The sheets were soft against his skin - much softer than he would have assumed, given that their thread count had to be somewhere in the lower hundreds. If he had to guess, and if he had a little less wine in his system, he would hazard that they were jersey-knit. Not his favorite. But the Pinot Noir urged him to reconsider his distaste. They smelled faintly of something that he couldn't quite place; Cardamom, maybe? Cardamom and jasmine, and the warmth of the figure that lay next to him breathing quietly.

It took him longer than usual to notice the sound of his phone ringing some two yards away. His head turned as his vision sharpened a little. He was aware of two things: One, it was very late, and two, if someone was calling at this hour it was probably not for a light chat.

With some forced concentration, Rafael Barba pushed himself into a sitting position on the bed. The sheets slid down his body, pooling at his lap for a second before he tossed them aside and slid his feet onto the floor. The phone was still nestled into the pocket of his tailored slacks that lay crumpled on the hardwood flooring. Caller ID told him what he already knew, the name Olivia Benson shown across the screen. There wasn't any hesitation to press answer.

"Liv. What's up?" There was stirring in the bed behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder while taking a few steps further away, and lowering his voice. The detective on the other end spoke quickly, keeping her sentences concise but effective. A witness in an ongoing trafficking case had been murdered. They were supposed to take the stand in two days. The case, which until that point had been open-and-shut, was riding on that testimony. The news cut clear through the wine-induced haze. "Shit." He breathed, suddenly alert and acutely aware that he needed to do some serious strategizing. He needed to be in his office, surrounded by volumes of research materials and the calming effect of his desk. He needed the case in front of him. "Okay." There was more stirring from the bed, and when he glanced behind him again he was met with a set of sleepy eyes squinting at him. A quick plan to meet the detective at the station was made, and he hung up without a real goodbye. He could feel the gaze from the pillows still on him, his pants were scooped up in a hand, and quickly put on before returning to the edge of the bed.

"You're leaving." Rafael pressed his lips into a dissatisfied line for a second, then let his face soften as he looked down at the inviting gaze of a very sleep-disheveled woman.

"I have to. There was a complication-"

"Mm." She gave a vague, fatigued smile and rubbed her face into the pillow beneath her cheek. "You are a dealer in complications." He couldn't help the short, breathy laugh that escaped him. Her summation was the understatement of the century.

"Something like that. Listen -"

"Go." She muttered, hugging the blankets closer and peering at him with only one eye open now. "Get out of here. You're a very busy man with many important things to do."

"I'll call you later."

"No you won't." Both of her eyes were closed now, and she was smiling to herself. "Many important things, remember? Now get." The playfulness of her dismissal tugged the corner of his mouth into a brief smirk.

"I'll bring you coffee when I'm done." She didn't even respond, simply raised one slender hand and silently waved him in the direction of her door. Although he didn't want to leave the warmth of his surroundings, he was thankful that she wasn't going to hold this sudden disappearing act against him. It was easy to find the rest of his clothes, and in less than five minutes he was fully dressed and heading back out. One last glance back at the studio apartment, and then out into the cold.

Fall was settling quickly over New York City, and the early September night required a scarf and gloves for survival. So cool already; winter was probably going to be brutal. No matter that he had spent his entire forty-three years on the East Coast, he still wouldn't get used to the deep freeze that it settled into come the winter months.

The cab drivers this time of night were a hit-and-miss sort. It was a fifty-fifty chance that you'd end up with a lunatic, but he took his chances. Thankfully, the journey to the station didn't result in a grisly death, and the driver was tipped accordingly before Barba made the quick dash from cab to the doors of the station, desperately wanting the comfort of the stations heating system.

"Out late, Counselor?" Was the first thing that Rafael heard as he strode into the bull-pen. The question came from the perpetually smug detective Nick Amaro. Without reacting, Rafael gave the detective a glance over.

"Detective Amaro. Pleasure as always." The animosity between the two had never been less than a subtle sizzle, there was no reason for it to be any different now. Barba had his theories as to why the detective regarded him with so little appreciation, but it was all a moot point. Nick had a job, and Rafael had his. As far as he was concerned, there was no need to expend energy into worrying why they weren't braiding each others hair every Saturday night. It was no skin off his back.

Olivia Benson made an entrance, saving Rafael the need to try to keep up a repartee with the male detective. At the sight of her, his demeanor relaxed a little. Although he generally kept a professional distance, a friendship had been cultivated between the two. At least he could count on being among one friendly face, which was good, as the Pinot Noir still made his head feel a bit light. "Thanks for coming down so fast, Barba." Liv gave him a once over, noting the wrinkled trousers, and the un-tucked shirt beneath his jacket. She didn't say anything, but raised an eyebrow, which conveyed her amusement. "Sorry to interrupt your evening."

"Don't breathalize me, and we'll call it even." He offered, Olivia let out a short breath, and he pushed forward to prevent Amaro getting a word in. "So what happened?" Liv gave Nick a short look.

"Nick, grab Barba some coffee, will you? Meet us in my office." Her look was firm enough to keep the officer from protesting, and he left without incident. Honestly, Rafael would rather not send the detective to do what he could do himself, but he was also not in the game of arguing with Benson. As one might guess, she ruled the roost, and he wasn't about to ruffle feathers over a cup of coffee. So without waiting another moment, he followed. "You know, you didn't have to rush so quickly that you couldn't put on fresh clothes." She was smirking now, and he flashed her a look that very clearly read that she knew exactly what it meant that he wasn't wearing different clothes.

