Twelve hours. He had been at the station for twelve hours. Twelve hours of case files, database searches, and shitty coffee. No one was at the station other than some fledgling security guards and paper pushers. Sonny was beginning to smell like a heavily used sock. It was six in the morning and he needed a shower. He didn't feel like driving back to his apartment, and no one else would be in the office until seven, so he decided to take a shower in the break room. While he had never had the need to use the station shower he kept soap and a towel, as well as a fresh change of clothes in his locker as a precaution. He kicked of his shoes and left them next to his desk.
The bathroom wasn't as grimy as he had expected. It certainly wasn't luxurious, but it was clean. The communal nature of it reminded him of his college days, except he wasn't throwing up ramen and gas station vodka and no one was having sex in the handicap stall. Sonny chose the stall farthest from the door, closed the curtain and began to undress. His shirt was damp with stress-induced sweat and he had to practically peel it off his back. He tossed it over the curtain into the corner of the room. Next came his pants, which were secured tightly with a belt because they were too big. He threw the pants, along with his underwear and socks, into the pile of clothes in the corner.
Being naked in the station felt strange. He was in shower, but he still felt out of place. Exposed. Vulnerable. Only a thin plastic curtain separated him from the rest of the world. He stood in the stall for a few minutes, wrapped up in the idea of someone walking in and seeing him. After playing out several worst-case scenarios in his head the sound of a faucet dripping made him remember what he was there for. He reached out his hand and cautiously turned the knob on the wall. He was hit almost immediately with a blast of freezing water. The sensation shocked his body and he inhaled sharply. He frantically turned the knob until the water was a satisfactory temperature. He stood there for a moment, tilting his head back and allowing the water to run down his chest. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. The case he was working was stressful. It required an insane amount of research. The suspect the squad was pursuing was believed to have twenty previous victims. They were all children, which made it all the more depressing. Barba had said that they didn't have enough evidence, and Sonny was working overtime to come up with something, anything to put the guy away.
Barba always acted like his job was harder than Sonny's, and everyone else's for that matter. But Barba never had to get close to the victims. He got to remain detached, only interacting with them on the stand and during trial prep. He never had to tell a parent that their child was dead. He never had to search for a body. He never had to find the body, mangled and mutilated and only six years old. Barba got to go home and sleep; he didn't have to wake up in the middle of the night to vomit after a horrendous nightmare.
But somehow, Sonny still felt a desperate need to impress him. Maybe it had something to do with his constant feelings of inferiority. Maybe he had daddy issues. Maybe it was something else entirely. Regardless of the cause, he wanted to prove himself worthy. He wished he could be as confident as Barba. The man radiated self-assurance. It was sexy. Sonny wondered if he was the same way in the bedroom. He could picture Barba dominating him, telling him exactly what to do and how to do it.
Now his mind was a mess of case files, dead kids, and Barba fucking him into the mattress. Sonny needed to calm down. He needed blow off some steam. He needed to sing. Yes, sing. Though he would never admit to anyone, Sonny Carisi is an avid shower singer. It was still early and he hadn't heard anyone outside the bathroom, so he could be safe to sing without anyone hearing him. But what to sing? He was too drained for an eighties power ballad. He was too depressed for Kesha. He was too angry for Jason Mraz, too weak for Queen, and too white for Kanye. He finally settled on his one of his all time favorites, Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." It was soft and pretty and sad and just what he needed. He took a deep breath and began to sing.
It was too early for Barba. Even with scrambled eggs and four cups of coffee, it was too early. He had been up far too late trying to think of some way to take the squads current case to trial. It was a tough one, for them and for him. He knew Carisi was pissed that they couldn't move forward. Pissed at Barba and pissed at himself. He was sure the detective was up late too, looking for evidence and driving himself mad. Carisi was new and so eager to please everyone. So eager to impress. To prove himself. The fact that this case was particularly emotionally draining didn't help.
The precinct was almost barren when Barba walked in. A few people here and there, no one of particular importance. He took the elevator, relishing in the silence that he knew would be interrupted as soon as the doors opened. A sharp ding signaled his arrival, and he braced himself for the madness that was the squad room. But when the doors opened, it was quiet. No one was at their desk. He set his briefcase down on a table and walked across the room to pour himself a fifth cup of coffee. That's when noticed something odd. There was a pair of shoes next to Carisi's desk. He presumed that they belonged to the detective, but he couldn't figure out why they were there. There was case files strewn across the desk and a pad of paper filled with hastily written notes. Carisi must have spent the night working on the case. But where was he, and why did he leave his shoes? Barba came to the conclusion that he had gone to the break room to sleep, which meant he would have to wake Carisi up. He sighed and made his way over to the break room.
He could hear it as soon as he entered the break room. Singing. He had never heard Carisi sing, but his voice was unmistakable. It was much nicer than his speaking voice. Much less annoying. One might even call it soothing. His voice was rough, like he'd just woken up or hadn't slept in days. It made Barba feel tingly, which surprised him and made him somewhat uncomfortable. Still, he had to get closer. He had to hear him more clearly. Barba closed the door to the room quietly and went closer to the bathroom. He situated himself against the doorway and listened.
