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Rafael was all for life imitating art. He was. The good guys always winning, the piranhas always getting enough to eat, happy endings – he was all for that! And if porn was art was debatable, but he was all for imitating that, too, or lots of it, anyway. More life should be like the movies or books, he’d be the first to say that sounded like an upgrade for mankind.
This film noir bullshit he was being subjected to – or that his body was, really -, though, now that was just plain ridiculous. He hadn’t watched any of those – too quality for him – but he was pretty sure he had a cultural-knowledge-collective-memory memory of Humphrey Bogart being smacked about in a parked van, too. Art was so fucking overrated nine times out of ten.
While with Bogey it’d probably been about some bird again, Rafael had no idea what it was his abductors even wanted to beat out of him. There’d been some vague remarks in the manner of “You’re gonna tell us”, but those had quickly been followed by non-questions like, “Not so high and mighty now, are you?”, which, granted, didn’t sound like out of a Sam Spade movie but an episode of ‘Bonanza’, and also disappointingly unoriginal. Just another bunch of Playboy-readers who thought changing your underwear every day and wearing a tie meant you were flaunting your superiority in their un-moisturized faces. Their favorite movie was probably ‘The Godfather’. He hoped they wouldn’t explain to him how it was the greatest piece of art ever created while stabbing him to death with a pair of glasses or something.
“Hotshot lawyer not looking too good now, does he?” one of them, the tall one, sneered, shoving Rafael up against the wall with the tip of his boot.
‘Hotshot lawyer.’ Maybe not ‘Bonanza’, but ‘80s action. TV, though, not big screen. Look at them.
Rafael had no doubt he wasn’t looking too good, indeed. If asked, he’d say everything hurt, but only because moving his mouth to talk definitely hurt and he wouldn’t want to have to list every ache in his body. He was pretty sure his right eye would be swollen completely shut by the time they were finished here – one way or another – and his left wrist was broken, not sprained. They hadn’t bothered tying him up, just threw him down right after they’d grabbed him and stomped on his hands and arms, which he had to give them was at least efficient. Even uneducated morons could be good at their respective jobs, no need to be a snob.
It wasn’t the worst beating Rafael had been subjected to in his life – Top Ten, though, maybe even Five – and while he trusted himself to put an accurate estimate on the development of a shiner or spot a broken bone, he was happy to admit right off that he wasn’t a doctor, thank God, and he had no idea whether his ribs were just bruised, or if the godawful pain in his stomach meant he had internal injuries, or if he was concussed at all. He’d hit his head a few times, and good, it was a van, after all, they couldn’t throw him far without him smacking into a wall, but skulls were hard, maybe his headache was just from stress.
He was very stressed.
Suddenly, one of the van doors was opened. Rafael jumped, and threw Tall One a quick glare at the man’s snicker. Excuse the bleeding assault victim for jumping at loud noises, asshole.
“Hey guys,” a male voice stage-whispered into the van; Rafael could only see a dark shadow against the lighter darkness of the night outside. What time was it, anyway? “It’s getting late.” Ah, that time. “Has he said anything, yet?”
“Was there something you gentlemen wanted to ask me?” Rafael piped up, hurting mouth be damned.
“Shut up.” Tall One smacked him across the face.
Apparently not.
Other Guy – who wasn’t short, just not as tall as Tall One, therefor Other Guy – had gotten a few good kicks in earlier but then retreated into a corner with his phone, letting Tall One afflict most of the violence. A few times Rafael had thought he’d heard distinct noises from the phone, though maybe that’d just been his ears ringing. If he was being beaten to death with some jerk standing by playing Kittens Game, he was going to be so pissed.
Now, Other Guy put his phone away and stretched his back, then leaned against the wall. He looked so bored, Rafael hoped spiders would lay eggs in his eyes.
“Maybe we should just ask Tony,” Other Guy said. He sounded fucking bored, too! “I’d like to get home SOME time tonight, y’know.”
Rafael knew it was irrational to hate this guy more than Tall One, who’d punched him in the face WHILE standing on his arm, but he couldn’t help it. “Don’t let me keep you,” he said.
Other Guy just ignored him. Other Guy was such an asshole.
“Ask Tony what?” Outside Guy asked. He’d leaned inside, so that Rafael could see his face now. It suddenly hit him that he’d seen all of their faces. Mustn’t think about that.
“I mean, I dunno,” Other Guy whined like he was a California Highschool Girl in an instagram video. “Just what the fuck he even wants? Does he need the guy dead, or just for him to drop the charges, or what?”
“Charges?” Rafael asked.
Tall One smacked him again. “Shut up.”
“Have you asked him if he’s gonna drop the charges?” Outside Guy asked.
Rafael’s mind was racing as fast as it could in its battered state. So, Tony was behind all this, and Tony had been charged with something, and Rafael was a lawyer, he knew that much.
“Who’s Tony?” he heard himself ask before his mind was ready.
Smack. “Shut up.”
This was getting old.
“He’s not going to just walk away and forget all about it,” Other Guy said, not sounding that bored anymore, but… angry? Had he been angry all along?
Rafael’s stress headache was intensifying. He bit back a groan. His nose was bleeding again, too.
“Then we need to make him disappear,” Tall One said. Simple.
“Who’s Tony?” Rafael tried again. In the beginning, a lifetime in a van ago, he’d asked who THEY all were a few times, but he knew better now.
At least he didn’t get hit again, they all just ignored him. That was progress, he should keep at it.
“Have you fucking ASKED him, though?” Outside Guy asked. He was mostly inside now, but, eh, Other Other Guy was too long.
Other Guy sighed the sigh of the one who’d rather be playing Kittens Game instead of spending a night with moronic co-workers and asked, “You gonna drop the charges against Tony?”
After a moment of expectant silence, Rafael noticed they were all looking at him. “Wait,” he said. “Me? What-”
He’d been about to ask ‘What charges?’ again, because, seriously now, what charges and against whom, who the fuck was Tony, but before he could finish the question, Tall One shoved him against the wall so hard he saw stars for a second.
