A/N: Thank you guys SO much for being so patient. I have three jobs (two full time and one part time) so I can only work on these chapters when I have free time, which is usually 1am. I am so sorry they keep taking so long, but I really try to make them worth the wait. This one contains a lot of heavy characterization and plot. I really hope you guys enjoy it. I'll try not to keep you guys waiting too long this time. HAPPY HANUKKAH!
Song: "The Light" by Sara Bareilles
"The polls this morning are saying you made gains in the LGBT community, which is huge. The number of voters who care if you're gay are far outweighed by the number of LGBT persons in this city." Eli sounded happier than he had in months.
Rafael held the phone against his ear while he tried to respond to emails. He had a speakerphone, but hated using it. Too many times, people just barged into his office - though that hadn't happened much since Marissa started. "Well, rumors about my sexuality have flown around the office for years," he said. "Single, wears pink suspenders, hasn't hit on his assistant. It doesn't bother me. But the gala rectified the situation?"
"I haven't seen any new articles questioning your sexuality or your candor," Eli said. "By the way, we're firing our own warning shot next week." He said it so casually, Rafael almost didn't catch it.
"What warning shot?" Rafael asked.
"You probably don't want to know," Eli replied. Rafael stopped typing and sat up straight.
"I told you, I don't want to go negative. If we go negative, they'll go negative."
"You don't see that article as negative?"
"I saw that article as buffoonery, which is par for the course with Buchanan," Rafael said. "And you said it yourself - the number of people who will care is outweighed by the number of people who won't. If I'm a voter, I see that article as attacking homosexuality as a whole. Buchanan's comments about me are obviously without merit, as evidenced by my attendance at the STRAIGHT for Equality gala."
"But you're not a voter," Eli said. "You're the candidate. And I'm the campaign manager, and I can tell you that we need to fire back with something that says we won't go soft on future attacks."
"Eli, no." Rafael said, his voice firm. "Find another way. Put out something positive. Appeal to the gay voters. But don't attack him. That's not how I want to win."
There was silence on the other end of the phone, and then, "All right, I've got to get back to work. I'll give you a status update by email on Sunday night."
"Okay," Rafael said. He was about to hang up when he suddenly remembered something he wanted to ask. "Oh, hey, before you go, did you have Thanksgiving dinner plans?"
"Why do you ask?" Eli said, a nervousness to it. "Is there something you're planning on attending-"
"Eli, does it sound like me to volunteer for a press event on Thanksgiving?"
"I- okay, yeah, you're right. What was it you needed?"
"Well, uh," Rafael said, "I just wondered if you wanted to have dinner with me and my Mom. A couple friends, too."
On his end of the line, Eli's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he fumbled for words. "Oh, that. Well. I appreciate the offer, but Marissa and I are-"
"Of course," Rafael replied, sparing Eli the need to explain. "I should have realized. I just thought I'd ask."
"I appreciate it," Eli said. "And, uh, by the way, I'm sorry about… you know, Lauren."
"No you're not."
"Well, kind of, anyway." There was an awkward pause. "Listen, I'm gonna get back to work here. If I don't talk to you before Thursday… Happy Thanksgiving."
"You too." Rafael hung up the phone and stared at it for a minute. He wondered if Eli really had plans, and then if anyone was still capable of telling him the truth.
"Hey, M, over here," Fin called, rising from the table where he and Carisi sat nursing beers. Marissa waved and glanced behind her, motioning for Nora to follow. They pushed through the crowd lining the bar and, when they reached the table, Carisi pulled out a chair next to him.
"How's it going, Sonny?" Marissa smiled at him as the waiter took their drink orders.
"You know you're basically the only person to call him Sonny, right?" Fin said.
"Well, that's his name, isn't it?" Nora asked.
"Actually, it's Dominick," Carisi replied, "but Sonny's what my grandpa called me as a kid. It kinda stuck."
"I like it," Marissa said. "It's cheery." Sonny blushed.
"So, plans for the holiday?" Nora asked Fin.
