I intended to update this every other day to give me time to write, but obviously I haven't kept to that schedule. I've posted now about half of what I have written, but I'm a little stalled atm, so the posting schedule might slow down a little. Just to keep y'all informed. :)

Enjoy! And reviews are fun. :)

Chapter 10: Purple Tulips

Olivia had been in the hospital almost twenty-four hours, and she was damn tired of it. She'd been on FaceTime with August, her assistant, for most of the morning, but it wasn't the same as being at the gallery. They were almost a full day behind, and the show was opening Friday come hell or high water.

The nurses thought she'd be released some time that day, which was great…but Olivia wasn't sure where she could go. Sara's, maybe. Alan lived in the same building, and while that was fine for Baloo (for now), there was no way Olivia could go back there for a while.

Sara's wasn't the best idea, either, because if Bill (or whoever) had been following her Monday night, he would've seen her with Sara. If he'd been following her for months or weeks, he would've seen her with Sara quite often. Which meant he could easily know where Sara lived and could find Olivia there without much trouble.

A hotel was the only option, really, and while she wasn't thrilled, she couldn't think of anything better.

There was a light knock on her door, and Olivia called for the visitor to come in. There was a cop sitting out in the hall, so she knew it wasn't Bill, or a stranger. She assumed it was a nurse, but when she looked up she let out a little squeak and dropped her phone into her lap.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she said, her voice still scraped and raw-sounding.

Barba winced and ducked his head. He looked unsure of himself for the first time in their tempestuous acquaintance, and that threw her off balance. "I deserve that, I guess, after the things I said yesterday," he said. He looked up at her with a rueful tilt to his mouth. "I suppose I'm partially here to apologize."

She stared at him. He had his coat draped over one arm, and a fabulous bouquet of dark purple tulips cradled in the other. "How did you—?" She didn't finish the question, both because it hurt and because she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

He tilted his head and tried to complete the sentence on his own. "Know you were here? I found out when I called the precinct yesterday to get a case update."

"My case?"

"No, a different one. But Liv mentioned it." He cast around for something to put the flowers in and eventually grabbed the plastic pitcher. He opened the lid and peeked inside, then dumped the water in the sink and refilled it. Removing the paper that surrounded the tulip stems, he slid them into the pitcher and added the little packet of plant food.

Olivia watched this entire ritual with a growing sense of incredulity. "I was drinking that," she finally said, for lack of anything better.

"I'm sure the nurse would be happy to bring you some more." He returned the pitcher to its place on the little rolling table and plucked at the tulips until they were arranged to his satisfaction.

"If you were asking how I knew your favorite flower," he said with a smug little smile, "all that took was a call to your assistant."

"He gave a complete stranger that information?"

"I had my assistant call, and she identified herself as working for the ADA's office. She wanted to know your favorite flower so we could offer our support for your speedy recovery."

"Oh. So these are from the Manhattan ADA's office."

"No," he said. "They're from me. I wanted to offer my support for your speedy recovery." He tucked his hands in his pockets and grinned at her, a genuine one that brought creases to the corners of his eyes and lit up his face.

"Jesus," she said, trying not to laugh. "You're really proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"As apologetic gestures go, flowers rank in the top ten."

She snorted. "I'm surprised you're not here to gloat," she said.

"Gloat?" His forehead creased in a frown. "You mean because you were attacked? Shit, Olivia, what kind of person do you think I am?"

"No, I didn't mean—not about that. Of course not. I meant because you were right about Bill Peterson."

"Hmm," he said, rocking back on his heels. "Carisi mentioned he had an alibi for the night of the break-in."

"Carisi?" she said. She couldn't hide the hope in her voice. "You talked to Carisi? About me?"

"Benson is keeping him away from you for now," he said, his tone gentling. "Optics."

"Oh." She leaned back against the pillows. "I get that." It wasn't that she was eager for Carisi to see her like this, but it would be nice to see a friendly face. Sara had been here yesterday, beside herself that she'd left Olivia at the bar. She helped fill in some of the gaps in Olivia's memory, but neither of them could recall seeing anybody acting squirrelly.