“A real comedian,” Rafael heard Tall One sneer through the ringing in his ears. Had they showed that man the 1983 training video for goons instead of a newer one, or what? His slang was in desperate need of an update. Rafael would have gladly told him so, if Tall One hadn’t still been talking. “I say we waste him. Put a bow on his head, give it to Tony for breakfast.”
“Who the fuck is Tony?” Rafael mumbled. It might have been too low for them to hear. His head hurt.
“I mean,” Other Guy said with a sudden disconcerting cheerfulness, “maybe that’s an idea right there.”
Rafael stared at him. Cut off his head?
“Cut off his head?” Outside Guy asked. He sounded about as enthusiastic as Rafael felt about the idea.
“Present him to Tony,” Other Guy said. “For dinner, though. Dessert,” he clarified with an exaggerated little snicker. Not so much ‘80s TV bad guy as ‘60s Bond villain, that one.
“Oh, you’re evil,” Outside Guy laughed.
Tall One chuckled, too, they were all having a grand old time. “You did it now,” he told Rafael.
But what? Rafael hadn’t done anything but get the stuffing pummeled out of him so far. “I’m not insinuating anything here,” he hurried to say; sometimes it paid to be able to talk really, really fast. It was all out before Tall One could hit him again, “but are you sure you got the right guy? Cause I’ve not charged anyone called Tony with anything, and I can’t do anything about a case I’m not prosecuting.”
Tall One grinned at him, “Tony’s gonna love it,” and looked up at Other Guy. “Tony’s gonna love it,” he repeated.
“Hmmm,” Other Guy said. “Feisty. Just Tony’s type. You’re in for a treat,” he told Rafael. “When Tony’s done with you, you’re gonna wish you complied.” With an exaggerated, slow nod, he crossed over to where Outside Guy was still leaning inside. “Let’s go.”
“Who IS Tony?” Rafael exclaimed. “What the-”
Finally, Tall One reverted back to his basic character trait and smacked him. Rafael grunted, as his head hit the wall again. “If you wanted Tony to have his FUN with you, counselor, you shoulda just asked. We could’ve done this right away, but you had to be stubborn.”
“Maybe he’s into it,” Other Guy chuckled. “That it, dude? You like getting your ass slapped, then fucked?”
“He looks it,” Outside Guy said, suddenly sounding disgusted as if Rafael had suggested all of this.
“Does,” Other Guy agreed. “He’s probably sorry we didn’t tie him up.”
“Sicko,” Outside Guy growled and left, throwing the van door closed with enough force to suggest that he was personally offended by Rafael’s antics.
Actually panicking by now (Whoever Tony was, it wasn’t a good character reference to have people like this working for him, and also apparently he’d be cool with being sent a severed head!) Rafael tried to push himself up again for the first time in quite some time. He’d stopped fighting back once it’d hurt too much to move, but he wasn’t going to let them deliver him to some lunatic rapist without a fight.
He didn’t get far. While Other Guy sat down, when the van started, and resumed his game, Tall One grabbed the front of Rafael’s shirt, knocked him down on the floor and for good measure held him there with his hand on his tie, half-choking him. “Aw, can’t wait, can you?” he sneered. “Relax, let us give you a ride. Not like Tony’s gonna give you, but…” He winked.
“Gross,” Other Guy muttered.
Rafael didn’t care anymore if he looked as terrified as he was. He’d survived worse than this, but he wasn’t so sure about what was in store for him. For the first time since they’d dragged him into the van, he found himself hoping desperately that Sonny was starting to get worried, waiting for him. Where was his phone, anyway? He couldn’t remember his abductors searching him or taking it. Surely, Sonny would start looking for him soon? What time was it even? How long had he been here, in the dark (mostly figuratively) with three dangerous, apparently homophobic idiots?
The van took a sharp turn, Rafael’s head knocked against the wall, but that didn’t matter anymore. Where were they taking him?
And who the fuck was Tony?
***
Tony was having a shit day. Nothing new there, it’d been a shit few months, most of the year had been shit. In fact, today wasn’t even significantly more shit than all those other days, it was just also shit, and Tony was starting to grow tired of his life having turned into a row of shit days, one after the other.
Wasn’t that what he was paying his lawyers for, to un-shit his days? What right did they have to be so expensive when all they ever did was tell him they were doing all they could and that, “We’re not Tom Hagen, Tony, you know? In real life, these things take time.”
And when he’d asked who this Hagen guy was, did they know him, was he a better lawyer, maybe Tony could hire him, they’d given him a weird look, all three of them, and the one with the terrible haircut had said, “Robert Duvall?”
Turned out they were referencing some old movie, the fuckers, like this was a joke, like Tony looking at decades of prison time was a fucking joke!
He must have looked as pissed off as he’d been, for two of them stopped smiling instantly and got appropriately scared, all fidgety. One of them started to visibly sweat.
“It was a harmless joke, Tones. Bill just meant, uh, it’s not like in the movies. We can’t do magic, you know?”
He could. Do magic. He could make people disappear. Wanna see? Just keep it up.
It’d been a week since he had to talk to those morons, thank God. Yes, today had been a shit day, but at least it hadn’t involved meeting any lawyers. Shakespeare had it right: let’s kill them all. If it hadn’t been for his lawyers, Tony wouldn’t even be here anymore, he’d be on Malta or Mauritius, somewhere warm and sunny, too busy getting drunk and laid to keep up with his lawyers warning him via text to not come back, which he wouldn’t be considering, anyway. But no, when he’d suggested leaving the country, his legal team had been very adamant: do not! It’d look like an admission of guilt! The worst he could do!
“I am guilty.”
Yes, of course, but it was all about optics! Stay!