"Yeah, I'm seeing my son and his mother. Might bring Rollins, too. Her sister's…"
"A mess?" Carisi offered.
"I know all about that," Nora replied absently. Marissa raised her eyebrows. It wasn't like Nora to bring up Mariah unprompted.
"Younger or older?" Fin asked.
"Younger," she replied. "Mariah." She suddenly looked uncomfortable, as if she had just realized what she was talking about.
The waiter brought their drinks and, giving Nora a reprieve, Marissa held hers up. "Happy Thanksgiving, fellow public servants."
They clinked glasses. "So Marissa," Carisi said, "how long's your dad been here?"
"About a year now, actually," she said. "It's just that up til now, our relationship has consisted mostly of me unpacking his apartment and him complaining about it."
"If it weren't for you, his apartment still wouldn't be unpacked," Nora laughed. "I had to unpack every office he's ever worked in, and that's just a room's worth of stuff."
"Not that it's any of my business," Fin said, "but how's he getting along with your boss?"
"Yeah, it can't be easy managing Barba in a campaign," Carisi said. "He's a stubborn son-of-a-"
"You don't know my dad," Marissa said. "He's just as stubborn."
"And twice as irritating," Nora continued. "But he does it because he's an idealist."
"Yeah? I don't get that vibe," Fin said.
"He is," Nora said sadly. "Otherwise, he'd have thrown himself off a bridge years ago. Politics does that to you."
"Well, at least with Barba, he's got someone who's way too uptight to cause him problems," Fin said. "Worst you could say about him is that he spends too much money on suspenders."
"Ah, I don't know, Fin," Carisi said, "I don't think Barba's as uptight as we think he is."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Marissa and Nora both looked straight at him. Fin gave Carisi a sharp glance.
"We saw the pictures from that party you guys went to last week," he replied quickly. "Looked like he finally let loose."
"That's just because we spent most of the night judging what people were wearing," Nora said. "Marissa did all the hard work."
"I didn't see you in the paper," Carisi said to Marissa.
"That's because my dad insisted I blend in," she replied. "I took pictures though!" She pulled out her phone and handed it to Carisi. He glanced through them with a wide smile growing on his face.
"Wow, Marissa, you look really-"
"I may not wear a three piece suit every day," she said, grasping his sleeve lightly, "but I do know how to look appropriately fancy when I need to."
"Nora," Fin interrupted, eyeballing Carisi in amusement, "you heading back to Chicago for the weekend?"
"Probably not," she replied. "I'm not really in the mood to deal with family drama right now, and you know that's all Thanksgiving is."
"And pie," Carisi said. "Don't forget pie."
"Hey, Sonny," Marissa said, standing up. "Speaking of food, let's go order some." Carisi all but jumped out of his chair and followed her toward the packed bar. Nora watched them, sipping her drink.
"Kinda obvious, isn't he?" Fin said absently.
"Oh, just a bit," she replied.
"You got somewhere to go?" Fin asked.
"Sorry?" She looked at him.
"For the holiday. I know you said you're not going back home, but you got somewhere to go?"
"Oh," she said, "not really. I think Marissa is spending the holiday with her father." She was, truthfully, surprised that Marissa hadn't invited her along. Then again, maybe Eli didn't want her there.
"Well, now you do," he said. "No way you're spending Thanksgiving alone in New York."
Nora smiled at him. Fin was grizzled, war-weary, but he was also kind and easy to talk to. Although she missed her mother, spending Thanksgiving with strangers was preferable to spending it talking about Mariah's issues. Holidays were always particularly hard on her sister; their father's ghost lingered in every glass, every gift, every card.
Meanwhile, Carisi and Marissa both leaned against the bar, watching the conversation at their table while waiting for their nachos. "Think they're thinking what I think they're thinking?"
"Nah," she replied. "Nora's taken."
"Boyfriend back in Chicago?"
"Not exactly," she said. "Let's just say Chicago brought her here." Carisi shuffled his feet nervously.
"So… what about you?"
She squinted at him. "What about me?"