She brushed at her face and glanced at him again. "Did Lieutenant Benson tell you what happened?"

"I'm not assigned to the case," he said. "I thought details were unnecessarily personal."

She understood from his voice that he didn't mean the words nearly as cold as they sounded. He genuinely wanted to respect her privacy; he just had no ability to express that sentiment without sounding kind of like a jerk. Ironic, for someone who made his living on words.

"I'm sorry," she said at last. "About Monday. What I said. I'm not sure I would have told them about Peterson. It isn't something I usually talk about, and it didn't occur to me he could be involved. I know you thought you were doing the right thing, and…you were. It still pisses me off, but…I'm sorry."

He waved a hand. "Don't, please. I was unconscionably rude to you. And the night we went to dinner. I'm not sure why I—" His mouth quirked a little and he rubbed his face. "You confound me, Olivia. I thought I knew everything there was to know about you within five minutes of meeting you, and yet every time we speak I learn something new. Something surprising."

She found his face fascinating: its stillness, the subtlety of expression, the lines mapped across it. He wasn't good looking in the sweet, simple way of Carisi, but there was something about his face that made it hard to look away. A magnetism.

She realized he was waiting for her to say something, and she blinked. "I—never meant to confound you," she said. "But maybe you should be a little less judgmental."

"Ah, well. I'm a prosecutor. Judgmental is my job."

"Then turn it off," she said. "Just for five minutes. The world isn't a frog, Rafael."

"A—frog?" he said, carefully ignoring how much he liked hearing her say his name.

"Something to be spread out on a board and dissected. Analyzed and categorized. People especially almost always defy categorization."

"I know," he muttered like it was a source of eternal vexation. "But I'm certain you thought you had me figured out fairly quickly too."

She glared at him. "I did," she said. Rolling her eyes a little, she let out a huff. "But I was—wrong. About some of it. You're arrogant, that's true. But…you're not entirely insufferable. And you're not a prig."

"A prig? You thought I was an arrogant, insufferable prig?"

She smoothed the sheet primly. "Yes. That's what I said."

"I don't know that I've ever heard anyone use the word prig in conversation before."

"Consider it the surprising thing you've learned about me this time," she said.

His head fell back as he laughed, a sound that thrilled her somewhere deep inside that she absolutely refused to acknowledge. Finally he looked at her again, still smirking, and shook his head. "Noted. Olivia uses prig in casual conversation, and no longer thinks I am one."

"I changed my mind once, Mr. Barba. I can change it again."

His phone buzzed before he could answer, and he lifted a hand with an apologetic grimace. "Mami?" he said. There was a pause. "Sí, Mami, I'm here now. … She looks…well. Pale, but well. Would you like to talk to her?"

Olivia shook her head, gesturing emphatically, and Barba nodded. "Never mind, Mami, a nurse just shooed me out. Time for blood pressure and all that. … Yes, I'll ask her. … I said I would, and I will. … Okay, te amo."

He disconnected and sighed. "Well. The other reason I'm here. My mother heard what happened." Olivia opened her mouth, no doubt to bite his head off, but he forestalled her. "I didn't tell her. I wouldn't have. It, ah…unfortunately it made the news."

"The news?" she squeaked with horror. "What did they say?"

"Tribeca gallery owner injured in possible home invasion? They mentioned the break-in too."

"Oh god," she groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Oh god! This is the last thing I need!" When she looked at him again her expression was unreadable. "Did they—they didn't say I was raped, did they?"

"No, not that I recall," he said, mildly.

"Good. Because I wasn't."

Some tight, furious spot inside him uncoiled a smidgen. The tiniest amount. "I'm glad to hear that," he said.

"He tied me up and he choked me and he painted my nails and changed my clothes, but there's no evidence of rape," she said with a stubborn set to her chin that he already recognized.

"Olivia," he said, his voice soft, "you don't have to prove or explain anything to me."

"I know, I just…a really bad thing happened to me, but it could've been worse. Much worse."

"You don't have to be grateful for that."

"But I am," she said. "I was—I was lucky, really. Incredibly—lucky." Her voice broke on the last word, and for the first time since regaining consciousness yesterday morning, she burst into tears.