So Tony had stayed and watched his days turn to shit. Every day, every waking second he was thinking about prison. The terrible food, the terrible company, the terribly beds, the terrible waste of time, the terrible knowledge that he could be on fucking Malta!
“You’re not going to prison, Tones! Trust us!”
Trust them! Trust his lawyers! Had Al Capone’s lawyers told him that, too? Just trust us? He’d been put away on tax charges as well, and he’d died in prison, hadn’t he? HADN’T HE?
“You’re not Al Capone, Tony.”
No. As far as Tony knew, Capone hadn’t killed his lawyers after they failed at keeping him out of prison. Not that he was going to. He was a firm believer in an eye for an eye, so if he was going to prison, so were his lawyers. Not one run by the state, though. A privately run facility.
At least the day was almost over. Maybe tomorrow would be not shit.
Yeah, right.
With a deep sigh, Tony swallowed his Xanax with a mouthful of water and headed back to the living-room where he’d paused ‘Untitled Goose Game’ to take his meds.
He’d just figured out how to get his goose into the pub, when the doorbell rang. Tony checked his watch and frowned.
The doorbell rang again.
Oh, fuck this day sideways! It was Alfred’s night off, too! Throwing down the controller, Tony grunted out loud, slumping into the couch.
The doorbell.
“Yes!” he yelled and pushed himself to his feet. “Coming!”
What good was having an Alfred, when people could still come calling on his night off? Tony was going to put a sign on the door, ‘No ringing the door on Thursdays. Trespassers will be shot.’
Walking past the little screen connected to the camera feed outside, Tony cast it a distracted look, arm already reaching out to open the door, and stopped.
What the fuck?
The doorbell rang again. One of his employees – not Rodney, Rodney was the very tall one, Tony could see him on the screen, too – waved his hand at the camera. Tony pushed the mic button.
“What the fuck?” he asked.
On the screen, his three employees seemed to jump as one and look at the camera like school boys caught at a prank. They hadn’t expected him to answer himself, he figured. The man they held between them looked up briefly, then down at his feet again. Tony hadn’t seen him before. Even on the grainy camera feed, he could see that the man was injured, dark spots on his face that could be bruises or blood; his nose and lip were bleeding.
Tony really didn’t need his already shit day to end with him having to deal with these three morons, but they were standing on his doorstep, out in the open, with a bleeding man in tow, who clearly didn’t want to be there.
Deciding he was going to take another Xanax BEFORE deciding whether to shoot his employees in the basement, Tony opened the door.
“Boss, we didn’t-” the other guy who wasn’t Rodney, not the one who’d waved, started to explain, but cut himself off, when Tony grabbed his arm to drag him inside.
“Come in, close the fucking door,” he hissed. “Did anyone see you drive through the gate?”
“No!” Rodney shook his head. “No one, boss. Honest.”
“Were you checking, though?” Tony asked and closed the door behind Not Rodney 1, who’d shoved the injured man inside. This close, Tony could feel the guy shaking.
“We didn’t see anyone,” Not Rodney 2 said.
“Does that answer my question?” Tony asked.
The three exchanged glances.
The injured man peeked up at Tony. Careful, like a cornered animal – a cute one; a hyrax with its foot caught in a trap – yet almost… amused. He seemed startled by that himself, and when Tony met his eyes – pretty eyes: green, big – he quickly looked down again.
“No?” Not Rodney 2 answered, looking lost.
Tony sighed. “Never mind. If they spotted you, I’ll say you tried to rob the place and took me hostage. Who’s this?”
Not Rodney 1 frowned a bit, but quickly joined his partners in grinning like a cartoon villain, out of ‘Popeye’, all leery and gross. Tony had half a mind to just shoot them right now, get the cute injured guy to tell the story. He looked terrified, but that probably only proved he had more brains than his three captors put together. He was also dressed real nice, Tony suddenly noticed. There was some blood on his shirt, and his tie was askew, but he’d probably looked quite smart before the Not Rodneys and Rodney had roughed him up. Cute suspenders, too, dark pink with white pattern, matching the tie. Tony preferred wearing belts himself, but he appreciated how the suspenders look flattered the guy’s shape. A pretty good shape, too. Nice arms.
“You tell him now,” Rodney told Cute Guy and gave him a little push. “Tell him you won’t drop the charges.”
Tony felt a brief flash of protective fury and grabbed Rodney’s hand before he could touch Cute Guy again. Cute Guy flinched away from both of them. He wasn’t tied up, Tony now saw, but cradling his arm close to his chest.
“No, you tell me.” Glaring At Rodney, Tony tightened his grip on his wrist. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Cute Guy watching him. “Who is he, who told you to beat him up, and why have you brought him here?”
***
Despite Sonny insisting that he was very good at a lot of things, not all of them sexual, Rafael knew that his only true talent was to read a room.
Sure, he had a decent memory, he could string two sentences together, all that, he could suppress his gag reflex, his Kermit the Frog imitation was good, but the one thing he could really do, better than most people, his one gift was to understand with one swift scan what people in his vicinity wanted to hear, knew, didn’t know, were scared of knowing, or expected to hear. It was his Professor Xavier gift, as Sonny sometimes called it when he wanted to tease Rafael into pretending he had the cultural knowledge of an illiterate rat that grew up in a remote monastery. Sonny loved doing that, and it was quite often worth the effort, too; apparently something about it was a serious turn on for Sonny.
Of course Rafael wasn’t a telepath – yes, he knew who Professor Xavier was –, he was just extremely good at all that. It’d saved him from quite a few beatings as a kid, it definitely helped him in his job, and while he hadn’t had to use it so far to literally save his life, he was confident that he could.
No better time than the present to try.
“If I may?” he said, not bothering to force himself to sound less scared than he was, and widened his eyes just a little more when Tony looked at him. He’d been checked out often enough to realize when it was happening, and while Tall One and Co.’s earlier threats should have made it clear that being checked out by Tony wasn’t in Rafael’s best interest, Rafael wasn’t so sure anymore now that he’d met the guy in person. Yes, Tony thought Rafael was hot, that was easy enough to see, but Rafael was willing – literally – to bet his life on Tony not being a rapist.
