Disclaimer: Characters belong to Dick and NBC. Not me.
Author's Note: Some of you might wonder why I'm writing another story like this. In 2007 I lost my mom to cancer. Writing this and the first All Good Things has been very therapeutic for me – and has helped my healing. I've held on to the grief for so long and as much as I know my life will never be the same, I know I need to start letting it go and live. Like mom would have wanted. These stories are my way of beginning to do that.
So, this story and the previous story is dedicated to her and to all of you who have lost a loved one.
Lyrics from Let Love Stand A Chance, sung by Charles Bradley
All Good Things Redux
I've been thinking what to say
if you walked through that door
All the walls we build around us
Let them fall to the floor.
"Hi, baby!" Your face is as bright as the sun as you reach out your arms and lifts the child into them. "Oh, Noah love, it's so good to see you." And your smile could light the entire precinct, it's just that radiant.
"Liv, please," Barba laughs and hands over the burping cloth as a precaution, "you saw Noah just eight hours ago. It's not like you were gone forever."
You make a mock frowny face at your foster son. "Noah, I think your Uncle Rafi is making fun of me. I'm thinking I'm not going to give him a cookie."
Barba has a hard time refraining from a smirk. You see this and gives him the fearsome Sergeant Benson side-eye. "Not in front of the baby, Rafael."
Now he couldn't refrain from rolling his eyes. "Liv, he's eight months. He's not going to pick up on innuendo."
He can't help but be amused at the red flush in your cheeks. "Well…you never know, they could pick up on these things early." You tilt your head to the side trying to avoid your hair being grabbed by Noah's chubby fingers. "Noah! Stop trying to grab my hair." You smile and laugh a little, bouncing him on your hip. Noah squeals with glee as he finally reaches his objective, your hair. Wincing but laughing too, you manage to pry your hair out of his little fist.
"Let's get you into your playpen so Mommy can eat dinner." Looking into his big eyes, you put him down and promptly hand him his Elmo. He loves that animal. All the stress and the trauma of the work day melt off your shoulders when you see your son's delight.
Your son. All yours. Your pride and joy.
Behind her, Rafael wraps his arms around you. "Good evening, sergeant." He whispers into your neck, planting a kiss along your neck. "Rafael," you scold him jokingly, "not in front of the baby!"
"Oh good God, Olivia. How many times are you going to tell me that?" Rafael rolls his eyes. "He is EIGHT months. Not eighteen years old. Nor eight." He remembered some of his friends as children getting repulsed by the sight of their parents exchanging physical affection. For his part, he remembered being envious of that since affection was a rarity in his home. His father was more fond of using his fists or a belt than he was of giving his children kindness. It had actually been a blessing when a heart attack had killed his father - Rafael had, by that time, had enough.
There had been days when he had barely managed to refrain from killing the man himself.
He barely sees his mama anymore. As far as he's concerned, she as good as abandoned him and his siblings when she refused to stand up to their father. Papi 's word was law and what he said went. There was no discussion in the Barba household.
Part of him realizes that he's being unfair, but the wounds run too deep. He can't forget that little boy hiding in the dark. And he can't forgive his mother's failure to protect them all.
"Rafael," You call his name softly, "come back to me. Where did you go?" You place a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Places best left unmentioned." He smiles at you tightly, his earlier good humor gone. A sharp pain flashes across his chest. Rubbing it quickly, he misses your look of concern as he goes over to the kitchen to heat up the food he had prepared. You'd been working late the last few nights so he had been watching Noah when Lucy had gone home.
He was quite the good babysitter and Noah adored him. There'd been times you'd come home, bone tired, only to see Rafael and Noah both asleep on the couch. You remember chuckling to yourself because Rafael had looked so disheveled and unlike his very buttoned-down self.
Or there were the times you'd walked into their bedroom, only to see Rafael rocking Noah to sleep, singing him the Spanish lullabies his mama had sung him as a child, before life and his father had made her hard. He had a lovely voice and he was so good with Noah.
But you weren't surprised. Rafael had a tender heart, for all the acerbic wit and sarcasm. He just preferred to hide it because the world is not kind to the soft and tender-hearted.
You know that all too well.
You stand for a moment in the foyer of their small but fairly roomy upper East End apartment. You and Rafael had been together now for a year and living together for about six months. You both make for a pretty unconventional pairing and it had been somewhat of a shock to the squad when you had disclosed.
Damn, guys, you'd laughed. Some crack detectives you are. Never once figured this out?
