AN: Sorry about the glitches, guys! FanFiction has had some weird glitches so I took down chapters 7 & 8 because they weren't posting right and reviews weren't showing and a bunch of stuff. So I'm reposting both chapters 7 and 8 today! And for those who haven't read them yet, I hope you enjoy & leave me some feedback! Thanks!


"Do you know how bad this looks?" Barba posed, staring at Olivia.

"What?" she asked innocently, opening the car door for him. He noticed this action.

"I can already see the headlines if this were to get out. Assistant District Attorney bunks with NYPD Lieutenant," he said, watching her intently as she focused on the road ahead.

"Who cares? Whatever it may look like, it isn't. We have nothing to worry about. I already offered to let you out of this if you stayed with your mother," she reminded him.

"Liv, I need to be home. At my loft."

"And you will be, in about a week," she said dismissively. "Give it up, Barba."

"We both know I never give anything up," he said.

"You will this time. Besides, Noah's not going to bother you, I'm getting Lucy to keep him at her place every day and bring him home at night," she replied.

"I'm not scared of Noah," Rafael commented, giving her a sideways glance. "And stop rearranging your life so you can babysit me."

She shook her head. "It's fine, Rafael. Believe me, I could use a break. I'll still visit him during the day; Lucy's apartment is on the way to the station."

"And there it is again. My first name. You sure the doctor cleared me, I'm not still on my deathbed?" he joked.

She chuckled. "'Liv' this, 'Liv' that, and I still have to call you by your last name? I don't even remember the last time you called me Benson."

"All right, fair point. But the second your kid calls me 'Raf,' I'm out."

"Deal. And you need to take a day to clear your head before you even start paperwork, but I knew you'd be bored out of your mind sitting at my apartment all day so I picked up files of cases that were overturned from the Rudnick conviction for you to go over while you're out of the office," Olivia said, pulling a strand of hair out of her face.

"How thoughtful of you," Barba commented bitterly, not ready to face the dozens of cases he would spend the next year or so having to work on. That bastard had really screwed them over. At least it would give him something to do to maintain some inkling of professionalism while staying at Olivia's apartment. Trying to contain his now-obvious sexual and emotional desires towards her was going to be fun now that he would be sharing living quarters with her. All he could do was try his best to strategically avoid physical contact and pray to get away from her as soon as possible—she was a guilty pleasure he had no business pursuing.


"Hannah, listen to me. This doesn't have to happen. What happened to you…I can't tell you that I could understand. But you aren't the only person who's dealt with this, who's survived…you're a survivor, Hannah. Please, sweetie, please let me just get you some help. I know so many people that will help you. This will get better. Just give it a chance to get better," Olivia said, holding her hands in the air expressively. She slowly approached the edge of the roof, attempting to make eye contact with the fourteen-year-old girl who trembled and sobbed, looking as though she would jump at any moment. Olivia reached her hand out, and Hannah turned around as if she were going to grab it. Relief began to flood through Olivia's body, but it was premature, as the girl retracted her hand in a sudden, jerked movement.

"No. I'm sorry. This will never end, I-I can't live this way. I'm sorry," she said, and then suddenly, the last thing to be seen was her long, jet black hair, flowing through the wind as she fell to her death.

Olivia couldn't look. She felt her breath hitch in her throat and her heart stopped momentarily. She blinked away the shock, turning around to face Fin, who was staring at her grimly, not of much help. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, attempting to recollect herself. Things like this happened; they had happened so many times in her career. She couldn't let this get to her. But no matter how much she reminded herself that she couldn't let it, it of course did, in fact, get to her. She'd lost a fourteen-year-old girl. Before the suicide took place, she'd shot a suspect who pulled a gun on her. The suspect had been holding Hannah captive as a sex slave, and SVU had found the slum where he had been keeping her. Olivia put the guy down and Hannah was freed when she ran up to the roof and committed suicide. It was shocking, really, because the girl was in no imminent danger any longer. The only conclusion Olivia could come up with for her reasoning behind killing herself was that the emotional damage of being a sex slave was too overpowering for her to see any kind of light at the end of the tunnel. All she could do was wonder if she could have done something differently, if she could have said something that would have prevented this. Fin approached her and gave her a pat on the shoulder.