Case in point, Tony watched him now, head slightly tilted, his gaze briefly flickering down to where Rafael was holding his broken wrist. He looked worried. Genuinely worried about the bleeding stranger in his hallway. Whoever Tony was – and he was definitely a shady character, employing goons and having cause to worry about his house being watched, presumably by law enforcement, not to mention there were ominous charges hanging over his head – he wasn’t someone who enjoyed violence. He’d use it, Rafael had no doubt about that, but that was what he was paying the three stooges for.
In fact, Rafael could very well imagine Tony watching him under very different circumstances, from across a bar, that exact little head tilt, maybe a smile, then a polite introduction, an offer to buy Rafael a drink, and Rafael would decline, he was married, but thank you, and Tony would just smile, ah shame, and leave him be.
That was who Tony was, Rafael was sure of it, and he was seldom wrong about those things.
“My name is Rafael Barba, I’m a Manhattan ADA.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed. He shot Tall One a furious look.
The thing was, no, Tony wasn’t a rapist, Rafael was sure of that, but Tony was a criminal, a crime boss, actually, and Rafael was in his house, had seen his goons’ face, had heard his goons very credibly threaten him with violence – committed by Tony. Not being a rapist wasn’t a very high bar; what Rafael needed was to not get killed. Present his case and win.
Good thing he was good at that.
“I mostly prosecute sex crimes,” he continued, still sounding scared and pleading. It helped that he was still very scared, just not of the thing he was describing. “Y-your men, uhm, said you were facing some charges in that regard, but I have no knowledg-”
“Woah!” Tall One and the others exclaimed. “Woah, wait, we never-”
“Silence!” Tony barked, and silence happened.
In another life, long before Happiness With Sonny, Rafael would have found that hot. Tall older men with deep commanding voices who could make things happen had held a rather unhealthy attraction for him, and Tony was undeniable handsome, not quite as tall as Tall One - Tall One was unnaturally tall - but about as tall as Sonny; slender, too, though with broader shoulders. He cut an imposing figure in the dark red old-fashioned housecoat he wore over expensive silk pajamas, like a Victorian land owner. The murderer in a Sherlock Holmes novel maybe.
There’d been a time in Rafael’s life when he’d gladly shut up at being told to by this man, and while he’d long left that part of himself behind, he could conjure up the feeling enough to let it show on his face. Maybe he should bite his lip just a little, too, or would that be overkill? It’d just stopped bleeding, but oh well, let’s go all in. Ducking his head, biting his lip, letting the pain help him look even more desperate, Rafael vowed to tell Dr. Richard that therapy and understanding that in the past he’d been attracted to bad men had saved his life. If it did. If he survived this, he’d tell Dr. Richard. He liked making Dr. Richard happy.
“Go on,” Tony said, his voice suddenly gentle, despite his furious expression.
Biting his lip had hurt, but evidently paid off. Rafael licked over the re-opened cut and cleared his throat. “I have no knowledge of any case involving you,” he finished. “I don’t even know your name. I’ve never seen you before in my life,” he added, but stopped at ‘I’d remember that’. No need to stretch credulity that far.
“I know absolutely nothing.” He shook his head, eyes still wide, for once allowing himself to talk as fast as he actually could during a performance. “I could make some wild guesses where we even are, I’m assuming way outside of my jurisdiction, but it doesn’t matter, does it, this is all a great misunderstanding, I’ve no idea who any of you are or what charges you’re talking about, I’m not naive enough to think you can just let me go, I-I know you can’t, but just, please…”
And this was the important part. The Guilty Verdict part. Make eye contact, go for broke. A little sob wouldn’t go amiss. Bitten back, like you’re trying to suppress it.
“… please…”
There. Perfect. Now for the kill.
“… don’t rape me. I’ll do anything, just…”
At Tony’s double take, Rafael trailed off.
Nailed it.
From the corner of his eye he could see Outside Guy exchange a nervous glance with Other Guy. They both took a step back to stand behind Tall One.
He had to time the rest right. Maintaining his nervous stance, Rafael kept watching Tony’s reaction without letting on he was doing so. It was almost fun, like observing the jury during closing arguments, but with higher stakes. Well. For himself.
“You,” Tony told his men in a voice infinitely more scary than the one that had silenced them earlier, “stay here. You leave, you’re dead.”
He didn’t wait for them to nod or otherwise acknowledge they understood, but took Rafael’s good arm, gently, and gestured with his free hand for Rafael to walk ahead, through the short hallway into what appeared to be the living-room area.
Still playing his part, Rafael hesitated, casting Tony a fearful look, taking full advantage of the height difference. He hadn’t spent his whole adult life dating taller men without learning a few tricks there; he knew how to look not that much smaller than them, and he knew how to look extremely small. Helpless even.
“Don’t worry,” Tony said. He had a pretty good talking to victims voice, Rafael thought, someone should tell him some time. ‘You ever thought of changing careers? Go into the helping people business?’ “No one’s going to hurt you anymore. I promise.”
That was better than what Rafael had even dared hope for. Not just ‘I’m not going to rape you’, which he’d figured was the least he could get, but ‘no one’ would ‘hurt’ him anymore? A deal too good to be trusted.
The living-room looked like straight out of a ‘70s crime show, all orange-y brown, dark wood, retro patterns. The ginormous flat screen at the end of the couch ring didn’t quite fit in, but apart from that it was like a ‘Columbo’ set. Rafael loved it. He should ask if he could take pictures in case he and Sonny ever bought a house.
The second he thought of Sonny, he realized what game was paused on the TV, too. He’d watched Sonny try to get into that pub so often, he could probably do it himself with his eyes closed by now. He had done it, in fact, or Pablo had; helped Sonny out, just so he could then endlessly tease him, like a piranha was wont to do.