Fin: "Shit, Olivia." And he had chuckled a little, shaking his head. Never gonna understand you, baby girl, but you do what makes you happy.
Amaro: "Him? Really?" Amaro and Barba never had really gotten along. They had made their peace after the disastrous events surrounding Nicolas Sr's wedding and even forged a tentative truce, but they'd never be true compadres.
Rollins: "Ooookay, sarge." The look on her face screamed what Amaro in all of his tactlessness had simply blurted out. But Rollins actually had had the tact to not blurt out the first thing she was thinking. Well done, Amanda.
Carisi: "He's okay, I like him." His face had been thoughtful, considering, as he was hastily eating one of his goat cheese pizzas. He had shrugged the whole thing off. No skin off his back.
Melinda had tried really hard to be supportive but had been honest enough to admit she didn't really know Rafael so she was withholding judgment. If he hurts you, she had told you, you can tell him I know very unpleasant ways to cut people open. I do it every day.
Munch was philosophical. Everyone deserves a chance at happiness, especially you, Liv. If he makes you happy, who am I to criticize? God knows I'm no expert - I've been married four times and still never managed to get it right.
Cragen simply advised you to disclose before the jackasses at One PP got wind of it.
"Jackasses, Don? That's not very politic." You had teasingly thrown his own words back at him again.
He had cracked a faint but relaxed smile. "I'm retired now, Olivia, I don't have to play nice with these rat bastards anymore."
All in all, it went the way you'd expected it to. A little bit of discomfort and a whole lot of roasting.
Okay guys, you've now had your fun and games. Back to work.
Ah, life at the sixteenth. You wouldn't have it any other way.
"Wine, Liv?" Rafael hands you a glass, strain still around his eyes.
"Oh, you are divine, counselor."
"So I've been told." He smirks. "In fact, some nice attorney in the DA's office was just telling me that the other day."
You raise an eyebrow. "Should I be concerned?"
"Well," Barba says slowly, "she doesn't wear a badge, she isn't an NYPD detective, and she's a redhead. So I'm thinking no." A small smirk crosses across his face. "Are you jealous, Liv?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Rafael." You laugh.
"Good." He goes over and kisses you. "Green doesn't look good on you, Olivia."
"And flattery will get you nowhere, Rafael."
He kisses you harder this time, his hands stroking you urgently. And that is not a gun she's feeling. "Rafael…" you murmur, in between hot, wet kisses, "the food…it's going to get cold."
"It's just food."
"Rafael, not in front of the baby."
"Dammit."
He nuzzles your neck a little, whispers something in Spanish in your ear (it's probably a little bawdy, knowing him, but you don't mind) and gives you another kiss.
You shoo him away again but with a smile on your face.
You've never been happier.
In life, we're all given moments of happiness. Sometimes they can't last a long time - almost your entire life. Sometimes they're never meant to be more than a season. And as much as we would like to cling to happiness and keep it with us, sometimes it's not possible.
It starts with Rafael complaining about chest pains. At first, you're not too concerned because everyone gets work stress and there's not a moment of the day when one of your squad members is giving you some kind of pain. But as the days and weeks wear on, the circles under Rafael's eyes grow darker.
It's not something that really concerns you. Until he finally says something.
He's never one to complain but one night, when Noah's in bed, he simply looks at you. "Something's not right. I think I need to see a doctor."
To hear him admit that chills you to the bone. While he's let his walls down considerably since you've been together, there are things he still keeps very much to himself. If he's ever ill, he never lets you see it. He handles it himself.
It actually pisses you off sometimes.
But you have not missed the way he's been rubbing at his chest, the flash of pain that has crossed his face when he thinks you're not watching. You haven't seen it much but you have seen it. And you curse yourself for for not taking it more seriously. For not making him get seen sooner.
"Quit blaming yourself, Liv." He says suddenly. Because he knows how you blame yourself. It's what you do.
"I should have seen it." You say angrily. "I should have made you go. How could I have been so blind?"
He simply looks at you and smirks. " Liv, you should know by now that no one makes me do anything. So stop with the guilt trip. I'm going to the doctor." He looks at you keenly. "Sometimes I think you like beating yourself up. Quit it. Let yourself be happy." And of course he's right.
So you kiss him and he pulls you to him hard and makes short work of your clothes. He can't stop running his mouth over your skin, as if he's tasting you for the first time…and for the last time. No, Olivia, don't think about that.
His hands stroke your hips, your thighs, and your breasts. He's always liked your breasts. And when his mouth is on them you can't think and you find you don't want to. Thinking is overrated.