He recognized the song as Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." It was a favorite of his, but he had never heard it sung like this before. It was charged with emotion. It was raw. It was sexy. No, not sexy. Barba would never describe a male coworker's voice as sexy, especially not Carisi's. But it was sexy and Barba couldn't ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tried to wash it down with coffee, but it didn't work. In fact, it made it worse. The caffeine shifted his brain into overdrive, and he became incredibly aware that Carisi was naked in the shower. Naked, water running down his chest and his stomach and down his thighs. He tried to blink away the images, but he couldn't. He didn't realize how zoned out he was until he dropped his coffee cup. It hit the floor with a loud thud. The noise startled Sonny, causing him to slip. He fell out of the shower, bringing the curtain down with him, and hit the ground with a echoing smack.
After a few moments he lifted his head and saw Barba standing in the doorway, a puddle of coffee and cracked thermos at his feet. His eyes were wide and he looked like a kid who got caught peaking at his birthday presents hidden in the closet. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. Suddenly, Carisi remembered that he was naked and quickly wrapped himself in the shower curtain. He noticed blood on the floor and traced it back to his forehead.
Barba wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't just leave. Carisi was sprawled on the floor bleeding. But standing in the doorway was awkward. Luckily, he didn't have think too long about his next move.
"Could you possibly hand me my towel?" Carisi implored.
Barba reacted quickly, nearly slipping on the puddle of coffee as he ran to the counter to retrieve the towel. He handed to Sonny, who used it to cover himself more effectively.
"Help me up," he said, offering his hand to Barba. He hesitated before grabbing it and easing Sonny onto his feet.
Sonny looked at his forehead in the mirror. There was a lot of blood, but he couldn't see his brain, which was a good sign. His head was throbbing though, and he realized he probably had a concussion.
Barba gulped. He really didn't like blood. "Should you, uh, go to the hospital?"
"Nah, I think I'll be fi-"
Carisi didn't finish his sentence. Instead, he vomited in the sink.
"Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god," Barba muttered. Vomit was worse than blood. He couldn't freak out, not with Sonny in a state of physical distress.
Carisi lifted his head and looked at Barba. "Yeah, I should probably go to the hospital."
Barba nodded quickly. "Okay. Who should I get to take you there?"
Sonny looked at him incredulously. "You."
"Me? Why?"
"Well, one, you're standing right here, two, it would take too long for someone else to get here, and three, it would be a nice way to repay me for causing this the first place." There was blood dripping down his face and off his chin. Barba had to look away. "Why are you even here?" Sonny questioned.
"I work here," Barba quipped, unwilling to explain the real reason.
"Not really. You just visit when it's convenient," Carisi snapped back.
"Convenient? You think this is a convenient time for me? It's six o'clock in the morning!"
"You know what I mean! You only come here when you need something."
"That is not true. I come when you call me to clean up your messes!"
Carisi threw his arms in the air. "Well look at you, such a saint!"
They were both so engrossed in their argument that they didn't hear Amanda enter the break room. She looked at the scene before her: a half-naked Carisi yelling at Barba, coffee and blood on the floor, and vomit in the sink.
"What the hell is going on?" she exclaimed.
Before either of them could answer, Sonny threw up on Barba's shoes. Barba let out a shrill shriek, which caused Sonny's head to throb and his eyes to water.
Amanda sighed heavily. "It's too damn early for this."
Three hours later, Sonny woke up in a hospital bed. He blinked a few times and tried to remember how he got there. He remembered falling out of the shower. Barba was there. There was coffee on the floor. And blood. He threw up on Barba's shoes. Sonny chuckled at the memory.
"What's so funny?" a voice from the corner asked. It was Barba.
Sonny smiled. "I threw up on your shoes."
Barba scowled. "Yeah. I remember. They were seven-hundred dollars."
Sonny rolled his eyes. "Why are you here?"
"To apologize."
"For causing me to fall, or for yelling at me?"
"Both."
"Thanks," he replied. "Did you drive here?"
"No. Amanda did."
Sonny nodded. "Ah. So you still owe me a favor."
Barba narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"
"Tell me why you were in the bathroom."
He thought to himself for a moment. "I'll pay your hospital bill."
Sonny shook his head. "Why were you in the bathroom?"
"Seriously, I'll go do it right now."
"Just tell me why you were there!"
"Fine, fine!" Barba exclaimed. "I was listening to you sing."
Sonny raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
"Yes, really." Barba shifted in his seat and added softly, "You have a very nice voice." He wanted to say "and a nice body," but it didn't seem appropriate.
Sonny grinned. Barba finally approved of something he did. Granted, it wasn't at all work-related, but it was something.
"Would you like to hear more?" he asked.
Barba shifted again before responding. "I, uh… yes. Yes I would."
"How does Friday night sound? My apartment has great acoustics."
Barba looked at him in surprise. Then he smiled and replied, "That sounds great."
Barba yawned, remembering how tired he was. Sonny noticed too, and offered a spot next to him on the bed. It was entirely improper, but Barba was too exhausted to care. He laid down on the left side of the bed, trying to take up as little space as possible. He fell asleep quickly, followed shortly after by Sonny.
Amanda walked in ten minutes later with coffee. She looked at the two men squished together on the hospital bed. She put the coffee on the table and leaned against the doorway, massaging her temples.
"It's still too damn early."