“You’re a terrible goose.”
“I am,” Sonny had said. “It says so on the cover.”
“No, you’re a terrible goose. You’re terrible at being a goose. I’m a fish and I’m a better goose than you.”
Would it help to point that out now, to Tony, that Rafael could tell him how to get into the pub? ‘My husband plays this, too.’ Would that help? Endear him more to Tony? Maybe keep it for now, a hidden ace up his sleeve. Tony wasn’t going to rape him, but he did find him attractive, and that was probably a better card to bet on for the moment than making him aware that Rafael was a person with a husband and a piranha at home.
“Have a seat,” Tony said, still in that gentle tone.
Rafael sat down. The couch was soft, it was nice to sit at last; he’d been too scared and then too focused to realize how exhausted he was, how much everything hurt. It was probably okay to let that on; played in his favor, didn’t it? So he allowed himself a small sigh and a wince when he shifted to better cradle his arm.
“D’you want a drink?” Tony asked, already walking over to a giant wooden globe that Rafael now realized was an honest to God house bar. Like out of a James Bond movie. Rafael wanted this house.
“Uh-”
“Maybe an ibuprofen?” Tony asked, not having heard Rafael’s little mutter. “Both?”
“Drink’s fine,” Rafael said. He sort of did want an ibuprofen, but he figured it didn’t look very scared-of-being-raped to accept drugs from a stranger in a housecoat. He’d make a point of watching Tony pour the drink.
“What’s your poison?” Tony asked, then gasped at himself. “That was so inappropriate. I didn’t mean…” He shook his head at himself. “Jeez. Sorry. What can I get you?”
Rafael did his best to not let it show how adorable he thought the criminal with the goose game and the globe house bar was, and forced his voice to still sound a bit timid when he replied, “Scotch? If you have it? Anything is-”
“One scotch coming right up.”
Letting his gaze wander through the room, Rafael forgot to watch Tony pour, but it didn’t seem to matter, Tony looked just as appalled as he had before, when he sat down – far enough away from Rafael for it to be understood as him doing so on purpose – and put Rafael’s drink on the low coffee table.
They sat in awkward silence for a brief moment, Rafael feeling Tony watch him, thinking. Only when Rafael leaned forward to pick up his drink, wincing at every part of his body protesting, did Tony speak.
“So… Rafael?”
Rafael nodded, winced again, and swallowed the sip of scotch he’d taken. It was soothing, but also he suddenly remembered he was drinking hard liquor while probably being concussed. With a sad sigh, he looked into the brown liquid. Now he’d have to move again to put it back on the table.
“Rafael,” Tony said by way of acknowledging Rafael’s nod, “I can’t even begin to imagine how… unsettling this whole encounter must have been for you so far.”
Rafael lifted his head, even his award-worthy acting abilities failing him, leaving behind what he assumed was the blankest look a breathing person could wear.
“Unsettling,” he echoed.
Fortunately, Tony was too distraught to have noticed. “You’re right, of course, it’s all an unfortunate misunderstanding. I’ve been having some legal troubles, nothing of the kind you’re involved in as a prosecutor, far from it, it’s all of a financial nature, nothing…” He shuddered, as if the mere thought of the cases Rafael was usually ‘involved in’ made him sick. Which might just be the truth. Crime bosses could have ethics, too.
Tony took a deep breath, like he had to calm himself down. “I understand my employees made some rather… disturbing threats?”
“They said they’d cut off my head and send it to you.”
It seemed not to have been what Tony had expected. He closed his mouth, his frown becoming downright bewildered. After a quick look over his shoulder towards the hallway, he turned back to Rafael. “Wh… I beg your pardon?”
“But then,” Rafael continued like he hadn’t seen, “they decided to bring me here so you could… uhm…” He made a show out of shrinking back further into the soft couch. It hurt to move, but that was fine, he was probably growing a bit pale.
“Yes, that’s obviously not who I am at all,” Tony hurried to say, raising his hands as if to calm Rafael down. “That’s not going to happen. I can promise you that. Guarantee it! No one’s getting raped, here or anywhere, on my orders, by no one, especially not me, and to be frank, I find it immensely insulting they’d even suggest so! Nay, offensive! Homophobic cretins,” he exclaimed over his shoulder, then looked back at Rafael to finish, “is what they are. Please accept my apologies, not on their behalves, but just from me. If I had known that's what they’re telling people…” He sucked his teeth.
Rafael was suddenly very aware of the fact that he might just have got three men killed. Sure, they’d started it, but…
“They…” He trailed off. Tony seemed genuinely infuriated. ‘They might have misunderstood you’ wouldn’t go over well. Rafael didn’t want anyone to die, but mostly he didn’t want himself to die, and he hadn’t threatened anyone with rape after beating them half to death, either, had he? “They certainly seemed to think you’d approve of it.”
Tony pursed his lips, his expression darkening. Yup, Tall One and the Others were so dead, unless Rafael included them in his escape plan now. The things you had to do as a Good Guy.
“You can drink that,” Tony said, nodding at the glass in Rafael’s hand. “I assure you I have no intention of harming you.”
“Oh, uh… I’m… I mean, I think I’m concussed,” Rafael explained and leaned forward to put the glass back onto the table, not bothering to hide how much that hurt.
Tony looked at him, a long, sad look, like he wanted to hug Rafael. “You’re married?” he asked suddenly.
Rafael blinked.
Tony pointed at Rafael’s exposed hand resting against his chest where he’d been stabilizing his broken wrist with his right hand holding the glass.
Time to go with his gut feeling. “Yeah, his name’s Sonny.” Not Dominick. Sonny sounded like the nickname it was. His husband, the guy with the lame nickname. Rafael barely stopped himself from adding, ‘He calls me his bunny,’ and instead said, “He plays that game, too. I could tell you how to get into that pub.”
Tony followed Rafael’s gaze to the screen, then leaned back on the couch, studying him.