And you melt into his arms. As you always do. Because the courtroom isn't the only place where he's persuasive. He touches you and everything is heat and fire and you almost forget about the shadows hovering around the bed, claws outstretched. We're coming for you. You ignore the whispers.
There have been few things in life that have made you this happy. Feeling him inside of you is like being home after a long journey. You've been waiting for to come home all your life and you just want to stay there.
Oh god, just touch me and don't stop. I love you, I love you, I love you. You've never really been the type to use those words much. It's like you curse yourself when you speak them so you simply don't. You hold them tight to your chest. But neither of you really have a need to say them now, they're written on both of your faces. They have been for a long time.
And he moves just a little bit the right away and you bite your lip because, oh god, it feels wonderful. And he's murmuring words so softly you can barely hear them. And you feel his intake of breath and you know it's partly from pain and your heart breaks. But he ignores it and moves on top of you and in you and soon you forget everything except his tongue, his hands, his warm skin against yours. And soon the only hitch in his breath you hear is from delight.
Oh, Rafael...
Of course it doesn't last. Good things never do. Not for you. Never for you.
And the crash to earth almost breaks you.
Rafael goes to see his local physician, Dr. Robert Fox. Dr. Fox is an interesting man, with a rather biting sense of humor. You've always liked him. He's one of the few people that can match wits with Rafael and actually win from time to time. It's almost amusing to you to see them go after each other. While you've not been to him yourself, occasionally you and Rafael have run into him outside of his practice. (It's really funny how small NYC can be sometimes.) He always makes some quip at your expense and you want to hate him but you can't.
He's run some tests, looked at some x-rays.
And the phone call comes that he wants to see Barba. Immediately.
You insist on going with him and you won't take no for an answer. Rafael, for once, doesn't argue and actually appears grateful. He's been too tired and the pain has been worse the last few days. It's now normal for you to see him rubbing his chest and there's been a few times he's gotten winded.
And the fear just keeps growing inside you. But you tamp it down because you can't let him see how scared you are. Although you're pretty sure he does. Oh, he won't let on that he knows but he touches you at unexpected moments, the quick grip of your hand in public, a brief kiss on the cheek…public displays of affection he normally doesn't do.
It throws you off even more and you don't know how to react. How to be normal when things are so obviously not.
Today Dr. Fox is very sober. A rarity for him because the few times you've seen him, the twinkle's always been in his eye. He's Irish, he says. He was born with a twinkle.
But today it's not there and that scares you most of all. When Robert Fox is as sober as a judge, then it's time to worry.
"Out with it, Rob." Barba snaps. "I can handle it."
Dr. Fox takes off his glasses and wipes them. "It's bad, Rafael." And he places the x-rays on the wall in front of both of you. On the right, the x-ray of the lung is clear.
As for the one on the left, well, you've seen terrible things in your life. Horrible, unspeakable things. But nothing terrifies you as much as the solid white across the black of the x-ray.
There's a mass over Rafael's lung. You spend a few moments just staring at it and it almost looks like a monster hunched over, looking for something to eat. Because it's not perfectly symmetrical. It has jagged edges.
"Without a biopsy, I can't tell if this is malignant or not." Robert Fox says slowly. "And I would be remiss if I told you it was. But I can say from what you've told me about your symptoms that it has been growing for a while. We need to schedule you for surgery right away. If we leave it in, it will kill you."
Fox doesn't need to bring up the word for you to understand what this is. Oh, he's being very cautious in not giving a diagnosis but you know what it is.
So you talk with Fox and he's managed to find a surgeon. This is urgent. He can't wait, Sergeant Benson.
He tells you that the surgeon/oncologist is very good and that Rafael couldn't be in better hands. He recommends that you both go home, that Rafael would need to only come in a few hours before the surgery for pre-op prep.
You nod, in a daze, not quite believing that this is real.
Only hours before you'd been lying in each other's arms, as if nothing could touch you.
But this is reality.
And reality's a cold-hearted bitch.
You go home and you simply go through the motions of living, as if in a stupor. Rafael is tired from the appointment and the doctor's given him pain meds that make him drowsy. So it's just you alone with your thoughts, having put Noah down for the night, Rafael sleeping in the next room.
And the pain in your heart is so sharp and severe you think you might just be dying.
But you're not that lucky. Life's given you just enough to take you to the edge of almost destruction only to pull you back with a mocking laugh. It's not going to kill you but it's going to make you wish that it had.
