Title from Devil's Backbone by The Civil Wars, which actually does work for Barson now.
Preface by saying I really did hate the story and have nine hundred problems but this isn't really rewriting it. It's just fixing post canon. I'll probably rewrite it eventually.
First time I've ever written anything for them or anything SVU in general so hopefully, it's decent.
Three days.
Three days of not eating. Three days of not sleeping. Three days of sitting in his apartment staring out the window wondering what the fuck he was thinking with everything. It was a whirlwind that he barely had time to process until it was all over. Not guilty. Only he knows that not guilty does not mean innocent. He is not innocent. He is guilty. He did what he did and there was nothing that could undo that.
The press covered it as thoroughly as they covered anything with him. His phone still hasn't stopped ringing. The moment it made the rounds that he was being charged with second degree murder everyone he ever met was calling him, calls he easily ignored. Didn't even let his own mother be a part of what was happening. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint her. Clearly she was right. He would never be a judge, much to the disappoint of his now deceased abuelita.
He doesn't know what he will be.
Rafael doesn't stop pushing everyone away, one by one so it's just him, alone. It seemed like the right idea as he quit his job, as he wished Stone good luck with his upcoming job, as he made the rounds to give proper goodbyes to everyone. The one with Liv broke him a little more than he thought it would. She's better off.
Or at least that is what he thinks as he stares at the 2:17am clock he wonders what he'll do. Telling Jack that he was going to do what he had to do was the only answer he could think of. He doesn't know. It's almost as if he's waiting for God to drop a sign in his lap and that's the path he will take. Destiny or fate or whatever they wanted to call it. He doesn't attribute anything in his life to destiny, rather hard work.
He endured and endured in order to get to Harvard, to pass that bar exam, to get a job at the District Attorney's office, first in the Bronx and then Manhattan. He's done nothing but endure since getting the job, finding himself working with Liv. It was good in some moments and bad in some others.
Oh, how far he's fallen.
Fallen so far that the last thing he feels like is a good person. Too many mistakes to think he deserved to have his job. Part of that being the reason he left, the other reason feeling lost. Not that he's ever been truly a good person. Decent, maybe. Decent enough that he could see everything for what it was and do his best to come out with the right decisions. Something he had Liv to thank for.
Had.
He pushed her away just like he did with everyone else. He packed up his things and left without so much as saying anything else. Carmen would be a good secretary to Stone. He reminded himself to send her flowers or something. A thank you for everything she put up with for as the past few years. She deserved more than that but he was having trouble processing any of his feelings.
That is what it boils down to. His inability to process feelings, to admit to himself and to others what he is feeling, to not be certain in what he believes to be the truth in his heart. Even his speech to Liv was finished by him telling her he needs to move on. Is it true? Yes.
He needs to move on from being in the District Attorney's office.
He needs to move on from being a lawyer.
He needs to find who he is now, a man who sees so much color it feels as if he's going blind.
He doesn't need to move on from her, however.
He doesn't need to act as if Liv and everyone else in that squad room meant nothing.
In truth, he isn't even sure why he feels the need to push them away. They didn't do anything. He was supported throughout the entire case and then...then he acted as if he was alone. For so much of his life he had been alone. In some respects he still is alone.
With Alex and Eddie when they were kids, to going off to Harvard on his own, to always being a little bit on the outside. He was always a little bit too much that Cuban boy that would never be good enough and it didn't matter how much he tried to fit in. None of it did. He's still that Cuban boy and was thrown off the top.
Somehow, it feels like penance for what happened with Alex.
It doesn't make any sense.
He's beginning to realize feelings don't make any sense.
It doesn't take him long before he's grabbing his coat and making his way out of his apartment. He hates how stone cold sober he is and the bottle of scotch gifted to him remains unopened. It doesn't feel right to drink yet. Not until he feels everything is as it should be.
If he's lying to himself he will say he doesn't know how he ends up outside her apartment building. He does. He knows all too well. How many times had he been there? For both professional and personal reasons. He's unemployed making the reasons all too personal.