Rafael tried to keep himself from holding his breath.
At last, Tony sighed, “okay,” and without getting up or turning his head yelled, “Rodney! Get in here, all of you!”
Rafael flinched, frowning at Tony lifting his hand in a ‘relax’-kind of gesture. This was uncharted waters now. He’d bagged the jury, so to speak, but usually the jury then just declared him the winner of the match and didn’t execute the defendants in front of him, or whatever Tony was about to do.
“Tony, you don’t have to-” he started, but Tony curtly waved his hand, and Rafael clamped his mouth shut.
He could read a room, after all. He’d known more Tonys than had been good for him. Still, part of him just didn’t think Tony was as dangerous as all that. Maybe it was his Professor Xavier gift tingling, but Rafael just didn’t see Tony actually killing someone himself; and surely he didn’t expect Rafael to do it?
Tall One, Other Guy and Outside Guy, one of them apparently called Rodney, shuffled into the room. They looked about as terrified as Rafael had wanted them to look for most of the night. Be careful what you wish for, all that.
“I heard his side,” Tony said. He’d turned on the couch so he could look at them, his expression once more as hard as his tone.
Rafael wondered if Tony’s whole business was actually run on a Million Pound Note foundation, and Tony was in fact just a sweet hot guy who could get people to do stuff for him by sounding and looking like a scary mob boss. If so – kudos.
“Let’s hear what you have to say.”
Tall One, Other Guy and Outside Guy looked from Tony to Rafael, back, at each other, back at Tony.
“Okay,” Tony said and stood up, making all three of them flinch, “then I’ll tell you what I think happened. Knowing I’ve been upset lately about impending legal problems, you put together the three brain cells that you share and came up with a plan to cheer me up, maybe hoping to get back in my good favors after that disastrous job in Miami.”
He let the last sentence hang like a question. Tall One quickly bowed his head.
A good talking to victim voice, now proving to be eloquent enough to deliver a decent argument… Maybe Tony could indeed be persuaded to change sides. Rafael found himself enjoying listening to him.
Tall One and the Others didn’t look as enthusiastic; no, Rafael didn’t want to watch them die or even know they were going to die, but he couldn’t help enjoying their reactions, too. Just a little.
“Yes,” Tony answered his own question, “well, we don’t have to get into why it’d have been a much better strategy, on your parts, to hope I’d forget about that whole sorry business, not now, in front of our guest. Let’s focus on this new fresh hell you brought down on all of us, shall we?”
Yes, Rafael was enjoying himself. He only realized he’d picked his drink up again without noticing when he tasted the scotch on his lips.
“Instead of laying low like I told you to,” Tony continued, “you thought, ‘Tony’s having problems with lawyers, hey look, a lawyer!’ and grabbed the very first lawyer you saw leaving a court house to present him to me like a group of demented cats leaving a mouse on the doorstep. Here’s a real question which I want answered, and if you don’t, one of you dies right now, right here, I’ll pick one at random. Did you check who he,” he pointed at Rafael, “is, before you grabbed him?”
“Yes,” Other Guy said.
“Okay. So you knew he is working for the Manhattan District Attorney, and that he prosecutes sex crimes.”
“No,” Outside Guy hurried to say, frantically waving his hands, “no, no, I had no idea that was what he did. Uh-uh! Rod,” he looked at Tall One, “YOU said he was the attorney who’s been giving Tony grief!”
“I thought he was!” Tall One exclaimed. “His name’s Barber, I thought he was-”
“Barba,” Rafael corrected.
Tall One glared at him. “What?”
“Barba,” Rafael repeated. “With an a.”
Tall One blinked, and seemed to deflate some, like he was shrinking. “Honest mistake,” he told Tony, almost pouting. “I thought he was the guy you were so mad at. Coulda happened to anyone.”
“You thought,” Tony said, “the attorney in charge of… my tax case,” it was clear he was rephrasing it for Rafael’s sake, “in Massachusetts moonlights at a Manhattan court?”
“Look, I dunno about lawyers!” Tall One said. “He had the same name, I thought it was the guy! None of them said any different!” he added, waving at the Others.
“To be honest,” Other Guy said, “I didn’t know what charges Rod even meant. I thought this guy had shit on you and you wanted it gone.”
“The sex crimes prosecutor,” Tony clarified.
Other Guy shrugged.
Tony turned to Rafael. “Was it him who suggested I’d rape you?”
“He was the first to suggest it,” Rafael replied. “But they all enjoyed the idea equally, I’d say.”
Sighing, Tony pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back against the couch. “My god, guys, it’s 2019, what the fuck. I run a business, so I must be into raping people?”
Rafael didn’t want anyone to die, honestly. He’d try to stop it, once the Serious Talk was over, promise, but… god help him, it felt so good watching this. “I think the insinuation was more centered around the fact that they seem to think I’m your… type.”
Tony looked at him, then back at his men. Rafael was almost certain Other Guy was on to him, judging from the glare he shot him, but what did that matter anymore, anyway? Still, he refrained from grinning at the guy behind Tony’s back.
“I’m going to repeat myself,” Tony said, sounding as disappointed as stern now, “but it is fucking Twenty NINETEEN, people. You work for an openly gay man, and you still think two men who happen to both be queer have to have the hots for each other? Do you need a trip to HR again? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Not the kind of speech Rafael would have given them, but Tony was just a crime boss, of course.
“And that’s not even the most important issue here!” Tony continued, getting louder.
Oh. Maybe it was The Speech after all. Good for Tony.
“You think I’d want to RAPE someone I find attractive? I don’t even know where to start! It’s so messed up! YOU are so messed up! Rape has nothing to do with sexual attraction, a fact you might all find out for yourselves when I hand you over to the fucking cops for kidnapping, battery and… I dunno! Rafael, what else?”
“You shouldn’t threaten them with sexual assault in jail, that’s… Wait, what?”