"I'm nothing if not punctual."

"I'll say."

"What happened, Liv?" Olivia sighed just as the door opened and Nick returned with a mug of steaming coffee, handing it off silently.

"Robert Milszenik was found dead in his hotel room an hour ago. Single gunshot to the head."

"Execution-style." Nick added, moving around Rafael to lean against the corner of the sergeant's desk. "No mistaking that this was a hit."

"But there was supposed to be a protection detail. How did this happen? How the hell did anyone even know that Milszenik was there?" Any lingering traces of warmth from the apartment he had left were evaporating rapidly. That part of his day was disappearing, being boxed up neatly and pushed to the back of his mind until he had time for it. There was no room in his night anymore for Pinot Noir and jersey sheets.

He threw himself into the case with reckless abandon, pushing everything else aside. It was his singular ability to compartmentalize that made him excellent at his job. When he worked, he was the embodiment of his work.

The sun was coming up before he even glanced outside a window, even then it was only an errant glance as he drained another cup of coffee in an uncountable succession. Intel had trickled in as the night progressed, but no matter what none of it seemed to help their case in any real way. The facts were what they were: their star witness was dead. Even though everyone in the room knew that it was undoubtedly ordered by the man on trial, a trafficker by the name of Leonard Chase, they couldn't prove it. Even if they could, proving that Chase had ordered the hit wouldn't save Barba the sudden gap in his case. There was a real chance that Chase could walk now, and that wasn't a reality that Barba felt comfortable with.

It was just after eight when Olivia came back into the office that he had claimed for the time being, and put a take-away container in front of him that smelled a lot like pancakes. "Thanks, Liv." He muttered absently, barely even looking up as he shuffled through papers. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, his hair was woefully out of place from him running his fingers through it so many times, and his eyes were sporting dark bags from the sleep deprivation. Detective Benson was staring at him intently, clearly disapproving of what she was looking at. He knew that he was fanatical about his work, and he was used to the expression on her face.

"Why don't you take a break, hm? Catch some sleep in the tombs." He couldn't deny that his vision was starting to blur, and that coffee was starting to have no effect on him at all. Deep down, he knew she was right, but he didn't want to confront that fact.

"I can sleep when I'm dead." He responded dismissively, giving the detective a brief look long enough for her to see that he was joking.

"Or you could sleep now. Come on, you have to be exhausted."

"And you?" In true Olivia fashion, she shook her head as if the idea was irrelevant.

"Doesn't matter. I'm used to it."

"You're not the only person who has pulled all-nighters, Detective." His time in law school was rife with them, and his subsequent legal career had its fair share as well.

"I don't have to argue a case in front of a jury tomorrow morning. You need some rest." She was right, but he didn't want to acknowledge it.

"I'm asking for a continuance. My star witness was murdered. Hopefully the judge will give me some time."

"Then all the more reason to get some rest. Barba, it's bad enough that you had to spend your night here. Don't kill yourself for this. As soon as we know more, we'll get ahold of you." He sighed, looking down at the mess of papers that were marked with notes in his handwriting. Taking that second to assess the situation, he was hit full-force with his fatigue. Suddenly, it was hard for him to tell how he had managed to stay awake at all.

"As soon as you know anything?" He repeated, already reaching for his jacket.

"Promise." The sound of her phone ringing got her attention while he gathered up his things and attempted to make a slightly less horrible pile of his notes. He'd take those home with him.

"And you're going to get some rest too, I hope?" He asked over his shoulder as he wrapped his scarf around his neck again.

"Can't." She responded, looking down at the phone in her hand after hanging up. "I just got a call about a rape in Midtown."

"No rest for the wicked." He gave her an apologetic look as he went for the door.

"You're telling me."

"Get some rest when you can, Detective." She just gave a nod and followed him out.

He didn't call, as predicted. He didn't grab coffee, either. Rafael made it home in a haze - he meant to do one or the other or both - and yet found himself at his own doorstep. It had been a long night. The weariness sunk into him, filled him up, and made his limbs hang as though they were made of lead. Red rimmed his light eyes, the lids practically sealing shut with every blink. Getting to sleep would be quick work, he was sure.

The apartment was neither messy nor spotless. Legal texts and papers were ever-present, and peppered the various surfaces, and there was more than one pair of leather shoes visible in the open living area. All of it went unnoticed by the counselor. His mission was singular: a glass of scotch, a shower, and his bed. Exactly in that order. The bathroom, when he entered it in all of it's soft lighting and clean tiled glory smelled faintly of the man's soap and shaving cream. A well-kept titanium safety razor was sitting askew within its holder, and the tin for the shave-cream was open. More often than not, this was how it looked. Rafael lived alone, and while he enjoyed a clean house, he usually found himself leaving in a hurry and returning in a daze. He could hire someone, he supposed, but despite his outward appearance, Rafael was not the sort of man that believed in someone else picking up after him. Too much pride, probably.

The remembered, for just a brief moment before falling asleep, that he should have called. He considered doing so, he really did. But the fatigue had taken hold of him, it gripped him and owned him, and sucked all willpower from him. He'd sleep for just a few hours, he told himself, and then he'd call. He'd call her on the way to his office. Maybe they'd get lunch. Maybe, if his continuance was granted, he'd see her the next night.