at people, he keeps snapping at Barba, too, more often than not, and he hates it, and he wants it to stop, because he can’t afford to lose friends every time life doesn’t go his way.

Sonny has to change, again, becaus-

“Carisi? Are you… Did I overstep? I apologize. It’s none of my business.”

Barba is frowning.

There’s no need.

All victims are real.

Sonny needed to hear that. Sonny needed to think about that.

This talk with Barba, it was therapeutic, even if most of it took place inside Sonny’s head.

“No. You didn’t. You didn’t overstep, counselor. Uh. Listen, you said something, before. About me trying to intimidate you. Or, or about me lookin’ like I wanted to kill you. I d-”

“I was joking, Carisi.”

Sonny is heartened by the fact Barba felt the need to clarify that.

“I know. I know you were joking. Just hear me out. Um. You wouldn’t know it from lookin’ at me, but I always had trouble with my temper. Ever since Bobby Bianchi. You said it. I was hurt. I was a victim, too, and I didn’t even know it. For years. I was always acting out, and getting into trouble, and, uh, there were a couple of incidents that got out of hand, when I was younger, and…”

Sonny sighs.

He doesn’t know how much of his inner monologue he needs to share with Barba. How much of his past. He just knows he has to explain.

“I’m not tryin’ to make excuses here, Barba, but when I’m under a lot of stress, I have a hard time keeping myself under control. Sometimes. I’m not… I don’t get violent. Not anymore. But I… I blow up. Without provocation. And, well, it’s been a rough year, and that’s why I’ve been… you know. The way I’ve been.”

Barba is still frowning.

“No need to explain, detective. This is a stressful line of work. We’ve all been there. It’s fine.”

No.

Sonny needs to explain.

“I had a pretty good run. I was pretty happy. For years. I had dreams, I had big plans. I was working toward my goals. Everything was goin’ right. And then somebody threatened to kill you. Not that… Obviously that’s… You were the one most affected by that. Of course. I’m not comparin’ our situations or anything. I just… It wasn’t easy for me either. I seriously thought about leaving, back then.

“And then Dodds died, and… And I couldn’t leave, after that. I couldn’t leave the squad. I didn’t wanna leave. I told you, remember? And then, when the dust settled, when everybody started moving on, I figured maybe I could try again. And you helped me, you got me that job interview, but I screwed that up, and then I screwed everything up, by bein’ an asshole to you, and then I had a cop hold a gun to my head, and I thought I was gonna die, and all I f-”

“What?”

Barba looks shocked.

He didn’t know.

Sonny forgot.

“Yeah. Tom Cole, remember that case? He held a gun to my head, when we went up to his farmhouse. Liv took him out. That’s not the point.”

Barba is blinking rapidly.

“What do you mean that’s n-”

“That’s not the point, Barba. The point is, I thought I was gonna die, and all I felt was regret. ‘Cause I’ve been slipping. I’ve spent months being this angry asshole, and I can’t stop. I try, and it works for a couple of weeks, and then something happens and I snap again. I don’t want that.

“I don’t even know if I wanna be a cop anymore. I think that’s the problem. It’s hard not to get angry, when you see what we see. It eats at you. I know bein’ an A.D.A. can’t be that much better, but it’s gotta be a little better. It’s gotta be. It can’t be any worse. Bein’ a cop, it’s… it’s changing me. I’m regressing.  I thought I could handle it, at first, but maybe I can’t. Cole, he was a good guy, and look how he turned out. I don’t want that. I want out.”

Barba looks uncomfortable.

Maybe Sonny shared too much.

Yeah, Sonny definitely shared too much. They were having a cordial conversation, after a long time, and Barba was being supportive, like he used to be, before, and Sonny had to go and ruin it by oversharin-

“Okay, one problem at a time, Carisi. First of all, next time somebody holds a gun to your head, find a better way to tell me. Instead of blurting it out in the middle of an existential monologue. Also, please tell me in a timely manner. Not months after the fact. Alright? You almost dying, that’s information I would like to have, as soon as it becomes available. Alright?”

Oh.

Barba sounds irritated.

He looks worried, brows all furrowed and lips drawn tight, but he sounds irritated.

Sonny thinks this might be Barba’s way of showing he cares.

Irritation.

If that’s true, then it must mean Barba cares about Sonny a lot, becaus-

“Secondly, like I said, there’s no need to explain. It’s fine. You’re fine. You’ve been the world’s friendliest colleague for almost three years. You cook for the squad, you babysit their kids, you bring them coffee. You bring me coffee. You’ve brought me pastries, for no real reason, on more than one occasion. So what if you’re an asshole, every once in a while? You’ve earned it. No one’s going to hold it against you. Least of all me. I’ve been an asshole since birth.”

Sonny grins.

Barba has a way of putting things into perspective.

Of making everything sound easy.

“Thirdly, if you want out, you can get out. If you have dreams, go after them. I don’t see why you hung all your hopes on that one position in Brooklyn. There will be other jobs, Carisi. That was your first interview. You know how many people get a job on their first interview?”

Sonny knows one person who did.

“Other than you?”

Barba smirks.

“Well, yes, but I’m a little older. You��re a millennial. There are some drawbacks to being young.”

Barba isn’t wrong.

Still.

“I know there’s gonna be other jobs, Barba. But the reason I didn’t get that job is the same reason I won’t get any other job. I ‘lack the necessary trial experience.’ And if I wanna fix that, I gotta leave the force.”

Barba bites his lip. It’s very distractin-

“Isn’t that what you want?”

Despite what Sonny may blurt out during his existential monologues, there’s no easy answer to that question.

“I don’t know.”

Barba takes a moment before speaking again.

“The job interview, in Brooklyn, was it you rolling the dice? Leave if you get the job, stay if you don’t?”

That sounds about right.

And kinda scary.

Final.

Sonny never put it in those words, but in retrospect that’s exactly what it was. No wonder he feels so resigned. He didn’t get the job, so he has to stay.

“I guess. I guess we have that in common, counselor.”

Barba smiles a tight smile.

“And how did you feel? When the chips were down?”

That’s a question Sonny can answer very easily.

“Trapped.”

That interview, it was a way out, and Sonny screwed it all up, and now he has no choice but to st-

“I see. And you still feel that way?”

Talk about an easy answer.

“Yeah. What, you couldn’t tell? By the way I’ve been angry, ever since? By the way I start yellin’ at you, at the drop of a hat, every other week? By the way I keep tryin’ to antagonize you, when I used to, uh…”

Starting that sentence was a bad idea. Finishing it will only make things worse.

Thankfully, Barba seems to get it.

Barba’s tight smile unwinds, like he’s letting Sonny off the hook, and h-

“When you used to kiss my ass? Which was your idea of flirting? Yes, I have noticed a shift in your behavior.”

Well.

The use of ‘thankfully’ was premature.

Barba definitely gets it, but Sonny is not feeling very thankful right now.

Worse part is, he can’t even deny it.

It’s true.

Sonny has been flirting with Barba, for years, and Barba has known, for years.

The easy smile on Barba’s face proves it.

Sonny doesn’t know if he should be embarrassed, because Barba called him out, or excited, because Barba finally put a name to whatever it is they have been doing.

‘Flirting.’

Simple as that.

Barba makes everything sound easy.

Barba is still smiling.

Easy.

Like maybe Sonny flirting with him isn’t an entirely unpleasant thought.

Then again, Barba did say he has noticed a ‘shift.’

There hasn’t been much flirting between them, lately.

They barely ever interact.

Sonny lost himself in anger, and resentment, and he let that connection fade.

That potential, Sonny wasted it.

All the progress he had made, after carefully managing to earn Barba’s respect, and then Barba’s friendship, Sonny threw it all away.

Barba’s easy smile, it says maybe that was a mistake.

Maybe they could be having this entire conversation, this de facto therapy session, not as colleagues, or even friends, but as something else.