Tears fill your eyes and they almost fall but you pull them back in time because you can't, you can't, let them fall. You have to be the strong one now. As he has been for you. So many, many times. During your ordeal with William Lewis and the aftermath. During so many other difficult cases. He's always been your rock.
You need to be the strong one now.
Days Later
The surgery is long. And the waiting is brutal. You can't sit. You can't eat. You can barely breathe. You've gone to One PP and explained the situation. That Rafael is ill and there's a chance you might be out for a while. Declan Murphy is back from his long undercover assignment and you ask them to send him to watch your people. There's no one else you trust better to do the job.
You may not always have liked him but he got the job done.
"Don't worry, Sergeant." He tells you. "I've got your back."
Words fail you so you simply nod.
"You'll be back before you know it." He says. "In the meantime, godspeed, to you and Mr. Barba. Our thoughts are with you both."
Thank you, Declan.
During the waiting, your squad members take turns visiting you and you're touched.
"Guys, you're supposed to be working." You say brusquely, to hide your emotions. "This isn't work."
"Hey, even detectives need to eat." Amaro says jokingly, to ease the tension. "So anything good in this place?"
You smile but you're pretty sure it's shaky.
Fin doesn't say much but simply puts a hand on your shoulder. "We got your back, Liv."
"Thanks, guys." That's all you can find to say. You can barely speak through the fear. Rollins awkwardly pats you on the back, she's not the hugging type and this situation makes her a little uncomfortable. Nick pulls you into a tight hug and he simply whispers, "If you need anything, Liv, anything, I'm…we're all here for you." And the affection and concern in his eyes almost make you cry but you don't because you have to be strong.
Sergeant Benson doesn't cry.
Eight hours later, they finally finish. You've been all there, just waiting. You must have walked a hole in the floor, you've been pacing so much. Every so often, you call and check in on Noah but Lucy's with him, you know he's fine. Your squad keeps you posted, trying to keep your mind off of Rafael lying on the operating table, completely helpless.
Oh, Rafael, hang in there.
"Sergeant Benson?" One of the attending surgeons motions you over to the side. Stifling a yawn - it's been such a long day and no amount of caffeine can ward off the exhaustion - you join him.
He seems a kindly enough man, with salt and pepper hair and his name tag says his name is Kevin Light. He shakes your hand. "We were able to get all of it…" You're so relieved, you almost cheer but he holds up his hand. "We had to remove his entire lung. The mass was simply too big and the lung was damaged beyond repair."
Maybe you don't like this man after all. He's avuncular and kindly but his words are destroying whatever slim hopes you had. Fuck you, Dr. Light.
The tigers are laughing in the shadows. Did you really think you could be happy?
"I'm going to be honest with you." Like you haven't been already?
He looks at you over his glasses. "While we were in there, we found another mass around his rib cage, which we removed. It was small so it hadn't been impacting any vital organs yet. Given this discovery, we're proceeding under the assumption that the mass was malignant and has spread. We'll be doing a biopsy but, at this point, I would suggest you prepare yourself for the worst. Hope for the best but given the size and magnitude of this mass, I'm not going to lie. It's bad."
"When can I see him?" You choke out, grief, anger and shock all waging some kind of war inside of you, clamoring to get out.
"He's going to be out for awhile. You're certainly welcome to check in on him but it might be better when he's awake." Dr. Light looks at you sympathetically and you turn away. Can't bear to see the pity in his eyes. He hasn't said the words but he doesn't really need to.
This may be one battle not even Barba can win.
So you go up to his room. He's unconscious and, with a pang, you realize he looks so frail lying there. Not the robust and pugnacious prosecutor that you've known for so long. This Rafael, pale, white, and so still, is a stranger. And you don't know this man and it scares you. For a few moments, you stand at the door, unwilling to simply leave.
"Sergeant Benson." Dr. Light - or Kevin, as he's encouraged you to call him - gives you a gentle reminder. "Why don't you go home?"
Home.
To Noah.
Yes, that would be best.
So you go home and hold your little boy tight close to you. He squeals a little and grabs your hair, but you don't mind, he keeps you from thinking about that still figure in the white bed, with the tubes coming out of his arm.
Looking down into Noah's crib, you envy him his ability to fall asleep. You know you won't be sleeping that night. While you've not had nightmares about Lewis in a long time, part of that has been because Rafael's been there with you, his arms keeping the demons at bay. He can't hurt you anymore, Olivia.
Oh, Rafael, you have to win this. What would I do without you?