"Ah…shit," he muttered. He looked around until he found a box of tissues and set them next to her on the bed. She grabbed one and pressed it to her face, but the tears didn't slow.

"Shit, shit, shit," he said under his breath. He was entirely out of his depth, and he didn't want to fuck this up. He was smart enough to recognize a test when he saw one. While Olivia certainly hadn't planned to start crying, this was one of those moments where the universe presented options, and choosing the wrong one would lead to disaster.

Moving slowly so as not to startle her, he perched on the edge of the bed and reached for her. If she flinched when he touched her he would know he had chosen wrong…but when his fingers brushed the bit of her back bared by the hospital gown, she threw herself at him.

He caught her with a little oof and held on. He scooted further onto the bed and she nestled against his chest, her face pressed into his shirt and her fingers curling around his lapel. He rubbed her upper arm with his knuckles and stroked her back with his palm. Kissed the top of her head and rested his cheek there, inhaling the spicy citrus scent of her hair and the antiseptic hospital smells that surrounded her.

"It's okay," he whispered. "Shh, cariña, shhh."

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, and he didn't much care. She was warm and soft against him, a soggy little bundle, and when her sobs finally turned to sniffles he sat back, lifted her chin, and wiped her cheeks with his handkerchief.

"I ruined your shirt," she said in a watery voice. "Maybe your jacket too."

"Not ruined, cariña. I have more at the office, and the dry cleaner will fix this right up."

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I don't usually—that wasn't like me." She dabbed at her nose with a tissue, and when she looked away he hooked a finger under her chin and turned her back toward him.

"Please don't apologize," he said. "You've got nothing to be sorry for."

"Even your shirt?" she said with a shaky smile.

"Even my shirt," he said, smiling back.

"God," she said. She laughed. "I'm a fucking mess. Would you mind getting me a cool washcloth?"

He slid off the bed and went to the sink. Next to it was a small pile with a bath towel, hand towel, and washcloth. He rinsed it in cool water, rung it out, and brought it to her.

She smiled her thanks and pressed it to her face. "Okay, so, your mom saw me on the news."

"Mmhmm," he said. He kept his distance from her now that the moment had passed. He wasn't sure if she was more embarrassed about the crying, or about doing it in his arms, but either way he wasn't going to make it worse for her. "She wanted me to invite you to stay with her until you're ready to go back to your apartment."

She lowered the washcloth slowly and stared at him like she hadn't heard right. "Your—mother—wants me—to stay with her?"

He lifted his hands in a shrug. "She offered, yes, and she wouldn't have offered unless she meant it. Do you have somewhere else to go?"

"I…" She didn't want to admit she'd been weighing that exact dilemma before he got there. "I was going to stay in a hotel."

"She would be offended. She would understand if you were staying with a friend or family member, but a hotel? Olivia."

"So tell her I'm staying with a friend."

"I can't lie to my mother. Could you?"

She acknowledged that with a brief twist of her mouth.

"I suppose you could stay with Carisi," he said after a moment.

"I told you." She wiped her hands on the washcloth and set it aside. "Carisi and I aren't dating. We aren't in a relationship. I can't show up on his doorstep like some wayward orphan, especially if Lieutenant Benson is worried about optics and I'm already on the goddamn news."

"So come stay with my mother then."

"Aren't you worried he'll find me there?"

"How would he? Possibly he knows you volunteer at her school, but what would make him think of looking for you at her apartment? In Queens?"

He had a good point. Queens was a lot further from the gallery than a hotel would be…but also a lot cheaper, and she wasn't made of money. Plus home cooked food, and she wouldn't be alone.

Sighing, she made up her mind. "How does Lucia feel about cats?" she said.

As the day wore on, Olivia became more and more uncertain of her decision to stay with Lucia Barba. A representative for the owner of her building called and assured her the security cameras were working again. They also said they had hired a doorman who would start work first thing tomorrow.

She'd had a locksmith in to replace all of her locks, and to install a police bar on her door. Alan offered to loan her Tink for a few days. Plus she was going to be at work almost constantly between now and Monday, and she would be surrounded by people every second.