It's late and Noah's sleeping, Liv probably is, too. He should call or text, at least make some attempt to not wake either of them up in a rude fashion of knocking at her door.
He knocks anyway.
Hands meet the lining of his pockets as he stands there, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet. He's as casual as he gets. Hasn't shaved since he last saw Liv, his hair falling in every which direction with the grey peeking through, jacket tight against him, hiding a t-shirt he never wears unless it's under something, and jeans he didn't know still even fit him.
The last time he was there was after everything with Noah happened.
So much has changed since then.
The door opens and he looks at her, in that half asleep haze, wondering so very much. Almost feels as if he's invading on something he shouldn't. Of course, it doesn't help that it is the middle of the night and he most definitely should not be there. He should care more than he does.
"Rafael."
"I can't sleep." They shouldn't be the first words out of his mouth but they are.
"Come in."
He steps in and through to the living room, leaving his coat on, almost feeling unwelcome . He's certain it's not Liv's intention, just the weight of their goodbye. The goodbye that isn't a goodbye at all. Not now as he stands there. Not as he thinks he needs to say so very much but finds the words a little too difficult to get out. Everything is a mess.
"Do you want a drink?"
"No."
Liv nods at the rejection, arms folding across her chest as she looks at him. "What are you doing here?"
Rafael does not speak. Not for a few moments. Not when he does not know how to say what he wants to say. There's no cleverly crafted speech, there's nothing held together about him. It feels like he's about to rip himself out of his skin, like he wants to cry and scream at everyone, even though it's his own doing. He did this to himself and there's no one else to blame except himself.
"I don't know what to do." He murmurs, soft, looking anywhere but her. Even in all her support he cannot seem to look at her as she speaks of this. "It's like it just set in. All throughout the trial I just…" he shakes his head, running his hand over his face, fingers through his hair. "I did something...Liv, how can you?" It feels impossible to not cry, the burn is felt in his eyes, determined to not let a single tear fall. He doesn't want anyone, least of all her, to feel sorry for him. He's never favored pity and he isn't about to start now.
"You're a good man, Rafa." Her own words as a gentle whisper as she moves forward, still keeping a respectable distance. "You did a decent thing."
"And if it was Noah?"
"You wouldn't have done it." She answers without skipping a beat, words a matter of fact.
"Maybe." He swallows, standing so he's in front of her. Of course she is right. He would never. It's almost as if the weight of everything from the past years turned him into someone else. He cannot even explain why he did what he did. He prays to the almighty God that no one ever asks him to explain in detail, refuses every call from his mother for that very reason. Liv understands, though. That it's not something they need to speak of in great detail. "I'm sorry. You have work and Noah. I shouldn't have come. I should go." It's easier to run from his feelings all over again.
"I took a few days."
"Not because of me, I hope."
They both know the truth.
"It's been a long few weeks." She offers as an excuse, a shrug of her shoulders.
"Yeah," he nods, digging his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat, "yeah it has." No one knows that better than him.
"You look like…"
"Hell."
"Not what I was going to say." Her smile is soft, polite .
He inhales, wiping the stray tears that are falling away, doing his best to have some semblance of composure, to pretend that he is as fine was he wishes he can be. "I didn't mean it."
"You did."
"I didn't." Words spoken firmly. "I don't want to lose you. I am just so lost. I don't know what to do anymore. I know who I am but where do I go from there?"
"You'll figure it out, Rafa. You've never not been able to."
"And you?"
She ponders for a moment. "I will be here."
There's a certain relief in her words. She's upset, he can see it. He knows her well enough by now to know when he's upset her and he's done it quite a bit over the years. Recalls the time when they could barely speak. Now he has so much to say but as if he's suddenly gone mute. Doesn't know how to say it. Doesn't know how to feel what is he feeling while being the man he's always been. As if everything broke him into something he wasn't ready to be.