"She had her mind made up, Liv," he reassured her, as if reading her thoughts.

She made eye contact with him for a brief moment but then rushed out of his grip, pushing her way down the fire escape. She made a statement to the surrounding police officers that she didn't even think much about and then disappeared from the scene. She knew there was more she should do, but she couldn't focus and she knew that Fin had her back as far as the work side of the tragedy was concerned. He had a better ability to detach himself than she did. Right now, she just needed to see Noah, and perhaps Barba.


"Noah," Olivia said, sighing into her son's hair, careful not pull him too close to her bloody shirt. She didn't say much to him, not her usual "how's my sweet boy" talk. She couldn't feel any lightheartedness right now. She only wanted to hold him, feel this toddler that she would always protect in her arms. She just wanted to remind herself that the one she loved most in the world would never be taken from her, that she was in control of this one thing in her life. She was in control of Noah. He would always be okay. She had a grip on this moment, on him, on who he would become. She would always have him, no matter what.

She drove home, the toddler playing with his toys in the backseat but gradually showing more signs of sleepiness. When she got up to her apartment, she gently put him in his crib, already sleeping soundly. She watched him for a long moment, taking the time to enjoy his safety. Perhaps later tonight, she would take him from the crib and sleep with him so her feeling of protection could be further enforced.

When Olivia went into the living room, Barba was sitting near the coffee table, looking at a case file, deep in thought. He looked up abruptly, immediately focusing on her bloody clothes, wrecked hair, and slightly smeared mascara.

"One of those days?" he murmured.

Olivia couldn't find any words to give him a straightforward answer, so she instead just threw her hands in the air, waving off the question as if to say, "don't even ask." She made her way back to her room, feeling much better once she peeled off her filthy, blood-soaked clothes and climbed into the hot shower, attempting to rinse off her disgust at every foul thing that had occurred during the day. Something about the removal of her makeup or the smell of her shampoo reinvigorated her, making her truly feel a thousand times better by the time she padded out of the shower and changed into more comfortable sweatpants and a t-shirt. Upon returning to the living room, she first made a stop in the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses, in case Barba was interested, and then collapsed on the couch next to him, way too close. She shut her eyes as she took a large gulp of wine, feeling it burn a slight bit as it slid down her throat which was, at the moment, sore, along with every other part of her being. She fell deeper into the couch, her head resting on the back and eyes meeting the ceiling.

"What happened?" Barba questioned, whipping shut his case file and turning towards her, decked out in sweats. Her wet hair met the side of his elbow, which was resting on the edge of the coach beside her.

She turned to look at him. "Fourteen-year-old girl, suicide by jumping."

"And the blood?"

"The guy who had kidnapped her," Olivia explained, turning back away and giving a slight shake of her head. "I tried to talk her down. I thought I had her. But then something clicked, and her mind was made up. I don't know what it was. I don't know how I could have stopped it. Maybe if I had just pulled her down," she said. "I should have just pulled her down," she repeated, as if the thought gained credibility once she had said it out loud. "Maybe she would have fallen but at least it would have been a chance. I should have known; I saw it—I saw the light go out of her eyes. I knew in the moment before she jumped that she was going to. I should have grabbed her, she was so close-"

Olivia stopped mid-sentence as Barba placed a hand on her shoulder blade, making careful eye contact with her. "Liv, stop. You know what path you're going down here, and you know it's not the right one. I've seen you do this too many times. Everything is not your fault."

He moved his hand back up to the edge of the couch, and was a little surprised when Olivia turned to look at him again, her cheek colliding with his hand. She buried her face into it and he felt her eyelashes gently tickle his palm.

"I know rationally that it's not," she responded. "But it doesn't stop me from wondering what could have happened if I'd done better."

She finally sat back up, pulling her face away. For a very brief moment, Barba's hand followed her movement as if it were glued to her cheek. He quickly took note of how this would look and dropped his hand back down.