Something more.

In another life.

In another life, Sonny would have gotten that damn job, and he would have taken Barba out to dinner as a thank you, and they’d be equals, they’d be A.D.A. Carisi and A.D.A. Barba, of Brooklyn and Manhattan respectively, and Sonny wouldn’t be so angry, and he’d finally make a move, like he planned, and maybe Barba would s-

“It’s alright, Carisi. No need to explain that, either. I suspected you were over your infatuation with me. It’s obvious. You used to run into my office every time you passed a class in law school. You used to tell me your actual grades. And now you won’t even tell me somebody almost shot you in the head.”

Irritation.

Caring.

Sonny threw it all away.

Barba cared, and Sonny threw it all aw-

“Also, I believe I overheard Fin telling Rollins about a certain Miss 34B? About a month ago? You cops and your locker room talk. Your girlfriend deserves a modicum of respect. Despite her poor taste in men.”

Great.

Fin and his big mouth.

Now Barba thinks Sonny has a girlfriend.

As if this conversation wasn’t embarrassing enough already.

Sonny has spent the last few minutes trying to avoid eye contact, but that won’t cut it anymore.

He needs to be facing Barba for this.

He needs to explain.

Problem is, Sonny doesn’t know where to begin.

He doesn’t even know why Barba would bring that up.

Any of it.

First, Barba admits they used to flirt, or Sonny did, at least. Then, Barba practically admits he misses Sonny’s oversharing. Then, for the big finish, Barba goes and asks Sonny about 34B, about that stupid pop-up, like it’s in any way relevant.

If Sonny didn’t know any better, he’d think Barba has been waiting to ask that question, for ‘about a month,’ and he thought a clumsy mention of their previous ‘flirting’ would be a good segue.

It’s not.

And Sonny doesn’t have a good answer.

“That wasn’t… That’s done. I don’t have a girlfriend. She wasn’t… She was somebody I knew from Fordham. We were friends. We are friends. We… We gave it a shot, tried dating, but it didn’t work out. That’s all.”

Sonny cringes at his own inability to string a sentence togeth-

“Oh? What happened?”

Barba is smiling again.

Nonchalantly.

His blatantly fake smile does nothing to conceal his interest. He’s been saying ‘no need to explain,’ over and over, to spare Sonny from further embarrassment, but that only applies to soul-baring confessions, apparently. When it comes to 34B, Barba seems pretty intent on getting a detailed explanation.

All Sonny can think to say is, ‘I’m too miserable,’ but he doesn’t think that would be enough to satisfy Barba’s curiosity.

“Well, if my existential monologues didn’t clue you in, Barba, I haven’t exactly been in the mood for romance lately. I mean, I’m not a monk, so I try, and sometimes it’s alright for a month or two, but then it fizzles. My heart’s not it in. I’m just… I’m not in a good place. I can’t be dating anybody right now. I need to figure myself out.”

Barba literally pouts.

“Aw. That’s unfortunate.”

Look at that. Sonny wasn’t expecting Barba to be so understandin-

“I’m sorry, did I say unfortunate? I meant unfortunately trite. How corny can you get, Carisi? Why not add, ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ while you’re at it? You need to ‘figure yourself out’? That’s a terrible excuse. I hope it’s not what you told your friend.”

Sonny cracks up.

That is a terrible excuse. And it’s exactly what he told Claire. And Malia before her, and Paul before her.

None of them believed him, of course, but then none of them put up a fight.

They all reacted like they knew Sonny was blowing them off, but they didn’t care enough to ask for the truth.

Sonny didn’t care enough, either.

That’s the problem.

You gotta care to be honest.

How do you tell someone, ‘I have a temper, and sometimes everything sets me off’? How do you tell them, ‘None of this is your fault, but I’m probably gonna take it out on you anyway’? How do you say, ‘I’m having a tough time, and I’m angry, and you deserve better’?

You don’t.

You don’t say it.

Except Sonny just did. He just told Barba all about it.

Barba cared enough to ask.

Barba asked about Sonny’s guilt, about Sonny’s pain, about Bobby Bianchi, Barba asked about that job interview, about Sonny’s dreams, Barba asked about 34B, too, and Sonny answered every question honestly.

For the most part. There’s still things he hasn’t told Barb-

“Anyway. Enough about your love life, Carisi. Let’s talk about something less unfortunate.”

Sonny snorts.

“You’re casting a pretty wide net, there, counselor. Everything’s less unfortunate than my love life.”

Barba smirks like that’s a good thing.

“Point taken. I’m referring to your professional woes. You say you feel trapped here. Maybe we can fix that. You need experience to get a job as an A.D.A. We can fix that too. The best way would be for you to work as an attorney for a few years, but you say you’re not sure if you want to quit your job. At least not yet. Alright. Those are the facts. So…”

Barba looks strangely focused. His eyes are darting around, like he’s figuring out solutions and calculating all the possible outcomes.

Like he really wants to help.

To fix it.

To fix Sonny’s problems, at least those that can be fixed.

Sonny finds that touching. Barba has always shown him support, in smaller and bigger ways, sometimes generously and sometimes grudgingly, and this time is no different.

That’s a relief.

Sonny would hate to think his behavior ruined th-

“So. You’ll have to make a decision about leaving the force, sooner or later, but in the meantime I could ask Liv if she’d be willing to spare you more often, so you can observe more trials. It won’t be the same as firsthand experience, of course, and you can’t put it on your résumé, but it’ll be better than nothing. Better than you showing up in court only when you have to testify.

“You can watch me work more closely. More extensively. And some of the other A.D.A.s, too. I can talk to them, explain the situation, so they’ll know to expect your questions. And I’ll try to be more available, too. I can teach you some of what I’ve learned. About the judges, or the jury. About the witnesses. About knowing when to attempt a Hail Mary and when to shut up.

“I think that could help, at least for a while. Until you decide what to do. That way you won’t feel like you’re wasting your time. How does that sound?”

Sonny smiles.

That hurts.

It sounds amazing, but it hurts.

Barba wants to help him.

Still.

Barba is the one who got him that job interview in the first place.

Barba has always seen Sonny’s potential, and maybe their personal relationship isn’t what it used to be, because Sonny is too angry for his own good, but that doesn’t mean that Barba will let him flounder.

“That sounds great. Thank you, counselor. I appreciate it. Hey, can I shadow you again, too? I learned so much the last time.”

Barba grins, like that’s a good memory for him as well.

Sonny hopes it is. Working that case, side by side with Barba, it was the most fun he’s ever had on the job, in his entire life.

“No. I’m afraid not, Carisi. Fun as that was, it wouldn’t be appropriate to repeat it. You’re not a law student anymore. You’re just a detective.”

That makes sens-

“For now.”

There it is again.

Barba, seeing Sonny’s potential.

It would be heartwarming if it didn’t hurt so much. Sonny thinks h-

“Of course, if you decide to leave the force, that’s a different story. You could shadow me, as a young attorney. And then, if you decide to go into private practice for a while, that could be arranged. I know a lot of people. With your experience as an SVU detective, I’m sure we could find a spot for you at a criminal law firm.”

Barba makes everything sound so easy.

When Sonny thinks about his future, he gets restless. That’s why he snaps. He feels stagnant, stuck in a bad place and going nowhere.

When Barba talks about it, it’s like a door opens.

Like there’s a way out.

Some problems can’t be fixed.

Sonny’s temper, maybe Sonny’s love life, too, they’re beyond salvation.

Barba seems determined to help him with the rest.

And it’s working.

With every word Barba says, that door opens up a little wider, and it’s making Sonny think he didn’t waste all those years studyin-

“So there’s no need to feel trapped. Okay, Carisi? You still have options. You still have time. And… And friends. Remember that. You still have friends. Maybe that can ease some of the pressure. Help with your anger.”

Oh.

This isn’t just about Sonny’s professional future.