He is ready. Even if he's not entirely certain of that he knows he is ready, to be who he needs to be, to be who the world needs him to be. Some of the hardest things are things you feel compelled to do, over what you want to do. He wants to pretend that he isn't as changed as he is, and that Liv doesn't mean as much to him as she does.
She means so much that just the mere thought of losing her makes it feel as if there is a fist clenching around his heart.
"I'm so tired." He manages to get out, finally looking over at Liv.
"Come on." She speaks with an offer of her hand out to him.
He hesitates, an uncertainty, an insecurity he wants to be rid of. "I can go home."
"Don't be as stubborn as Noah. You're not as cute."
It does earn her a bit of a smile. "I can certainly take the couch."
"Rafael, it's late."
"Okay." He doesn't fit her anymore. Her room is nothing he pays much attention to, rather taking off his coat, and placing it on the chair. His shoes end up removed and he lays down, awkwardly, on her bed. He's a little surprised when she joins him and lays next to him so they are staring at one another. He runs that speech in his mind over and over. All things said and unsaid. The way the and came from her and the way he pulled away.
The kiss on her forehead the only kiss they've ever shared and the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He is certain she is upset with him and does not blame her for it. Not when she's been there for him and he turned the corner as if he was moving to another place entirely never to see her again.
He refuses to admit to himself how long he'd of waited before he caved if he was in a better frame of mind.
The silence is deafening but comforting all at the same time. Their dynamic feels different because it is.
"Your bed is still made."
"You're not the only one who can't sleep."
He pushes the guilt down. "I almost went to church. I can't even remember the last time I went. I came here instead."
"You have all the time now." She whispers, settling herself against her pillow.
"It wasn't time. That was just an excuse. Don't tell Mami that."
"Our secret."
He doesn't know if she reaches for his hand or it's he who seeks her out. It doesn't matter. not when their fingers intertwine with one another and there he is, taking the comfort given, attempting to return it. He doesn't know what to say, words escaping him. Half of him wants to talk about work, tell her to be nice to Stone, but really, he doesn't care. Let Liv break him in like she broke him in all those years ago. Hopefully, notentirely the same. Giving into his selfishness makes him want to be the only man she wants. If she even wants him at all
"I do love you, you know." He spills out, eyes searching hers at the confession. Not the best timing, but the only timing he has.
"I know." She replies after a beat, giving his hand a squeeze. Her eyes fall away from his, focusing on nearly anything but him. "You left me."
Her voice sounds so small, hurt on the edges. "I…" He pauses, finding there are no words. There are no excuses, no lies, no arguments he can make. He is a lawyer, has been for the last twenty one years, can come up with an argument for anything. That's not how he is with her. There's never anything he says just to give him the winning edge, never wants to seem as if there's a manipulation happening. She's one of the very few people in his life he can trust and has been able to trust from the beginning. She's shown how good of a person she is. She's good in ways he doesn't understand. As if being a lawyer makes him inherently evil or something equally dramatic.
Even in her worst moments all he can see is a woman who endured, who survived. Lewis is nothing like what he did. He can barely look himself in the mirror even if he keeps saying he did what he thought was right. He acted in a moment in which he shouldn't have. What does that mean? What kind of person does that make him? How can she even look at him like she does, lay there with him, hold on to his hand, squeeze it for comfort, stroke her thumb against his skin.
He's unworthy.
"I didn't want to do what Elliot did." He finally manages to get some words out after getting lost in his own thoughts, eyes casting down to their joined hands, barely visible in the darkness. "I know I made a mistake and I shouldn't have pretended that this was it."
"It's not the same."
"What?"
"You and Elliot." She clarifies with a glance. "It's not the same."
There's a soft nod of his head. Not entirely sure what she means, entirely unwilling to ask. He doesn't know everything. Just enough. But there are moments from his own past he's never shared with her. Some things take time and it always felt like they had so much of it. "You deserve better."
"We've all done things, Rafa."
"No, we haven't." His voice cracks, swallowing back everything. "I'm never coming back from this."
"You don't have to."