“What else are you going to charge them with?” Tony asked, still angry. “Not you, obviously, you’re the victim, but you as in you the law. What are they looking at here?”
Rafael stared at him.
“Oh,” Tony said, suddenly looking almost taken aback. “Oh, sorry, I just assumed… Never mind. You want me to kill them? Wait, do YOU want to-”
“No!”
“”Good. I mean, I would’ve,” Tony said as if wanting to make that clear, “but I got enough shit going on right now, I don’t need this on top of…” He waved his hand. “Not your problem. Look, I’m sorry this happened to you, and obviously you decide what happens to these three, I can call my guy, he’ll do whatever you want to them – not here, though, okay, this is my house – but I pride myself on being a fairly decent judge of character, and I think you don’t want that.”
“I don’t,” Rafael said.
Tony gave a curt nod. “Thought so. What do you want?”
To get out of there alive. Rafael swallowed, his court room radar jumping back on. “To go home to my husband,” he said.
Good choice. Tony’s expression softened. Chewing his lower lip, he rounded the couch to sit down again. “You three,” he said without looking at his men, “go to Harry, wake him up, tell him I sent you, he’ll deal with it. Tell him you’ll turn yourselves in – here – in the morning.”
“Tony-” Tall One started.
Tony jerked his head around to glare at him, effectively shutting him up. “And you will,” he spat. “You’ll turn yourselves in, you’ll take what you get, you’ll keep fucking quiet and if I ever feel like I need some absolute idiots to fuck up my inside businesses, I’ll let you know. I’ll know where you are. Understood?” He waited, then fully turned on the couch to face them. “Tell me you understand.”
“Yes Tony,” they all mumbled.
“Go.”
Maybe the whole Million Pound Note idea had been wishful thinking after all. Whatever business Tony ran, he employed people who willingly went to prison for a good long while if he told them to. Not that Rafael hadn’t wanted that for them, but watching them trot out of the room, shoulders hanging, defeated and meek, sent a chill down his spine.
“Now,” Tony returned to him, “that leaves us.”
Rafael kept his silence, he didn’t have to pretend to be scared this time.
“I want you to go home, too. I promised no one would hurt you again, that includes me.”
“You did,” Rafael said.
Tony smiled. “I did. So – help me keep my promise, Rafael, hm? You said yourself, I can’t just let you walk out of here. Not like this.”
There was always some flaw in even the most perfect argument, wasn’t there? Always something. “Legally, you’re not connected to this at all,” Rafael tried. “You didn’t do anything.”
“I didn’t,” Tony said. “I wouldn’t. However, I’d like to make sure that I’m not connected to your kidnappers in any way. See, once they’re in custody for this,” he gestured at Rafael, “questions might arise regarding other matters.”
“Miami?”
“Never been,” Tony smiled. “Don’t know anyone there.”
“If this is going to be a problem,” Rafael asked, frowning, “why’re you making them turn themselves in?”
“You wanted that,” Tony said, genuinely confused.
“Yes, but-”
“Look, the easiest way,” Tony cut Rafael off, “would, of course, be for me to give you some money, I dunno, few hundred grand. You tell the cops three strangers jumped you for no reason other than them being bigoted assholes, we throw in a hate crime as a bonus, then you take that husband of yours on a nice vacation, put a bit aside for retirement, and forget about the whole thing.”
“I’m not taking your money,” Rafael said.
Tony sighed. “I figured.”
“I could,” Rafael said carefully, “make it clear, in my statement, that you were appalled by their behavior and, in general, seem to have no control over them. In any way.”
“Hm.” Tony stood to walk to the globe bar and get himself a drink. “That might turn you into an interesting character witness for my legal team. If ever other matters were to be discussed in court.”
“I guess it would.”
“Why did they turn themselves in?” Tony asked, dropping an ice cube in his glass. “If I have no control over them? Didn’t I tell them to?”
Rafael’s headache was getting worse. Now they were doing witness prep. He really wanted that ibuprofen now. And Sonny.
Wincing, he shifted to better support his arm. “I figured they were ashamed after having been called out as the bigots they are. They do seem to have an unhealthy obsession with you. Jump to conclusions a lot. ‘Won’t someone rid me of that meddlesome lawyer?’ Something like that.”
Tony chuckled, as he walked back to the couch. “You’re good. You do tax law, too?”
Rafael huffed an exhausted half-snort. His wrist was starting to kill him. “I won’t lie,” he said, the pain audible in his voice even to himself. “I don’t think I can make other stuff go away for you, but I can make sure this doesn’t add to it. You can get away with having done the right thing.”
“I just have to trust you, huh?” Tony asked, somewhat amused, watching him over the rim of his glass.
“You can trust me. You saved my life. So far.”
“Hm. I do like the sound of that. Doing the right thing. You have a nice way of saying it, y’know that? Makes a man feel like a good guy. It’s a shame, really. If we’d met under different circumstances, I would be asking you out now.”
“In a different life,” Rafael said, “I would have said yes.”
Tony snorted sadly. “Stable marriage, huh?”
“Very.”
With a ‘tsk’, Tony drained his drink. “Who d’you want me to call, an ambulance or your husband? Both?”
***
There were a few lessons to take away from this newest incident and Sonny was seriously contemplating sitting Rafael down in front of a whiteboard to explain them all to him:
a) From now on, no more ‘work late, don’t stay up’ texts, no matter how many shark emojis it involved. Rafael was to either be home by nine pm sharp or sent Sonny ‘still here, not been kidnapped’-alerts every thirty minutes, and, yes, that’d keep Sonny up, Sonny would be awake until Rafael was home safe, that’d be on Rafael, deal with it, or maybe better, yet, just fucking stop working all-nighters!
b) Rafael had to stop getting abducted, be it because he was asleep in cars, because he was getting into cars driven by lunatics, because just cause, or because he was the wrong lawyer some morons thought they needed to rough up to score brownie points. Sonny didn’t care what the reason was, it had to stop.