Barba isn’t trying to help him get a job.

It’s not about that.

Barba is trying to help Sonny be less angry.

As a friend.

Barba wants to fix all of Sonny’s problems, apparently, even the ones that are beyond salvation, and that hurts, too.

Barba’s awkward smile, it hurts, because Sonny knows he’s done nothing to deserve it.

Not latel-

“Look, Carisi, I noticed you’ve been having some issues with your temper. I’m not blind. You were the happiest cop I’ve ever met, but your mood has been deteriorating for months. I just assumed it was because of the job. I, uh… Liv may have mentioned something to that effect. She said you told her that being a cop changes you for the worse.

“You weren’t wrong. You wouldn’t be the first bright-eyed rookie to get jaded after a couple of years at SVU. That’s why I helped you get that job interview in Brooklyn. I thought it would be a shame for such a…For such a kind person to, uh… I didn’t want you to lose that. That kindness.”

Sonny is speechless.

He never knew Barba’s reasons for setting up that interview. Or why it happened right after his very first outburst, his first relapse, during the Sean Roberts case. Sonny always wondered why Barba would do something that nice for him, practically five minutes after being yelled at.

Even then, Sonny felt stuck.

Angry.

He was starting to regret his decision to stay, after Dodds, after everyone kept acting like Dodds had never existed, Sonny was starting to think that letting his entire future hinge on that one loss was a bad idea.

Barba could see that.

Even then.

Barba was trying to give him options. The job interview, it ended up making things worse, because Sonny blew it, but Barba’s heart was in the right place.

Sonny smiles.

Barba has a heart.

Barba wanted to preserve Sonny’s ‘kindness.’ Whatever that means. Barba wanted to protect him, in some weird way, to shield him from further damage, and that’s beyond anything Sonny would ever expect from a colleague, or even a friend.

Sonny had no idea.

Knowing that, knowing somebody cared enough to do that, it’s uplifting. Knowing Barba cared enough to d-

“What I didn’t realize was that your temper issues predated your time at SVU. Had I known that, I would have… I would have… I don’t know. I would have handled things differently. I would have talked to you, instead of letting you freeze me out. We could have had this conversation sooner.”

Sonny thinks that would have been nice.

In another life.

“In your defense, counselor, I was hiding it pretty well. I had you thinkin’ I was a walking ray of sunshine. No way you could have known.”

Barba scoffs.

He looks irritated again.

Sonny knows what that means now.

“You weren’t hiding it, Carisi. You were managing it. Very well. For years. Which means you can manage it again.”

‘Again.’

Barba makes everything sound so easy.

Sonny can be kind again.

Calm, again.

The damage is done, it was done a long time ago, but Sonny was managing it. For years, Sonny was happy.

Maybe he can be happy again, too.

With Barba’s help.

When Barba talks, it’s like a door opens. Sonny has been trapped in a tiny, windowless room, and Barba’s support is opening the door, Barba’s smile is tearing down the walls, and the air comes in, and Sonny can see outside, again, like he used to, befor-

“I know we’ve drifted apart, Carisi. I know you’ve distanced yourself, but that doesn’t mean you can’t reach out to me. Even now. I’m intimately familiar with guilt, and resentment, and grief. And anger, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. If you want to talk, I’m here. If you have something to say, you can tell m-”

“I’m not over it.”

Barba is startled into silence.

Sonny doesn’t blame him.

That came out of nowhere. Sonny meant to say something else, something like, ‘Thank you,’ but that came out instead, and it’s too late to take it back.

So Sonny doubles down.

“You. I’m not over you.”

Barba stares, eyes wide, just like in that corridor, before everything fell apart.

“My infatuation. My feelings. Whatever you wanna call it. I’m not over you, Barba. Just so you know.”

“Oh.”

Barba is breathing very slowly.

He is very still.

Sonny can see his pulse, ticking, slowly, a small flicker flashing on Barba’s dark neck. His tan hasn’t even faded y-

“Is that why things didn’t work out between you and your friend?”

Sonny can’t believe this is Barba’s first question.

Sonny loves that this is Barba’s first question.

“Maybe. It’s… It’s just another reason why I’ve been so angry. ‘Cause I can’t get anything I want. I couldn’t get that job in Brooklyn, and I couldn’t get…”

Sonny couldn’t get Barba.

Or so he thought.

Sonny takes a deep breath.

“I admire you, counselor. I told you that, before. And I, uh, you know. I’m infatuated. With you.”

Barba lets out a huff of laughter.

Possibly because Sonny deemed it necessary to use air quotes around ‘infatuated.’

Whatever.

“Whatever. I just wanted to do you proud. I wanted a way out, like I said, ‘cause being a cop is taking a toll on me, and I wanted to make somethin’ of myself, I wanted to put my degree to good use, but I also wanted to do you proud. You got me that job interview, and you gave me a glowing recommendation, and don’t even bother denyin’ it ‘cause La Rossa told me, and then I let you down. And… That hit me kinda hard. I felt like I couldn’t look you in the eye, after that.”

“What?”

Barba looks horrified.

Like Sonny just said the craziest thing.

Sonny’s left eye twitches.

He’s an idiot.

Sonny wishes he could turn back time. He wants to go back to the very moment he got that stupid rejection email, and he wants to go tell Past Barba all about it. He wants to ask Past Barba out for a drink to commiserate, and he wants to whine, like a normal person, he wants Past Sonny to complain until Past Barba’s ears fall off. He wants to tell Past Sonny not to alienate himself, he wants to tell Past Sonny he has friends, he has a friend in Barba, he has more, in Barba, and he wants to erase the last six months from existence.

Unfortunately, that’s not an option.

What’s done is done, and now Sonny needs to move on.

This conversation, it’s a good start.

Sonny needs to finish it.

“Yeah. It all snowballed from there. I was angry ‘cause I was stuck at SVU, I was angry ‘cause I had a great opportunity to leave and I blew it, I was angry ‘cause I made you look bad to La Rossa and your old colleagues at the Brooklyn D.A.’s office. That’s why I never told you what happened. Because I knew… Because you… Because I knew you’d think less of me. I always wanted you to see me as an equal, and… And I wasn’t. I wasn’t good enough for that job. Or good enough for you.”

Barba doesn’t blink for what feels like ten minutes.

“That’s why you stopped spending time with me? Because you thought… Who said you’re not good enough for… Who said you let me down, Carisi? Who said we’re not equals? Where are you getting all this? I don’t recall you ever asking me. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Sonny can’t resist.

“You mean words like, ‘Save it for night school,’ and ‘Booyah, Fordham Law,’ and, ‘Like a broken clock’?”

Barba sighs very aggressively.

“Don’t. Don’t try to change the subject. We’re not talking about your job performance anymore.”

Sonny’s heart starts pounding, and for once it’s not because he’s angry.

“We’re not?”

“No.”

Barba’s ‘no’ is immediate, and honest, and resolute.

Sonny decides to follow his example.

“Okay. I never asked you, ‘cause I didn’t wanna know. It was easier to assume you were gonna turn me down. I didn’t have to hear it. I didn’t wanna give myself one more reason to be mad. At you. At myself. You said it, I distanced myself, and you never made an effort to stop me, so I figured I was doin’ you a favor. I didn’t think you cared, Barba. Obviously, I was wrong. I know that now. Obviously you do care, so I w-”

“Hold on, Carisi. ‘Obviously’? I’m not sure what you think you know, especially since you seem to be so fond of jumping to conclusions, but I would be careful about making assumptions, if I were you.”

Sonny grins.

Just like that, they’re back to their old ways. Sonny, teasing Barba about having a heart, and Barba vehemently denying he has ever had a pulse.

Flirting.

Just like old times.

It feels so excruciatingly good.

So easy.

“It’s not an assumption. In this one conversation, you’ve been more of a friend to me than anybody else. Even though I haven’t been much of a friend to you. I’ve been avoiding you, for months. When we do talk, half the time I end up flying off the handle for no reason.