A nurse bustled in around lunch to tell her she would be able to go home as soon as the doctor finished signing the papers. Home. That was what Olivia wanted. Not Lucia's, as nice as she was. Home.

She'd already called Sara and asked her to bring some clothes since she'd arrived in that stupid pink nightgown. She got dressed slowly, nodding now and then at something Sara said, and when she finally came to a decision, it was firm and unshakeable.

"I need to call Lucia," she said.

"Olivia, no."

"What?"

"Just go stay with her. Please?" Sara said, a deep line etched between her brows. "You'll be safer there than at your apartment. He knows where you live."

"And where I work, where I drink, probably where you live. Basically all the places I frequent. I want to be at home, Sara."

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "Fine. Okay, fine! But you need to call Lieutenant Benson and ask for some sort of police protection. And I don't just mean that little cutie with the dimples."

"Yes, Mom. Whatever you say."

"Don't be a pain in the ass, Gable. Finish getting dressed. I'll take you home."

"I need to go to the gallery."

"I stopped by there on my way here. August has everything under control, and he said by no means are you to come in today."

"August works for me, not vice versa!" Olivia said, but even as she argued she felt exhaustion descend like a weight. The gallery would still be there tomorrow, and she hadn't spent the last year and a half training August and the rest of her staff just to doubt them now.

"Yeah, okay," she said, surprising the hell out of Sara. "You're right. I'll call him when I get home. Sami sent those flowers," she said in reference to the artist they were hosting. "She told me everything was going well, and she'd see my Friday—so I guess it's all good."

"Mmhmm. You have amazingly competent employees. Now call Lucia and let's get the hell out of here."

Lucia wasn't happy with Olivia's decision, but ultimately she understood. "I'll send Rafi by to check on you this evening," she said.

"Oh, Lucia, that's a kind thought, but it really isn't necessary. I'm sure he has better things to do."

"Hmm," she said, a low, doubtful noise. "Olivia, cariña, my son is a stubborn man. He thinks too much, and while it might seem that he feels too little, it's actually the opposite. He just refuses to show it. Still waters and all that."

Olivia frowned. "I don't understand what you're trying to say."

"I think you do. Just give him a chance, Olivia. I think you'll find he's worth it."

After that she changed the subject (thankfully), and they chatted for a few more minutes until a nurse appeared to take her downstairs. Olivia sat down in the wheelchair without bothering to complain about it, and within ten minutes she was finally on her way home.

Sara got her settled in, arranging the various flowers she'd received around the apartment and making sure Olivia's fridge was well stocked. She had already been in that morning to clean up the mess the cops had left. She went down the hall to fetch Baloo, but for now she left Tinkerbell with Alan.

"Are you sure you don't need me to stay?" she said. "I totally can."

"You have work you need to be doing, and you've already spent enough time fussing over me. I'm fine. Really." The cat butted Olivia's hand and she petted him as he purred loudly enough to register on the Richter scale.

"I just feel like shit, Oll. If I hadn't left you—"

"Don't, babe. Please? He would've done this eventually anyway. He just happened to get his chance Monday night. Don't blame yourself; blame him."

Sara nodded, brushing at her eyes, then leaned forward to press a kiss to Olivia's forehead. "Call me if you need anything. I mean anything. Any time, okay?"

"Okay, but I'll be fine. I promise."

"Is Detective Cutie coming by tonight?"

"I texted him. He said he'd stop by as soon as he gets off work. He has class tonight, but we can squeeze in some time between the two."

"Uh huh. I'm sure you can."

"Go away, Sara Grace!" Olivia said, pushing her toward the door. They hugged, and finally Sara left her alone.

Olivia picked up Baloo and hugged him. "I kinda wish she'd left it a mess. It would give us something to do." He squirmed until she put him down again, and for a while she just sat on the couch and stared at the dark TV screen. "I could go to work," she said.

Baloo meowed.

"Yeah, I know. Under control." She sighed and pushed herself to her feet. "A nap it is, I guess." She paused next to the bouquet of purple tulips Barba had brought. Sara had left them on the coffee table, but after a moment's hesitation, Olivia grabbed the vase and carried it to the bedroom.

They were her favorite flower, after all.

Dun dun.