an: It's been a while, but here is a short little post that I was inspired to write by thebarsondaily prompt champagne. It is short and fluffy, but I hope y'all enjoy it at least a little. My writing skills are a little rusty.
"Barba, I thought you were allergic to these kinds of things." The attorney forced a chuckle and playfully shook the hand of a tuxedo-clad Chief Dodds.
"I think I've spent too much time at the office lately. This is a welcome change of pace."
The man smiled knowingly and clapped his hand gently against the ADA's back, "Well, you deserve it. It's been quite a case."
Barba simply nodded in response while Dodds breezed off to schmooze a room full of money and power.
The week had been a blur of legal documents, black coffee, and hair-pulling, his movements confined to his apartment, office, and the SVU bullpen. While the jury eventually convicted, the whole case had been an exhausting roller-coaster ride. This gala was Rafael's first taste of fresh air in days.
The banquet hall was littered with plastic smiles and hollow laughs and he wanted nothing more than to retreat to a corner of the hall loosen the bowtie cinched tight around his neck.
Across the room, he caught a glimpse of his favorite Lieutenant brushing a wisp a dark hair behind her ear. She caught his gaze and ever-so-slightly rolled her eyes toward the ceiling; the corner of his mouth turned up involuntarily and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.
He was tempted to make his way over to her but quickly remembered that he had work to do. As much as he hated it, occasionally inflating the egos of the higher-ups was a necessary evil.
Rafael drifted through the throng of people, making small talk with a few lawyers and a handful of politicians, carrying out the political side of his job with his witty charm and perfect amiability. The DA would be proud.
At the buzz of the phone in his suit pocket, Rafael excused himself from a conversation and moved toward the edge of the room, grateful for the distraction.
Meet me on the roof.
"Took you long enough," she twisted around at the sound of the door closing, smirking at her tardy guest.
Her feet dangled precariously off the side of the building, one arm draped over the metal railing and another clutching a bottle of champagne.
"Come on—sit, drink. Smile."
He grinned back at her, "I thought you'd still be downstairs, basking in the glory." Rafael obligingly took the spot next to her, frowning a bit at the dirty ledge she had chosen as a seat.
"You do know this suit was expensive, right?"
She ignored him, taking a swig of the bubbly alcohol straight from the bottle before handing it to him. Her hair had long since been removed from its silver clip, and her heels had been discarded somewhere on the gravel that covered the rooftop.
"So, what, you got sick of all the congratulations?"
Olivia bumped his shoulder with hers. "Please, you know I hate these things as much as you do. These people tangle us up in red tape and put up every roadblock during our investigation, but when we actually prove the guy is guilty, suddenly they're our biggest supporters. Give me a break."
Her fingers snatched the bottle back out of his hands, "besides, I thought this was a much better way to celebrate," she took another swig, "it does concern me, though, that in a room full of New York's finest, no one caught me swiping a bottle of ridiculously expensive champagne."
He snorted, "I would've defended you in court."
"The big bad prosecutor would switch to the dark side to defend me? Touching."
"Maybe I'd even give you a discount."
The sound of their laughter echoed down to the bustling street below, and the corners of her eyes crinkled as she looked over at him.
"You did good this week, Liv," and his voice was deeper—sincere—as he said it. Her shoulders softened as she smiled at him.
"I couldn't do it without you," she whispered back, just as earnestly, and in an instant her lips placed a ghost of a kiss on his.
Rafael Barba didn't even skip a beat.
"Then it's a good thing we have standing plans to still be squabbling when we're eighty-five," he grinned at her, the corner of his mouth helplessly rising once again.
His lips pressed against her forehead, and then suddenly they were gone, and the bottle had been craftily torn from her hands.
"Now, quit hogging the champagne."
End.