“I’ve been acting like we’re strangers. I’ve been acting like I didn’t spend two years trying to please you. Like I didn’t lose ten years of my life, when I heard you were getting death threats. Like I didn’t spend two weeks without sleep, until we caught the guys who hired Heredio to stalk you.

“I haven’t been a friend to you, Barba, but you still want to help me. So yeah. You care about me. Obviously. I’m an idiot for thinking you didn’t.”

Barba purses his lips, like he’s trying not to smile.

Like he’s trying not to show his delight, in hearing Sonny putting it all out there.

Like he’s trying not to agree. Like he really wants to say that, yes, Sonny is an idiot, but he knows he can’t, because then he’d be admitting that he does care, and that’s not gonna happ-

“You are an idiot.”

Sonny has never been happier to be called an idiot, in his entire life.

“Alright. Good. So, can I ask you now?”

Barba’s right eyebrow rises, like a dare.

“Ask me what?”

Sonny rolls his eyes.

“Can I ask if you if, uh… If I… Um.”

Dammit.

And Sonny was doing so well.

He’s been honest with Barba so far, for the most part, but there’s one last thing he needs to confess.

“I wanna ask you what I was gonna ask, if I’d gotten the job. I told you I had plans, counselor. Becoming an A.D.A. was just part of them. See, if I weren’t with Manhattan SVU anymore, if I were working in a different borough, there wouldn’t be a conflict of interest. If we, uh. You know. If you and me were to, uh…”

Barba smirks.

“You and I.”

Just like old times.

“Yeah, yeah. You and I. There wouldn’t be a conflict of interest if you and I were to start dating. Now, I’m still a cop, and technically we shouldn’t do this, but I’m askin’ anyway. And I’m hoping you can forget the last six months ever happened, ‘cause Lord knows I wouldn’t wanna date an asshole like me.”

Barba is pursing his lips again.

“But you want to date an asshole like me.”

Sonny laughs.

He missed this.

So much.

Sonny let his anger overwhelm him, Sonny let his anger deprive him of pleasures like joy, and laughter, and Barba’s jokes, and hope, but maybe he can be happy again. He already feels calmer than he has in months.

Free.

Sonny feels free.

“I’d be honored to date an asshole like you, Barba. So, what do you say? Do I have a shot?”

Barba smiles in a way he hasn’t, for a very long time.

With affection.

“Well, I’d say you’re a well-rounded applicant, with excellent credentials, but I fear you might lack the necessary experience.”

Sonny knows rejection when he sees it.

This isn’t it.

Barba is teasing.

Just like Sonny suspected, Barba did read that email from the Brooklyn D.A.’s office, and now he’s even quoting it, on purpose, just to tease Sonny.

Even so, Sonny can’t bring himself to get mad.

Which is a first.

“I see how it is, Barba. I need some experience to date a man like you. Of course.”

Sonny had forgotten how much he loves Barba’s smug little smirks.

“I see you’re back to kissing my ass again, Carisi. The balance is restored.”

Sonny is back to flirting, actually, except this time he’s not relying on vague compliments and friendly smiles. He’s not making excuses about conflicts of interest. He’s not letting his temper dictate his life.

And he’s not taking Barba’s answer for granted, either.

This time Sonny is asking.

This time he’s holding the dice.

“Just for the record, what I lack in experience I make up for in enthusiasm.”

Barba actually licks his lips.

Sonny almost forgets what he was going to say next.

“That being said, I do have some experience. I just don’t know if you’ll find it up to your standards. Tell you what, if you need a reference, you can call Miss 34B. She can tell you all about it. Her name’s Claire, by the w-”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Barba can dish it out, but he can’t take it. His smirk is gone. He’s scowling.

He’s jealous.

He’s shooting Sonny a dirty look, and it’s exaggerated, because it’s supposed to be a joke, but Sonny knows it’s at least fifteen percent serious, if not more. Sonny knows Barba really did get a little bit jealous, and Sonny missed this so damn much.

Their banter.

Their closeness.

That tangible sense of hope that, any minute now, Barba just might kiss him, even if it’s never happened so far.

Sonny used to be in a constant state of hope.

He missed that.

He missed Barba.

“So, what’s it gonna be, counselor?”

Barba doesn’t answer immediately. He wants to make this difficult. Sonny knew it was a mistake to mention Claire ag-

“I didn’t hear a question.”

Of course.

“What, I gotta spell it out? Fine. Would you like to join me for a drink, Barba? Tonight? As soon as you’re done here? Think of it as an apology. For me bein’ an asshole to you, all this time.”

Barba makes a face.

“Can we stop with all this talk about assholes? You…”

Sonny regrets it literally as it happens, but a snort still escapes him.

Barba is not amused, at least going by the way he mutters, ‘Jesus Christ,’ under his breath. Which only makes Sonny want to laugh even hard-

“As I was saying, you made your point. You were going through a difficult time, and that affected your temper. It happens to the best of us. That doesn’t make you an asshole. It wasn’t even that bad. You only think it was, because you’re normally so sweet. Your version of being an asshole is me being slightly nicer than usual.”

Perspective.

Sonny needed to hear th-

“So stop beating yourself up over this. You have enough to feel guilty about. We all do. Forget about how your temper may have affected others. Focus on how it affected you. You don’t like yourself when you’re angry, so focus on that. Worry about that. Don’t worry about me. I don’t need an apology.”

Under any other circumstances, Sonny would be genuinely moved. Barba keeps proving just how much he cares, with every word that comes out of his mouth, and that’s kind of beautiful.

Under these circumstances, Sonny is distracted by the actual words coming out of Barba’s mouth.

He called Sonny sweet.

The Old Sonny, at least. Then again, the more they talk, the longer Barba smiles, the closer Barba gets to saying yes, the more the Old Sonny merges with the New.

There used to be one Sonny, for all seasons.

Maybe that can happen again.

On an unrelated note, Sonny is pretty sure Barba paraphrased The Hulk, right in the middle of that compassionate speech, and that’s kind of beautiful, too, in its own way, and Sonn-

“But to answer your question, yes, I will join you for a drink. And I’m buying. We can celebrate my return, after that brief suspension. Think of it as proof I actually wanted to keep my job. Or, I don’t know. Proof I might actually be happy, after all.”

Sonny doesn’t know what to say.

He made Barba happy.

Just now, with that poorly worded invitation to get a drink.

With this entire conversation, maybe.

That’s what Barba meant.

They talked, and they explained, and they flirted, and now Barba ‘might actually be happy.’

Barba wasn’t happy before.

Sonny wasn’t happy either.

Sonny has to struggle to remember the last time he felt happy, before walking into Barba’s office this afternoon.

It was probably at that bar, after Mike’s funeral, after the death threats, when Barba smiled and said, ‘I’m not worried. Not in here,’ and then they clinked their glasses.

Sonny was a mess, that day, but that gave him an overwhelming sense of joy.

Knowing that Barba felt safe with him.

That’s what Barba meant.

‘I’m not worried. Not in here. Not with you.’

That was a long time ago.

Months and months.

That’s a long time to be unhappy.

Even if you’re used to it, like Sonny is.

Or was.

Barba made him happy.

Just now.

Just talking.

Just saying, ‘yes.’

It doesn’t take much to make either of them happy, apparently. Sonny wishes they had figured that out sooner.

Better late than never.

Plus, if they’re happy now, Sonny can only imagine how they’ll feel when they’re on their date, later tonight. A few drinks in, at a quiet bar, sitting as close as the seats will allow, and leaning in, maybe, and th-

“Let’s go, Carisi.”

Sonny is caught off guard, right in the middle of a daydream, and he gets weirdly nostalgic, because that used to happen all the time.

It takes him a moment to understand what Barba is saying.

