From across the room she saw his face drop into a frown. They'd agreed to do the rounds, make nice with the higher-ups and meet back at the bar to rescue each other and refresh their (third? Fourth? They hadn't been counting) drinks. But Rafael Barba had been locked in a conversation with the DA for a good half-hour and it was growing visibly heated. He shifted positions restlessly from one leg to the other, and she could see his chest rise and fall rapidly like it did when he was blindsided in court. Olivia Benson, lately not as comfortable with the cops as she was with the lawyers, stared him down until he caught her gaze. She raised an eyebrow, silently asking if he needed an out. Before he could indicate his reply, McCoy gave him a slap on the shoulder, a nod, and exited the conversation.

Barba stood frozen for a moment at the edge of the banquet hall. The cocktail party had been thrown by the Mayor to honour the achievements of the D.A.'s office; partly as a morale-boosting exercise; but primarily as a show for the media, as evidenced by the imposing setting booked for the occasion. Every guest was dwarfed under Corinthian columns and high gilded ceilings. Barba, for the first time in the years she had known him, looked like he was about to let himself be trampled by the crowd. He loosened his collar then strode towards the grand double doors. He looked back at Benson and nodded for her to join him. She excused herself from the circle where Dodds and the police commissioner were taking turns holding court with war stories, and followed Barba out to the hall.

Black satin from the tea-length dress she'd ordered hastily online for the event floated around her like a moat as she took the stairs after him to the unoccupied mezzanine overlooking the mingling clusters of guests below. Barba positioned himself as far away from the railing as he could and leaned against the frame of one of the venue's floor-to-ceiling windows. He downed his scotch.

Benson took a sip of her champagne as she approached, and sat beside him on the stone window sill. She didn't want to rush him, but her stomach was starting to knot itself with dread, 'That looked bad…'

'So while my back was turned for five minutes, Stone made his move,' Barba stared straight ahead as he spoke in a flat tone, unable to look at her. 'I'm off SVU.'

Olivia's stomach dropped but she instantly snapped into managerial mode. She placed her champagne flute on the sill and pulled Barba down beside her, 'That's not possible.'

'It's done,' he said. 'My workload's been reassigned, effective immediately.'

'How can they do that without consulting you? Or me?'

'Stone's the boss. I'm being handled,' he spat the last word out like it tasted sour.

'And he's dismantling the department here? At a gala celebrating your successes with my unit? I'll kill him.'

'Six years serving this city…' Barba swirled the ice cubes in his glass, not wanting to hear the words he was saying.

'What is the plan supposed to be? All our cases…'

'Not my cases now. We no longer work together.' He still couldn't bring himself to look at her, although she shifted her weight to see him better.

'I'll talk to McCoy. Rafa,' she offered. 'Let's find him right now, come on, we'll fight this.' But he was defeated. He willed the window pane behind him to disintegrate so the air could rush in and suck him out of the room. 'We'll fight this,' she repeated firmly. The back of his head pressed against the cold glass and the chill steadied him and he became suddenly aware of another coolness. It was the satin of Benson's dress alongside his leg. He hadn't realised how close she was.

'Or…' he started. The cogs in his brain came alive, turning all at once.

'Or?'

'Forget it,' he chuckled. 'I'm not drunk enough to be this stupid.'

And she knew.

She could sense him hurtling towards the line and the last thing she wanted to do in this moment was stop him from leaping over it. All she wanted to do was make an impossible scenario better for him. She lowered her voice, 'Say it.'

'We no longer work together,' he stated.

'You said that.'

'It's Friday night, the city paid for our drinks, and we're free…' he put down his scotch glass and this time he finally looked at her. 'You wanna fight this on Monday?'

She had to remind herself to breathe. Here they were, on the other side of the line, and it was as simple as that. A crisis. A question. Barba lifted his little finger from the ledge his hand was resting on and placed it softly on to the fabric of her dress. She took another breath and looked back at him.

'I don't believe it,' she said, and a wave of panic hit him. He mentally prepared to walk his words back. But she shook her head and smiled. 'You found a loophole.'

He smiled back, 'I did.'

She laughed, 'We don't work together!'

'No,' he smiled back and drank in the rare warmth of her laughter until it subsided and he fixed his gaze on her. His heart was pounding as his finger brushed the satin against her thigh.

The soft piano music, the glasses clinking, the buzz from the ballroom below became a distant hum as Benson placed her own hand on Barba's leg. She turned to face him and rested her forehead against his.

'What are you waiting for?' she whispered.

'One of us to come to our senses.'

'Okay,' she said, not moving.

He could smell the perfume on her collarbone. He felt her pulse against his skin. And then he leapt. His lips fell against hers and they kissed, gently at first and then hungrily. She gripped his red tie and pulled him closer, wanting to feel his body against hers. He slid a hand up her back and into her hair, barely able to process that his life had both crashed and soared within minutes. His lips travelled along her jawline.

'Liv', he gasped into her ear and she trembled. 'I want this, God, you know I want this… You don't think it's a bad idea?'

'It's the worst idea,' she said, reaching under his suit jacket to run her hand along one of his suspenders. 'But hey, it's an evening for bad ideas.' She seized his lips again and drew his tongue into her mouth, kissing him until they were both breathless. 'Rafa,' she murmured. 'Not here.'

'My place,' he said. 'Three blocks from here.'

She nodded and slid off the window sill, bending to pick up the champagne flute they'd knocked on to the carpet seconds before.

'Go,' she said, wiping away her smudged lipstick as he straightened his tie. 'I'll get my bag. I'm five minutes behind you.'

'Hey,' he caught her wrist before she turned to leave. The ballroom's chandelier sprinkled light across her face and he stole a moment to take in her beauty. 'This is a big deal.'

'I know.' They locked eyes and she squeezed his hand. 'We'll fight it on Monday.'

He reached for his phone to book a ride as she disappeared down the stairs, a flutter of black satin.