"You did the best you could. It was her decision. She could have saved herself," he said.

She maintained gentle eye contact with him, not anymore reassured of herself, but appreciative of his effort.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

Barba's eyes averted for a brief moment to his shoulder and then back to her. "I'm wondering if it's supposed to still feel this…intense," he admitted.

Concern flashed through Olivia's eyes and she slightly upturned her bottom lip. "Let me look at it, make sure it's not infected," she said.

He considered this for a moment, not initially willing to let her commit such a caring action but ultimately remembering that his health was a little more important than his desperation to contain his feelings for her. He stood up, Olivia following suit, and started to pull his functional arm out of his hoodie. Going into the light, Olivia helped him to pull the other side of the hoodie off, grabbing the loose side and gently pulling it over his head, then sliding it off of his other arm, careful to avoid the wound. Next, not even bothering to get a look of approval, she grabbed the hem of his t-shirt on the side of his injury and pulled it up to his shoulder, revealing his bare side but doing her best not to pay attention to it. She helped him to get his stiff arm through the arm hole, reaching under the shirt and gripping his elbow and forearm, guiding it until his arm was free, finally pulling the shirt over to reveal his bandaged shoulder. The fabric joined loosely at his neck as his other arm remained awkwardly in its sleeve.

"See, this is why you're staying with me for now. You can't even disrobe by yourself," Olivia teased, making eye contact for a short second before fidgeting gently with the edges of the bandage.

He gave her a tiny, thin-lipped smirk and watched her rather than looking at his own shoulder.

She tediously pulled back the bandage, watching his face to make sure she wasn't too rough. She placed her free hand on his bare chest right beside the bandage. Rafael knew that she was only steadying him so she could work, but for him, it felt like more. She finally had freed his shoulder of the bandage and was inspecting his wound.

"That hurt?" she asked.

"No, you're fine," he replied quickly. He finally turned his attention from her to his wound, but then found himself with his face dangerously close to hers, which was also up close, examining the damage. Frustratingly attempting not to shiver, he pulled his head back a tiny bit in an attempt to regain some composure.

"How's it looking?" he questioned.

"I hope this doesn't hurt," was her only response before he felt her fingers gently prod the area around the bullet holes. It did hurt a little bit, but not too badly.

"No infection. I was feeling it to see if it was feverish, which it isn't. There isn't much redness or anything like that. The pain is just pain, bullets aren't the most comfortable thing to deal with," she said.

Finally she pulled back, staring at her own hand on his chest for the shortest of moments before releasing him from her grip. Again, she helped him back into his t-shirt, and he decided against putting the hoodie back on.

Sitting back on the couch, she turned to him. "Hungry?"

"Starving," he responded.

She ordered Chinese food and they ate together, making small talk about things surprisingly more optimistic than work. This was the first time they ever had a reasonably long conversation about anything other than killers or rapists, and it was pleasant; Rafael began to feel like he was starting to know her as more than just the passionate, hardcore, and emotionally unstable detective he'd seen a lot of. It was nice seeing a side of her that was a little more relaxed, more carefree. An undeniably elated smile graced her face when she spoke of Noah, and Barba thought it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. At one point, he thought she noticed him staring at her, paying more attention to her face than what she was actually saying. He forced himself to focus harder and tried not to let himself recognize that he'd just been paying attention to her smile, to her flawless, slightly freckled skin which he was for the first time seeing without any makeup, to her seductive scent and shiny, rapidly-drying hair. Eventually, he forced himself to let the conversation float off into uninteresting territory so he could go to bed and get himself out of this situation. He had to stop wanting something he couldn't have. She was oblivious to him, she would never have these same feelings. Even if she did, their jobs prevented them from trying anything like that. Being with Olivia as anything other than colleagues and perhaps friends was a territory he simply couldn't step into—it was impossible. But that night as he laid in bed, he didn't fall asleep for about an hour, as physical and emotional desire swept through his body and mind.


xx c0ntxgious