There won’t be a ‘later tonight.’ Barba wants them to leave for their date immediately.

“Go? What, right now? We can’t just go. It’s barely six o’clock.”

Barba gives Sonny a deadpan look, and Sonny can just hear the unspoken, ‘Thank you, Carisi, but I can tell time,’ and that feels pretty nostalgic too.

Just like old times.

“Yes, Carisi. Right now. I don’t have to clock out. I can just take the rest of the afternoon off. The perks of being an A.D.A. You wouldn’t know.”

Sonny laughs.

Sonny laughs as Barba stands up and puts on his jacket.

Sonny laughs and stares, noticing just how tight Barba’s shirt is on him, and how the suspenders are accentuating his chest.

Sonny doesn’t know how he lived without this, for six whole months.

And by ‘this’ he means both ogling at Barba, and laughing.

Sonny hasn’t laughed freely in a long time. Not without holding back. Not without consciously ignoring his burdens.

Maybe that’s why it’s flooding out, now.

Why it seems so easy, now, even as Barba is joking about the benefits of the job Sonny couldn’t get. A week ago, a day ago, even, that would have set him off.

Now, Sonny can laugh about it.

It wasn’t even that funny of a joke, but Sonny is happy, and that’s enough. It’s enough to know that Barba isn’t flaunting, he’s teasing, and he cares about Sonny, and Sonny can laugh now.

Sonny isn’t angry anymore.

That’s enough.

Of course, knowing that he’s about to go on a date with Barba doesn’t hurt either.

Speaking of, Sonny really needs to get a move on, because Barba is ready to go, coat and scarf and briefcase and all, and he’s still sitting on that same chair with a doting smile on his face, a leftover from the laughter.

Barba is smiling too, as he waits for Sonny to get up.

Sonny missed this.

The smiles.

The fond looks.

Those silent moments of waiting for something.

The long hours he used to spend in Barba’s office, staring, and trying to pay attention, and daydreaming about what might happen, if he ever made a move.

Or if Barba ever made a move. That was always more intense, in Sonny’s head. It was always out of the blue, and passionate, and mind-blowing.

Sonny wonders how he ever got any work done.

Wait.

Work.

Sonny is just now realizing that, unlike Barba, he is not, in fact, an A.D.A. and he does, in fact, need to clock out.

“Um, I still have a couple of hours left until the end of my shift, Barba. I can’t just take off without tellin’ anybody.”

Barba smirks.

Probably because, despite the feeble protest, Sonny still got up, and put on his coat, and is practically with one foot out the door.

Sonny isn’t missing out on this date for nothing. He’ll just call in sick. Liv won’t m-

“Oh? What did you tell Liv, by the way? About this meeting? Let me guess. ‘Sorry, I’ll need an hour to cuss Barba out, but then I’ll be right back to finish my shift.’ How dedicated. At any rate, don’t worry about Liv. I’ll just text her on the way. Tell her it’s my fault you’re not coming back. Tell her I kept you busy and we lost track of time.”

Barba’s smirk makes that sound a lot dirtier than it should.

Also, Sonny simply told Liv he needed to ‘talk’ to Barba, and that wasn’t a lie, even though Barba’s version would have been a lot more truthful and a little mor-

“Have you eaten yet, Carisi? Probably not. Where would you find the time? You’ve been too busy seething all day. That burns a lot of calories, you know. That’s how I maintain my willowy form.”

Sonny is laughing again. Twice in a couple of minutes.

Not because Barba basically asked him out to dinner.

Not because Barba made a joke about that not-so-willowy form Sonny is particularly fond of.

It wasn’t even that funny of a joke.

Sonny is laughing because Barba joked about his temper.

Casually.

As a friend.

As more than that.

Sonny was always worried that confiding in people about his anger would change things.

He was worried he’d be treated with kid gloves, afterwards. He was worried he’d see pity in the eyes of friends. Or judgment. Or fear, like he has in the past. He was worried he’d get one shot to explain, just one awkward conversation, and then nothing. And then, they’d never mention it again. And then, a polite nod, maybe, or an overly earnest look of sympathy and a total inability to relate.

It’s not easy to talk about these things, but it’s not easy to listen, either.

That’s why Sonny never told anybody before.

He always assumed people would rather avoid the issue altogether.

Not Barba.

Barba is tackling it head-on.

Barba isn’t worried Sonny might get angry, or upset at the mere mention of it, and that thought gives Sonny an unexpected sense of relief.

Knowing that Barba won’t ignore that part of him, because it’d be more convenient to pretend their conversation never happened.

Knowing that Barba is willing to joke about it.

No kid gloves.

No pity.

No judgment.

No fear whatsoever.

Nothing’s changed between them.

Barba still teases Sonny, except now they’ve confided in each other, so Barba has even more ammo.

Maybe that’s changed.

They have the dirt on each other now, except it’s not really dirt, it’s just truth.

Not all change is bad.

They’re closer now, and Sonny welcomes it, because it means they can get personal with their teasing, they can mention his temper, or Barba’s little paunch, not that Sonny would ever joke about that, or th-

“Let’s have an early dinner, first. I think that’s a good idea. We shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach. Who knows what might happen if we were to get drunk?”

Another smirk.

That’s changed, too.

Barba never used to be so blatant with his innuendo.

Even when he’d get a little more daring, Barba would only use suggestive language when he was at a safe distance, usually sitting behind his desk.

Which was courteous, because it afforded Sonny the opportunity to blush semi-discreetly, and delude himself into thinking Barba wouldn’t notice. That desk, separating them, it allowed Sonny to avoid eye contact until the paleness had fully returned to his face.

That’s not possible right now.

Barba is looking directly into Sonny’s eyes.

He’s standing right in front of Sonny, barely a step away, and he’s looking up, and Sonny swears his smirk is ten times more potent from up-close.

His cologne, too.

By the way, just for the record, Sonny knows exactly what would happen if they were to get drunk. He’s pictured it, a million tim-

“Should I take your slack-jawed stare as a yes, Carisi?”

Just like old times.

Kind of.

Sonny got caught daydreaming again, but this time he has a comeback.

“Sure. Sure, counselor. It’s a yes. I mean, an ‘early dinner’ does sound kinda geriatric, but I get it. At your age, it’s recommended to have dinner at six o’clock at the latest. It’s better for your digestive system.”

Barba rolls his eyes.

Sonny missed this the most.

Barba’s fond eye-rolls.

Teasing Barba in return.

It’s fun to tease him back. Especially now, that they’re closer, and they can get personal with th-

“I really wish you hadn’t said that, Carisi.”

Oh.

Maybe they’re not that close, after all.

Wait.

They’re not.

They’re even closer.

Barba is taking that extra step, and there’s no more space between them, and they’re kissing.

Actually no, they’re not ‘kissing.’

They ‘kissed.’

Past tense.

It was over before Sonny even knew it started.

It was out of the blue, but it wasn’t passionate and it sure as hell wasn’t mind-blowing.

Sonny barely even felt it.

Barba planted one on him, a quick peck on the lips, and it’s over now, and Sonny is currently standing there, with his jaw to the floor, thinking about how the last thing he did before their first kiss was joke about Barba’s hypothetical indigestion.

Very smooth.

Not that Barba is faring better. That wasn’t much of a first kiss. Barba was pretty cavalier up until a moment ago, smirking and kissing Sonny all casual and easy, but after that dud, he looks almost timid.

For some stupid reason.

As if Sonny didn’t love every second of that kiss he doesn’t even remember.

Which is fine.

It’s all the more reason to kiss Barba again.

And that’s exactly what Sonny does.

Sonny goes for it, he leans in, and the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is the return of Barba’s smirk.

The last thing he hears is a small thud, and he guesses it’s Barba’s briefcase, dropping to the floor.

The last thing he feels is Barba’s hands on his jaw.

And then they kiss.

Again.

