…
It's a little after 9pm when Olivia Benson storms into the district attorney's office. She's hurt. She's livid. His secretary has gone home for the night. Three good cops sit in a bar drinking like it's the last day they'll ever be free. Perhaps it is. She wants to tell him, about the cops, their families, the flood of police distrust that her friend had singlehandedly wrought. But his door is already ajar.
The room is nearly silent, the TV on low, the overhead lights off, the room draped in shadow. He sits in one of the chairs opposite his desk, sipping scotch in a heavy tumbler. His suit jacket is off, draped across the chair. His gaze is focused on the television, on the jury's decision. He looks weary, conflicted, dazed. She watches the different emotions flicker across his face.
The TV mercifully flicks to black. He sighs, takes a sip of his drink and says,
"I think I've made a mistake."
It's the first time Olivia has ever heard him admit to being unsure.
She watches as George Huang comes into view. The smaller man stands behind him in a charcoal grey suit, a navy blue tie, mussed black bangs falling over his forehead. He runs his hand through the attorney's hair. Barba leans into the touch and closes his eyes, a small sigh escaping his lips as he does so. It's so intimate, so silently trusting that Olivia feels like an intruder. She nearly leaves until she hears:
"Tell me why you think that."
The attorney is silent, seemingly content with his hair being played with. The doctor stops, coming to stand in front of him, ignoring the groan of protest that sounds in the otherwise silent room.
"I…" Barba pauses, uncharacteristically lost for words. He grabs George's hand, absentmindedly stroking his wrist with his thumb. He seems to need the connection. He needs George to understand.
He raises his head, his eyes dark and distant, his voice low with emotion. "I got too close. I realize that. But I knew George. I knew exactly how his parents felt. I've been there. I've buried friends. I've feared the police. I've been a poor brown kid in the projects. I knew and I know and I can't forget that, I won't." He releases his hand and takes another sip of his drink.
"That boy is dead Rafael," George says. Soft, insistent, pulling the attorney out of thoughts of his own painful adolescence. "Terrence was executed in the street. He was innocent. Someone had to be held accountable for that."
"Yes but manslaughter?" Barba demands. He runs his hand over his face and chuckles but there's no joy, only tiredness. "Olivia probably wants my head on a stick right now."
George takes the tumbler from him and sips. "You did the right thing. No one could see how it would turn out. But you did the right thing." He extends it back but Rafael grabs his wrist instead and pulls the doctor to him, into his lap. They share a charged look. Rafael smiles, looking the most vulnerable Olivia has ever seen him, the most loving and grateful.
"Liv may be mad at you for a while. But not forever," George continues, his voice a near whisper. "But you'll reconcile. You've had different experiences which create different ideologies. Both are valid."
"Yes but if you could have seen the way I tore her apart in that courtroom…" Rafael trails off ruefully, brushing George's hair behind him ear.
"Then apologize for that. Don't apologize for doing what's right."
Rafael gives his first real smile of the night and scoffs. "I can't go around apologizing. People will start to think I've gone soft."
"You've always been soft," George teases. Rafael smirks sheepishly and exhales, shaking his head but not arguing otherwise.
"I'm only soft when it comes to you amante. You know that," Olivia hears him murmur.
George smirks and kisses him. It's soft, feather light. A kiss that shows that they have kissed many times, late nights and early mornings, over coffee and takeout, stolen moments in courtroom corridors and precinct hallways. Olivia does not know how they could have gone so unnoticed.
"I do know," the doctor says finally. He rests his head against the other man's chest for a moment. Rafael kisses the top of his head, his own eyes closed. "I also know you need to sleep," he hums, sounding drowsy himself. "You haven't slept since this whole case began."
"That is true," Rafael muses. He takes the drink from George's hand and reaches over to lay it on the desk with a quiet thud. "Neither have you."
George simply lets out another hum. Olivia has never seen him rest, not even short naps in the precinct's crib. She's never seen Rafael that caring either, that tender. He holds the doctor like he is the last good thing in the world. Like he has just returned from war and perhaps he has. The war of his past, his life.
Olivia watches them for a few moments longer, her anger replaced with understanding and surprise.
"We can go in a minute," Rafael murmurs, caressing his back, "just let me hold you for a minute. Before I have to deal with the press, the NYPD, city hall, Liv." He sighs, feeling the comforting heat and weight of his lover, his breath, the proof that he has weathered the storm.
"Okay," George says simply, and Olivia watches as he settles further into the attorney, how they fit together like a mold. She decides to leave them. It can wait.
…
"Olivia," Barba says, after laying two tentative knocks on her open office door. She is at her desk, rifling through masses of paperwork. He stands in the doorway, a briefcase in his hand. Beyond him, the precinct continues its usual chaotic flow.
"Yes?" she asks, removing her glasses. He looks well-rested, even calm but no less contrite.
He steps further into the room but does not sit down.
"Well," he begins, "I just wanted to apologize for how I cross examined you before the grand jury. It got personal and I'm sorry."
She closes the file, nods, considers. "It got personal for everyone. I'm sorry too."
He nods, a sliver of a grin on his face. Olivia nearly asks if he's ever apologized to anyone in his adult life but the doctor pokes his head into the doorway before she gets the chance.
"Liv, I have the profile whenever you're ready."
"Doctor," Barba greets.
George looks at him as if just noticing his arrival. "Hello counselor," he says before turning back to Olivia. "Whenever you're ready." He turns back to the squad room, already bantering with Munch. Olivia doesn't miss the attorney watching the doctor or the slight frown of disappointment.
She rises from her desk, coffee mug in hand and says, unable to hide her grin, "Don't worry counselor I'm sure he loves you too."
She doesn't turn around but can hear his light scoff and matches it with a chuckle of her own as she walks into the chaos of the squad room.
…
Amante means lover in Spanish
Yes, I'm playing with timelines by making George new to SVU at the same time as Barba.
Please review.