A soft scoff falls from past his lips. "You're being way too nice."
"I don't want to lose you." Her grip on his hand becomes tighter.
"You won't."
"You were an idiot." She breathes out, a tone of judgement foreign to him. "I love you but what were you thinking? You could be in prison right now. How many people in there would want you dead? This isn't a movie."
"I'm not. I'm right here, Liv. I'm right here. C'mere." He whispers, shifting so he's closer, so he can look at her, feel her breath against him. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
Her eyes are looking into his with something new, intense. As if she's searching to see whether he is speaking a truth or something else. "I can't lose anyone else. I can't do this alone."
"I'm sorry. Liv, I'm so sorry. I'm here. Always." There's no longer any hiding the emotion, not bother to keep his tears back with that painful burn. His grip feels iron clad on her, forehead resting against hers. "This job," he lets out a short breath, "I made a mistake but I know now what is important. It's a job. I can find a different one, I can be better, do better, do more. It's bigger than what we can do here." It's as if just being there lifts some fog that's been weighing him down. "The bigger picture, I can do that."
The sniffling doesn't go unnoticed in the silence of the apartment, the way they grip onto one another, how their breaths fall in line with one another. "I want you to be happy, Rafa."
"I want you to be happy, Liv." He parrots the truth, how that's all he's ever wanted for her.
It's definitely Liv who kisses him first. Slowly, unsure, taking a risk at their emotions pouring out. It doesn't take him more than a few seconds to kiss her back, to fall right into her, holding onto her hand for dear life. As if letting go of her hand means letting go of something more meaningful. He doesn't know what is in the future for them, even for him. Vague ideas of future plans don't make him feel certain in his life, but he's happy enough to not care. He would much rather focus on the feel of her lips against his for the first time.
Something he's imagined for so very long and is now a reality, bringing them together, taking a turn on a different road they'd been traveling on for so long. The road has been long. From their first meeting, to those between them, to the conflicts that pulled them apart, only to push them together in the end. She's the color he's needed for so long and has never been able to find in someone else. He is who he is because of her and that is something he is endlessly grateful for. He only wishes everyone she meets ends up with her having such a positive impact in their life.
He finds himself all easily tangled up in her, their legs all in a twist, as close to her as he can be. They're leaning into one another, a give and take, push and pull. Something lazy yet no less passionate. Not when they are both giving into something that feels written in the cards.
Only the feeling in the pit of his stomach remains and there's nothing that makes him feel like he's deserving of it.
He knows better than to harp on such things. Messes of the mind can cloud nearly anything and he thinks an old therapist would remind him nothing can be perfect. No matter how things line up and new doors open nothing will ever be perfect. A truth he knows to accept, on he doesn't.
"Wait, Liv." He breathes, shaking his head, pulling back from her just to give himself enough room to breathe. "Not like this. This should be better."
"Okay," she nods, gaining some of her own personal space back, "yeah."
"I don't want to be sad." He explains, knowing he doesn't need to but feeling as if he should. "I don't want either of us to be sad. I want us to be happy. This means something to me."
"You don't have to explain." She's gentle and genuine, resuming the stroking of her thumb against the back of his head.
"I know that. I've learned a lot from you and we both know no explanations needed. Ever. I just want to find myself, maybe shave."
She smiles at that, one that pulls at every inch of her face. Her free hand moves to run along the line of his jaw, feeling the growing scruff against the back of his fingers. "I kind of like it and the hair. I also didn't miss the jeans."
"Maybe I'll sell hot dogs at a stand on the corner. Keep the look."
"Noah would think you were cool."
"Uncle Rafa is always cool." The most confident statement he's made all evening.
"Yeah," she keeps her genuine smile, "he is."
They don't untangle from one another, rather rest, finding the comfort in the company of one another more than the bed. There are no certainties for the future, nothing that can tell them where they will end up, or how they will end up. Only that they are there, together, able to lean on each other, find the future they both want and need for themselves.
Whatever that is.
At least they have each other.