It’s not a deep kiss. It’s soft, and slow, and Sonny can feel Barba’s fingers moving to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, he can feel Barba’s chest, rising and falling, against his own, he can feel Barba’s stubble, against is face, Sonny can feel Barba’s tongue brushing against his lips, and this is pretty mind-blowing.

And then Sonny wraps his arms around Barba’s waist, and he squeezes, and Barba moans, low, right into Sonny’s mouth, and if Sonny thought he was happy before, he was sorely mistaken.

And then it ends again.

The kiss ends.

Fortunately, Barba lingers this time.

Their faces stay touching. Their noses stay buried in each other’s cheeks. Sonny can feel Barba’s breath, coming and going, a warm beat against his lips. With each breath, Sonny feels a tiny shred of anger, evaporating.

Leftovers.

It’s like Barba’s breath is cleansing him. Every part of him.

Sonny hasn’t felt this calm in years.

And then Barba leans in for more, nose rubbing against Sonny’s, head tilting to switch sides, and this kiss does get deep, and passionate, and Barba keeps sucking on Sonny’s bottom lip, and tugging at the hair on the nape of Sonny’s neck, Barba keeps moaning, getting louder the longer they kiss, getting closer, the longer they kiss, Barba keeps pressing against Sonny, and then Sonny no longer feels calm.

In a good way.

For once.

Sonny doesn’t th-

“Alright. Now that we got that out of the way, can we go have dinner? It’s after six. We’re cutting it close. I don’t like to gamble when it comes to my digestive health.”

Sonny laughs.

Again.

How could he not?

How could Sonny not laugh, when Barba looks so happy?

Sonny keeps laughing as Barba picks up his briefcase and they leave his office.

Together.

Sort of.

Barba lags behind, just a few steps, and Sonny turns around in time to see him talking to Carmen.

“I’ll be taking the rest of the day off. Cancel my 7 o’clock with Harrison’s attorney. Don’t reschedule yet. Let them sweat. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Simple as that.

Maybe someday, maybe in a year or three, Sonny will be doing that too. Enjoying the perks of being an A.D.A. Cancelling meetings, and letting scumbags sweat, just so he can go on a date. With Barba, hopefully. If he’s lucky. If Barba is lucky, maybe they can still have early dinners together, years from n-

“Of course. Have a nice evening, Mr. Barba. Detective, you too.”

Sonny grins.

Carmen totally knows, going by her fleeting smile.

And Barba knows that she knows, going by his fleeting scowl.

Sonny decides to push his luck and say something ‘funny,’ like he used to.

That’s another thing Sonny missed. His own terrible jokes. Is that weird?

Probably.

Sonny is about to tell Carmen he’ll take real good care of her boss, when he feels warmth, on the small of his back.

It’s Barba’s hand.

Leading him outside.

It’s possible Barba could tell Sonny was about to say something dumb, and the hand is meant to shush him.

It’s also possible that Barba just wanted to touch Sonny.

Sonny doesn’t know which explanation he prefers.

He just knows he’s grinning even wider, as Barba catches up to him and they walk away, side by side.

He just knows they’re going on a date.

An early dinner, and then drinks, and then God knows what.

Actually, Sonny knows exactly what.

He’s pictured it a million times.

~ ~ ~

Sonny can’t sit still.

He’s too impatient.  

Too energized.

Too happy.

It’s a slow day, and it’s still early, and he’s been trying to distract himself with a crossword puzzle, but it’s not really working.

Mostly because he gets stuck on every other word.

Sonny never liked crossword puzzles.

Still, it’s a better distraction than most. It looks professional, at least, when he’s on his desk, pen in hand, jotting something down every few seconds. It sure beats him playing a random game on his phone, and looking like he’s goofing off on the job.

Sonny isn’t goofing off. As soon as they get a case, he’ll get right on it, with his usual dedication.

Just without his usual anger.

Until then, this is a slow day, and it’s still early, and Sonny is impatient, and he’s stuck on another word again, and he needs to get up to stretch his legs.

The first thing he sees, as he paces across the station, is Fin, looking antsy.

Antsier than Sonny, even.

Which makes him an even better distraction.

“Hey, any word?”

“No. Stop asking?”

Whoa.

That Sergeant’s exam is sure making Fin lose his cool.

Sonny is kind of glad to see this new side of him. It’s a pleasant surprise. It’s good to know that Sonny wasn’t the exception, when he was freaking out about the results of the bar exam. It’s good to know that even a guy like Fin can get nervous.

It’s almost cute.

In fact, if Fin weren’t Fin, Sonny would tell him just that.

As it is, Sonny just shrugs.

“Alright. It’s just, you know. Sergeant Tutuola’s got a nice ring to it.”

Fin’s glare is enough to get Sonny to turn on his heel.

Sonny is so eager to retreat, that he almost bumps into Jeff from Booking.

Which might be a good thing.

“Hey, what is a ten-letter word for ‘bad luck’?”

Jeff doesn’t seem inclined to help.

Either that, or he’s just as bad at crosswords as Sonny is.

Unfortunately, without Jeff’s help, Sonny is gonna be stuck on that damn word for a whil-

“Misfortune.”

Liv to the rescue.

As always.

Sonny goes back to his desk and fills in the word with enthusiasm. It’s a long one, which means it’s gonna help him figure out a bunch of the other words, too.

And that’s enough to put a smile on his face, apparently.

At least when he’s in a good mood.

And Sonny is in a great mood.

He has another date with Barba.

A late dinner, this time.

At Sonny’s place.

That’s what’s got him all invigorated.

And jittery.

And happy.

It’s a slow day, and it’s still early, and Sonny is happy, and his date with Barba isn’t for another eight hours, and he’s been trying to distract himself with a crossword puzzle, but it’s not really working, because this time it’s gonna be differen-

Sonny’s phone buzzes.

He knows it’s Barba before he even looks.

‘Do you want me to ask Liv to let you off early?’

Oh.

That’s promising.

Probably.

Sonny grins as he types.

‘Why? You can’t wait to see me?’

Sonny counts the seconds until Barba’s next text.

Not in anticipation. He just wants to know how long Barba’s eye-roll will last.

Fourteen seconds.

‘I can wait just fine, Sonny. I just want to make sure you’ll have enough time to cook. You know I can’t eat after six. Unless you want to give me heartburn.’

Sonny doesn’t even know where to start.

Barba calls him ‘Sonny’ now.

That’s a good starting point.

And they have an inside joke.

At least that’s what Sonny likes to call it, even though he knows Barba is just rubbing it in. The fact Sonny saw it fit to call him ‘geriatric’ when they were about to kiss.

In Sonny’s defense, he didn’t know that at the time.

Hell, he barely knew they were kissing while it was happening.

Truth be told, Sonny has teased Barba about that fiasco of a first kiss plenty of times, so he figures it’s only fair if he catches a little grief, too.

Also, yes, Sonny is cooking tonight. And he is beyond ready.

And beyond jittery. Like, way beyond.

‘Don’t you worry, Barba. I got the groceries in the fridge, and I finished my meal prep this morning. Dinner will be on your plate by 5:59.’

Sonny still calls him Barba.

It just feels right.

Also, yes, Sonny did wake up one hour earlier, just to chop up some vegetables and make a marinade.

Only the best for Barb-

‘Meal prep? Is that why it took you over a month to cook for me? You needed all that time to prepare?’

Sonny would be hard-pressed to say no.

He did promise to cook for Barba a while ago. On their very first date, in fact, right after Barba complained his chicken was dry, within earshot of their waiter, in classic Barba style.

The thing is, Barba isn’t wrong.

It takes time to plan a fancy meal.

And it’s going to be very fancy, thank-you-very-much. Barba is clearly a harsh critic, in everything from fashion, to literature, to legal arguments, to classic Italian meals, and Sonny wants to make a good first impression. He just hasn’t had time to cook anything intricate, before tonight. Sonny didn’t want to make a quick pasta for Barba, like he does for all his friends.

