Chapter Text
♫ Azucar by A.B. Quintanilla & Los Kumbia Kingz ♫
El ritmo que traigo es azúcar
Azúcar pa' mí
El ritmo que traigo es azúcar
Azúcar pa' ti
El ritmo que traigo es azúcar
Azúcar pa' mí
El ritmo que traigo es azúcar
Azúcar pa' tiThe rhythm I bring is sugar
Sugar for me
The rhythm I bring is sugar
Sugar for you
The rhythm I bring is sugar
Sugar for me
The rhythm I bring is sugar
Sugar for you
Nick could not sleep. He supposed it was only cruel irony that he only managed to fall asleep at two in the morning. This was not a nice night to have. Tossing and turning, turning and tossing. His brain too wired and too frustrated to do anything. Anxiety that he refused was there.
He should have known the moment he got moody with how bright the hallway light meant one thing; migraine hell. Normally, he would be okay with the quiet. Now, it was worse. The sensitivity to pain, the sensitivity to noise. He hated how quiet his new home was now. The new apartment that he refused to call a bachelor pad was empty other than his belongings and furniture. Three bedrooms; a guest room, his room and Zara’s.
He was so tired. He thought changing pillows would help. It did not. Migraines at night made insomnia worse. Eventually, he gave in and took the migraine medicine that he kept at the bottom of his drawers. And lo-behold. He took a deep breath.
Deep breath, Nicky. Deep breath. Yeah? You got this.
His hand on his chest, soothing himself. This motion always helped him on the sleepless nights he went through in the desert while he served. Deep breaths. It’s okay. He is okay.
Nick let out a shaky breath. His brain hurt. He felt the pain lessen as the medicine took effect. Deep breaths. The breathing exercises that his therapist taught him. Nick could sleep. He will sleep.
Cold air in the middle of the winter did the job.
☕︎
Only to wake up at six. Four hours of sleep. Four and a half, kind of.
Nick sighed as he stared at the ceiling after nearly tossing his phone off the bed.
Well, he did sleep. And his migraine was lifted.
He supposed it was a win.
☕︎
He had a jar of Bustelo in his kitchen and he needed to make it. He could not drink another drop of that horrid swill that the squad room called coffee any longer. His budget on coffee was running low. He needed to lower it. New Year's Resolution that he tried to do every year and failed every time. Tenemos café en la casa. We have coffee at home. Pero no, there went his pesos. Out of his wallet and into the barista’s pocket . Goddamn it.
There was no way that he was going to drink the coffee from the squad room. Maybe that was what was causing his migraines; not the caffeine, but the sheer disgust and poison that passed as coffee. Maybe Americans did not know taste. They did not know taste.
Maybe the SVU squad room had their taste buds so broken with the coffee---yeah, he could share the Bustelo.
Nick showed up early to the squad room to brew the coffee. Some of the other officers were there, milling about. Half the squad room already had their own cups of coffee, let it be in thermos or the classic blue cups. Cute little things, Nick had to admit. Zara had drawn a picture of him with a cup and he still had it.
He made the Bustelo and chose to keep the jar in the coffee cabinet. Not like he did not have any at home. He had too much at home.
Consider it my act of kindness for the month. You're welcome.
The coffee was lifting his spirits, at least. It smelled so good. He drank it with a small amount of sugar.
“Hey Livvie,” Nick greeted with a smile. He always greeted her in the mornings, even when he was mad at her. Granted, it was petty, but warranted.
“Hey,” Olivia said. She smiled. She had a coffee cup.
Barba came in not too far behind Olivia, dressed sharp and to the nines. He looked annoyed. He always did. He lacked a coffee cup.
“Counselor.”
Barba glanced over at him. "Detective." He lacked his coffee cup. Maybe that was why he was annoyed. He was always annoyed, and annoying. Mal parido. Baboso. God, he got on his goddamn nerves.
Nick turned back to his desk and continued reading the case file.
A small noise caught Nick’s attention.
“Is this...Bustelo?”
Rafael was incredibly surprised.
“Yeah.”
Thought you don’t know what it tasted like anymore, Harvard.
Before Nick could snipe the words at him, Barba smiled.
Barba looked…happy. The look on Barba’s face as he tasted the cafe was…different. It was different.
“I love Bustelo.” Barba smiled. For the first time that it was without him being smug as hell or him sassing off some defense attorney, Barba was smiling. A genuine smile. “Tengo mucho que no lo tomo.” (“It has been so long since I have not drunk it.”)
But Nick thought to himself that maybe…. Maybe he should be nice. God. Barba’s accent was so smooth. So, beau---
Nick halted that thought and moved on.
“Tanta plata en este mundo y traemos café de la casa.” (“So much money in this world and I bring coffee from home.”)
“¿Sabes lo que me dice mi mamita cada vez que me ve con un Estarbucks?” (“You know what my mamita tells me every time she sees me with a Starbucks?”)
“¿Que te dice?”
“Tenemos cafe en la casa.” (“We have coffee at home.”)
It was the same thing that his mother told Nick too. Surprisingly, Nick laughed. Barba, of all people in the world, made him laugh. God. He was so tired. He felt his face burning. Fuck. He's so fucked. This is not happening. This is definitely not happening...right?
He did not just form the stupidest little crush on the most insufferable man on earth all because he smiled at him and made him laugh.
Nick turned to drink his coffee and tried to pretend he was fine.
☕︎
"Who got you blushing?" Fin asked.
"What?" Nick was startled. Ain’t no way that they noticed. Ain’t no damn way that this was happening. He was so tired. “I ain’t blushing.”
"What guy, gal or pal caught your eye this time?" Munch entered the conversation, just to be annoyed about it.
Nick was not secretive about his bisexuality. He never really had been. It wasn't that he did not care; it was part of him. Other than the blatant come ons from strangers, single life broke him and suited him. Mostly broke him.
Gay bars and nightclubs were too juvenile and loud, but he liked the ambiance in small doses. He loved dancing but there wasn't much of a cumbia scene in gay bars anyway. Just strong as fuck drinks.
“No one,” Nick lied. Like a liar.
“You hear that, Fin?” Munch asked to Fin. “Nick said no one.”
“Sure. No one.”
“We’re not saying we don’t believe you.”
“Except you are.”
“But...”
Nick held both hands out. “I will not partake in this conversation.”
Nick decided then. He felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. He felt absolutely nothing positive, let alone affectionate, for Rafael Barba.