“That’s victim-blaming,” Rafael pointed out.
“I do not care,” Sonny told him. “You stop it.”
“I can’t stop people doing stuff to me. I have no control over what people do. Didn’t Liv give you the speech?”
“I don’t care what Liv says,” Sonny said, as he gently lowered Rafael onto their couch, under the careful watch of Pablo, sprawled on the headrest. “You either stop doing this shit to me, or you’re not leaving this apartment again, your choice.”
“Are you staying, too?” Rafael asked through a wince. “I could be won over for that scenario. You might have to resort to drastic measures, maybe tie me to the bed, but-”
“I love you, bunny,” Sonny cut him off, helping him lie back, so that they were face to face, Rafael a little out of breath from all the exercise, the long trek from the elevator to the couch, “but right now you’re the least fuckable I’ve ever seen you. Still the most fuckable lawyer in the building,” Sonny quickly amended, when Rafael opened his mouth to protest, “but I won’t be tying you to anything in the foreseeable future.”
Rafael pouted. “If I’d known, I would’ve stayed in the hospital.”
Pausing, holding the blanket he’d grabbed to cover Rafael with it, Sonny stared down at him, brows raised comically high.
“That sort of slipped out,” Rafael mumbled, squirming a little.
“‘Please take me home, querido,’” Sonny whined in an impressive imitation of Rafael’s whine, “‘I’ll do anything, querido. Please don’t make me stay another day, querido, I’ll never get kidnapped again, I promise, please take me home, I can’t stand the food, don’t make me stay, I can’t stand the sheets, they won’t let me work, they won’t let me have my phone, they-’”
“Okay, okay, I thank you for springing me, I would thank you in a big way, but apparently I’m not desirable anymore, so-”
Sonny leaned forward, tucking Rafael in and shutting him up by nudging his nose with his, pressing his forehead against Rafael’s. “Are you really that horny? Did you just want to go home to get laid?”
“They wouldn’t let you get in the bed with me,” Rafael muttered and squiggled in Sonny’s hold, burying his face against Sonny’s neck, breathing in his scent. “I just wanted to be home with you.”
“Jesus,” Sonny chuckled and pecked his temple. “You.” He sat up, pressed a kiss to Rafael’s lips, and smoothed down the blanket, then for good measure grabbed Pablo off the headrest to put him on Rafael’s chest. “I’m gonna make lunch, you need to eat before you take your meds. What d’you want to dr… What?” he asked, meeting Rafael’s gaze, and gently ran his hand through Rafael’s hair.
“Can we just order out and you stay with me?” Rafael asked.
Oh. It hadn’t just been him trying to look peak adorable for a laugh, he actually was at his utmost adorable.
Sonny bit back a chuckle and smiled, still petting Rafael’s hair. “Course we can. Scoot.”
“I thought you could play one of your stupid games or watch one of your shitty shows,” Rafael said, still sounding like a Pixar side character in the third act make-up-scene, eyes as wide, too.
“So I won’t get bored watching you nod off?” Sonny asked, and lifted Rafael’s feet to sit down and put them back in his lap, giving his toes a little squeeze.
“So I know you’re here,” Rafael said with a tired smile.
Sonny watched him with a little frown and grabbed Pablo, putting him on his hand.
“Are you okay, counselor?” Pablo asked, close to Rafael’s face, studying him intensely.
“Sure,” Rafael said and gave Pablo’s head a pat. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Oh, I don't,” Pablo said.
Rafael snorted. “Good.”
“But,” Pablo said in a lower voice, jerking back as if to indicate Sonny behind him, “you know…”
“He doesn’t need to worry, either,” Rafael said.
“I know!” Pablo exclaimed. “I tell him, y’know, The Counselor can watch out for himself, he always makes it out of everything alive, look, he made Tony Soprano feel bad for his henchmen hurting him or something-”
“That’s not what-”
“- but Sonny’s, you know…” Pablo did that little half-hop that conveyed he was shrugging. “He’s not like us. He worries. ‘What if he’s scared? What if he doesn’t tell me how bad it was?’ That kinda thing. Y’know?”
Rafael blinked at him and looked up at Sonny. “First you victim-blame me, now you’re making our fish use emotional blackmail?”
Pablo turned to meet Sonny’s gaze. “I told you he’d see right through it. He’s not as concussed as he looks.”
“C’mere, you,” Rafael said and weakly tugged at Pablo’s back, until Sonny relented and let him drag Pablo off Sonny’s hand so Rafael could put him on his shoulder, half tucked under his cheek.
“I’m fine,” he said, addressing both him and Pablo. “I got everything I need right here, my doofy husband, my smug fish, and idiotic background to fall asleep to. And, yes,” he added suddenly, as if hit by a thought, “it was very scary, and I could’ve done without the broken bones and the bruised kidney, but Dr. Richard’s going to love it. You should come to that session, watch him be all proud of me. You know you like it when he’s proud of us,” Rafael grinned, nudging Sonny’s leg with his foot.
Sonny snickered. “I’m not tying you up until that cast is gone, I mean it.”
“Spoilsport,” Rafael snorted, leaning up a bit when Sonny bent down to kiss him.
“If you stop being fine,” Sonny said, sitting up again, “you tell us, right? Even if it’s for just a moment.”
“Of course,” Rafael said, and Sonny believed him. “I don’t like not being fine.”
Sonny smiled. “Good.” He brushed Rafael’s hair back from his forehead, gently booped his nose. “I love you, bunny.”
“I love you, too,” Rafael said, and then, as if compelled to add it, “I love this life.”
Deciding not to inquire further – bit dramatic, but Rafael had just been through something rather dramatic, and he seemed happy enough saying it – Sonny nodded. “Me, too. You get an hour now to think about where to order lunch, while I powerwash a UFO. Okay?”
“Yay,” Rafael mumbled and closed his eyes.
THE END