Barba deserves a four-course meal.

And it takes time to enjoy a fancy meal, too.

On some days, Sonny and Barba barely have time to eat. Food tends to take a backseat when you’re only free for an hour or two. Sharing a meal can be fun, but they usually prefer to spend their time together a little more creatively.

They’ve actually cancelled four separate dinner dates because of work. The first time, Sonny was all torn up, until Barba said he’d drop by with a pizza, as soon as he was done.

They’ve been having a lot of pizza, this past month.

It’s time for a home-cooked meal.

‘Only the best for you, Barba.’

Sonny stares at his phone for a few seconds, even though he knows it’s no use.

Barba won’t text back.

He won’t send a, ‘See you tonight,’ or a, ‘Looking forward to it,’ or a, ‘Thank you for offering to make dinner, Sonny,’ or even a, ‘Have a nice day,’ like a normal person might.

Like a normal boyfriend might.

That’s Barba’s thing, apparently. He always does this. He doesn’t bother to send a simple, ‘Okay,’ sometimes, even when the conversation requires it. Whenever Sonny asks about it later, he always says, ‘It’s implied, Sonny,’ or, ‘I have better things to do than send you single-word texts.’

Unfortunately, that’s information Sonny didn’t have when they first started dating. He is mildly ashamed to admit that, on the morning after their first date, he sent a desperate, ‘You there, Barba?’ after twenty minutes of getting no response.

Barba immediately replied, ‘Yes.’

Period and all. Just to make a point.  

Sonny knows better now.

That’s the real dirt on Barba. He doesn’t text back.

Which is a small price to pay, if you want to call him your boyfriend.

Not that Sonny does that.

Not out loud.

Not yet.

Anyway.

It’s back to the crossword puzzle.

Actually, maybe Sonny should go bug Fin again. It’s been a few minutes. Maybe the exam results were posted while he was texting Barba.

It’s worth a shot. If only to see Fin’s expression when he tells Sonny to buzz off.

Sonny missed that too.

Not being told to buzz off, of course. Not exactly.

Sonny just missed going around the precinct and annoying everybody with his eagerness.

With his happiness.

He used to do that all the time.

Sonny was pretty happy. For years.

And now he’s happy again, and he’s back to bouncing off the walls with a grin on his face.

All day long.

All month long.

Why stop now?

Fin looks distracted with a phone call, so Sonny tries to get up as discreetly as he can. He figures it’s better if Fin doesn’t see him coming.

No such luck.

Fin cuts him off with a sharp glare.

Sonny sits his ass back down.

The crossword it is.

What’s a seven-letter word for t-

Wait.

Another text.

A whopping seven minutes later.

Maybe Barba is learning to be a little more demonstrative.

‘I spoke to A.D.A.  Mendez, she’s fine with you observing her on Thursday, on that double homicide trial, as long as you clear it with Liv first. You need to broaden your horizons, Sonny. Criminal Law isn’t just Special Victims.’

Or not.

Sonny smiles, anyway.

Barba is still helping him.

Barba is fixing all of Sonny’s problems, even those that seemed like they were beyond salvation.

The door is open.

There’s a way out, now.

Sonny is on his way out.

Out of that slump.

He feels happy now, because his previously unfortunate love life has suddenly picked up, and because he’s broadening his horizons professionally, and because things are going well, all courtesy of Barba, the love life especially, but Sonny knows he’s not done struggling.

Things won’t always go well.

Maybe Sonny will strike out on another job.

He probably will.

Maybe there’ll be another bad case.

There will definitely be another bad case.

Maybe Barba won’t always be there.

It’s certainly possible, likely, even, and Sonny needs to be ready to handle th-

‘See you tonight, Sonny. And I hope you haven’t made dessert. I made flan. My mother’s recipe.’

Oh.

Barba made flan.

His mother’s recipe.

For Sonny.

Also, and perhaps more importantly, he texted back.

Maybe Barba leaving is not that likely.

Sonny will be ready, either way.

For everything.

For good things, too.

Sonny had forgotten what it’s like to look forward to something.

To hope.

He remembers, now.

He hopes Barba will like his cooking.

He looks forward to trying Barba’s flan.

Happiness can be found anywhere.

Sonny remembers, now.

Barba opened that door, but Sonny will make sure it stays open.

‘I can’t wait.’

#barisi #sonny carisi #rafael barba #svu #episode tag #after about a million years #but it's a long one #and it deals with this entire season #and the canon status of barisi #this is fully canon compliant btw #oh and #rejected titles for this were #continuity #and #shade #make of that what you will #i love you all

[internetexplorersclub]

darkness & light

Hello friends. I know it’s been far, far, too long since I’ve sent out one of these—I’ve gotten a new job (and a freelance gig or two) so my time hasn’t quite been my own, but I want to get back into this newsletter because it’s something that I love, and a small amount of joy that I can bring people.

Before we get into that, one brief pause to recommend a piece in the New Yorker by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, who I posit is one of the best writers of our time. It’s called “Now Is the Time to Talk About What We Are Actually Talking About,” and I keep coming back to it in the few months since she wrote it:

Now is the time to resist the slightest extension in the boundaries of what is right and just. Now is the time to speak up and to wear as a badge of honor the opprobrium of bigots. Now is the time to confront the weak core at the heart of America’s addiction to optimism; it allows too little room for resilience, and too much for fragility.

Onward: I’ve been writing more for the Los Angeles Kings, on the subjects of the building of the Fabulous Forum, ARPANET, Ed Ruscha, historic preservation in LA, and Valley Girls. As a result, I’ve found quite a few articles on Los Angeles that I want to share.

First off, a discussion of the evolution of ‘Like.’ Then, because Clueless is one of the greatest films set in Los Angeles ever, take a tour of all the sights from the film. An Ode to the Valley before it changes. The Science and Poetry of the Light in Los Angeles, which I love so, so very much.

“That light: the late-afternoon light of Los Angeles—golden pink off the bay through the smog and onto the palm fronds. A light I’ve found myself pining for every day of the nearly two decades since I left Southern California.”

I’ve been fascinated by this tinyletter about dust, particularly this one that talks about the cleaning of the Houses of Parliament. Limestone, as it turns out, is porous, so you can’t power wash it like you can other façades. So an artist developed an installation of the rubber coating used to pull the dirt off the walls. The author does a much better job than I in discussing it, so please go forth and read!

I am obsessed with this art piece in the Mojave that makes it looks like the building is transparent

Having lived in the South for some time, I very early learned of the tradition of eating Hoppin’ John on the first day of the year. Serious Eats dove into why the dish is so often seen as bland, when traditional sources talk about it being delightful. Turns out a huge difference is the fact that the beans and rice we use today are drastically different from those in the Olden Tymes. On the other part of the continent, Sean Sherman, a Lakota chef, is working to research what Native people were eating pre-Contact—and is opening a restaurant (The Sioux Chef—!!!) to highlight the results of his work. If anyone wants to take a trip to Minneapolis to visit, please bring me along.

A memorial statue commemorating those lost in a mysterious octopus attack on the Staten Island Ferry appeared recently.

Lots of great science news! First of all, this piece argues that we need a new definition of magma. I do understand the reasoning behind this, because when one says “a magma chamber is under Yellowstone,” it gives one the impression it’s completely liquid, when it’s more semi-solid.

How Do You Dismantle a 90-Ton Whale? Start With a Strong Stomach and a Machete. My favorite quote is obviously this one: “Dead whales are usually blubber-wrapped buckets of soup by the time they wash ashore. These whales were a gift.” but this is also a great peek into the world of blue whale research, which is apparently difficult because the whales tend to sink (!!!) instead of float once they die.

A sheep and wheat map of Australia, because why not

Long Reads: The LA Times did a serialized version of the story of a woman in Irvine who a fellow PTA mom tried to frame for drug smuggling (!!!) (67 minutes). Vanity Fair interviews Lee Radziwill about her “complicated sisterhood” with Jackie Kennedy (35 minutes). A deeper dive into the life of the mountain lions of Griffith Park, of which our dear beloved P-22 is the most famous (28 minutes).

Etcetera: I literally cannot top this headline: Princess Beatrice ‘slices Ed Sheeran’s face with ceremonial sword’ while attempting to 'knight’ James Blunt at party.  There is an electric eel who “tweets” every time he zaps. Exorcism in Italy a job 'too scary’ for young priests.

#internet explorers club

[newstfionline]

Trump Budget Cuts Put Struggling Americans on Edge

By Sabrina Tavernise and Trip Gabriel, NY Times, March 17, 2017

Regina Feltner, a retired nurse, was recovering from side effects of radiation therapy when she got the notice that her heat would be cut off. It was a bone-cold January day. The snow was so high that her daughter had to come over to take the dog out.

“I have lung cancer and it’s the dead of winter,” she remembers thinking. “What am I going to do?”

Help came in the form of a heating subsidy: money from the federal government, delivered by the Highland County Community Action Organization, a small nonprofit in rural southern Ohio, where Ms. Feltner lives.

Now, that program is on the chopping block. It is one of many cuts in President Trump’s new budget proposal that would inflict the deepest pain on the most vulnerable Americans--a great number of whom voted for him.

“I understand what he’s trying to do, but I think he’s just not stopping to think that there are people caught in the middle he is really going to hurt,” said Ms. Feltner, 57, who was a nurse for 25 years and voted for Mr. Trump. “He needs to make some concessions for that. I was a productive citizen. Don’t make me feel worthless now.”

As news of Mr. Trump’s budget begins to sink in across the country, Americans are trying to parse what the changes to the government’s spending plan might mean for them. It is only a proposal, an opening bid in what is likely to be a protracted public argument over national priorities. But it is important because it signals what the new president is thinking, his wish list for the size and shape of government.

In two days of interviews with beneficiaries of programs at risk in 11 states, many people said they did not see themselves reflected in Mr. Trump’s vision for the government. And some felt surprise at what has been left out.

Ms. Feltner said that without the heating subsidy she would probably have to move in with her daughter and two teenage grandchildren. “I’d still like to have a little dignity left, and not have to move in with someone else,” she said. “I used to be the one packing up the food in the food pantry for people,” she said. “Now I’m the one in line.”

Another proposed cut would defund the Appalachian Regional Commission, which was founded in 1965 to strengthen economic growth in a 13-state swath of the country. Of the 420 counties in the commission’s footprint, 399 voted for Mr. Trump.

“I hate to see him cut us,” said Chris Farley, 32, of Delbarton, W.Va., who was laid off from his job operating a drill at a surface coal mine in 2015 and is now in a jobs and education program partially funded by the commission.

Mr. Farley worked in coal for 11 years. When he was 18, his father, a miner, helped get him a job driving a truck that carried rocks. The pay was good: He was making $20 an hour when he was laid off--a punch he did not see coming.

The only work he found afterward paid minimum wage. With a wife and 3-year-old daughter, he struggled to pay the bills. “I tried everywhere to get a job,” he said. “I mowed lawns. I cut weeds. I hauled trash.”

Last year, his mother texted him about a job in farming through a local nonprofit called the Coalfield Development Corporation, which is partially supported by the Appalachian Regional Commission. It pays him $11.50 an hour for 33 hours a week growing cucumbers and raising chickens and pigs. It also pays for him to attend community college six hours a week where he working toward an associate degree. His grade point average is 4.0.

“I never dreamed I’d be going back to school,” he said. “I love it. It’s amazing. College is totally different than high school. Back then I was young and I didn’t care.”

The farm had its first full year last year: a good cucumber harvest, a lot of eggs sold. Mr. Farley was reminded of eating beans and tomatoes at his grandparents’ farm as a boy.

“I blew up the mountains,” he said, “and now I’m reclaiming the mountains.”

Another worker in the Coalfield Development jobs program is Tracy Spaulding, 19, the son of a longtime miner. When his father was laid off after nearly 30 years, he made ends meet by buying an industrial saw and cutting lumber. The younger Mr. Spaulding has skipped the mine altogether: He works in a wood shop making things like TV stands, cabinets and headboards for beds.

In November, Mr. Spaulding cast his first vote for president. He chose Mr. Trump, something he tries not to talk about with his friends who didn’t. “They get really sore about it,” he said. “Honestly, I like Donald Trump. That’s just how I feel, I like him. A lot of people don’t and I understand that.”

When asked what he thought about the proposed cut to the commission, he thought for a bit. “He ain’t pulled nothing on us yet,” he said.

He thought more. “I believe I’d be a little bit mad about it if he made that cut and I lost my job and schooling, you know? But things happen. People get laid off every day. I’ll make it one way or another.”

In Staten Island, N.Y., Raymond DeNozzo, 53, a carpenter who has lived in Sutton, W.Va., for 28 years, was back home visiting his father on Friday. He, too, voted for Mr. Trump. He believes his adopted state’s coal industry was decimated under President Barack Obama. He supports increased spending on veterans and on the military, and, at least in theory, cuts to some social programs. He thinks that welfare discourages people from working, for instance.

But his wife is a schoolteacher, their health insurance is through her job, and Mr. DeNozzo worries about the potential cuts to schools that could result from Mr. Trump’s budget. School consolidations are already overburdening teachers, he said. And they can also harm students, he said.

“That’s a concern,” Mr. DeNozzo said. “Will he keep the little schools open?”

Some of the programs in Mr. Trump’s sights are like unloved stepchildren, with alphabet soup acronyms unfamiliar to anyone except fiercely dedicated do-gooders. But they can have outsize effects on people’s lives.

Money from a Community Development Block Grant helped pay to remodel Shantell Swenson’s bathroom and kitchen in Salt Lake City, making it easier for her to use a wheelchair in her home and allowing her to cook on a stove for the first time. There have been other benefits, too. “Now instead of spitting my toothpaste into a cup I can roll under the sink,” said Ms. Swenson, 33, who has cerebral palsy.

Tired of lifting her legs into and out of a standard bathtub and begging landlords to change it, she scraped together her savings to buy a small house last May. The bathroom was finished in September, and the kitchen is on track for April. She calls the work life changing. “I would be old and gray and partially retired before I could have been able to afford this on my own,” she said.

Ms. Swenson said she did not “rage toward” Mr. Trump “like some people I know.” But when she heard about his proposed budget cuts, she said, she was “boiling with anger.”

One of those proposed cuts would kill the Legal Service Corporation, which funds 133 civil legal aid programs in the 50 states at a cost of $385 million. That funding stream makes up 40 percent of the budget for Legal Aid Services of Oklahoma, whose lawyers saved Paula and Joe Frye from losing their nine-acre home.

The Fryes, who live in Warner, had missed a $14 tax payment four years earlier. They learned that their property had been put up for auction only when a man pulled up to their home and Mr. Frye asked him what he wanted. “The man said he wanted to look at the land for sale,” said Mrs. Frye, a retired turkey hatchery worker.

They were unable to resolve the unpaid bill themselves, but the land was sold at a county auction for $5,000. The Fryes could not match that, or afford a lawyer.

Only when they turned to Legal Aid did a lawyer there discover a technical flaw in the county’s handling of the tax arrears and the Fryes got their home back.

“This is all we had,” Mrs. Frye said. “If it hadn’t been for Legal Aid, I guess we’d just live in our car.”

The Fryes, who did not vote, said they were reserving judgment on Mr. Trump. Some things are probably beyond the president’s control, Mr. Frye said. Mrs. Frye said they would be watching.

“I guess until we see exactly what he does do, then I’ll know if I like him or wish he had lost,” she said.

#Trump budget