"I've known you almost two years now," he said, "and I still don't know why you left a good job in Chicago politics to work as an assistant to some lawyer you don't even know."
"Why'd you go to law school if you've got a good job in law enforcement?" She raised an eyebrow.
"It's hard, you know," he said, "when you catch 'em and you know they're guilty but you see the lawyers negotiate what they did into a little box that fits into a plea deal. I wanted to change that."
"So why didn't you?"
He shrugged. "I think I'm better at catching them. Besides, we got a good one in your boss."
"I'd like to keep him around a while," she said. "Hey, maybe you can take his place when he wins this thing."
They stood in silence for a minute, and then Carisi said, "Hey, you never answered my question."
"What question?"
"Why'd you come here?"
"Change of scenery," she said. "Funny part is, I got exactly what I came to get away from. Politics."
Carisi swallowed hard. "Well, if it means anything, I'm glad you changed the scenery." He brushed his hand along hers.
She looked down and smiled. Their fingers were now barely touching, an innocent implication in the space between.
"We should have brought more than just this," Lucia said. "We all know the scotch is for you."
"Mami, Olivia said her boyfriend likes it too," he replied. "It'll be fine."
"I'm just saying, I could have made a pie." They arrived at Olivia's door, and before Rafael could even knock, she opened it with a smile. Despite having known each other for five years, he still felt awkward in social situations with her - or any of the squad, really. The line between colleagues and friends had blurred years ago, but he was still admittedly uptight about it. Nevertheless, when Olivia had extended the invitation for him and his mother to join her and her boyfriend for the holiday, he was happy to accept.
"Happy Thanksgiving," Olivia said warmly. He leaned in, giving her a slightly stiff hug. Lucia, on the other hand, eagerly kissed Olivia's cheek as if they were family.
"Thank you for having us, Olivia," she said as Olivia stepped to the side. "I told Rafael we should have brought dessert, but-"
"Mom!" Rafael exclaimed. He handed Olivia the bottle of scotch. "I mean, I hope this-"
"This is perfect," Olivia said, holding up her hand in protest. "Ed will be thrilled."
They followed her through the hallway into the living area, where Noah sat on the floor, entranced by a set of Legos until he saw Rafael in the hallway. "Rafi!" The boy clambered to his feet, ran across the floor, and wrapped his arms around Rafael's knees.
"Hi, Noah," Rafael said, patting Noah on the head. "Happy Thanksgiving."
"What do you say, Noah?" Olivia prompted.
"Happy Thanksgiving," he said with a little effort. "Rafi, I helped Mommy decorate cupcakes!"
"You know I love dessert," Rafael said, smiling.
"Come play, Rafi!" Noah always asked him to play. While Rafael always obliged, he just didn't quite know how to interact with children. He sometimes envied Olivia and her easy way with children. He was glad he didn't have many cases involving kids.
"He'll come play in a minute, sweetie," Olivia said. "Hey, Ed! Barba and Lucia are here." From underneath the kitchen counter rose Ed Tucker, Olivia's boyfriend of six months and the former chief of Internal Affairs. He'd retired around the time he and Olivia had begun their relationship. Rafael had never particularly liked him prior to his relationship with Olivia, but she seemed to have softened him. They were a good match.
And, Rafael realized, Ed was good with Noah.
"Rafael, Lucia. Happy Thanksgiving." Ed took their coats to Noah's bedroom and returned a few seconds later. "Can we get you something to drink?"
"I'm sure the counselor would be thrilled to share this with you," Olivia said, handing the bottle to Ed. "Lucia, wine?"
"What the hell, it's a holiday," Lucia replied. Ed poured two glasses of wine for Olivia and Lucia, and then opened the scotch for himself and Rafael.
"Dinner will be done in about half an hour," Olivia said.
"Please, let me help finish it," Lucia said, setting her wine down and walking around to the kitchen.
"Oh, that's not necessary, Lucia," Ed replied. "You're our guest."
"Please," she said, waving him off. "Olivia works hard all day, raising that boy. I know what it's like to be a mostly single mother."
Rafael turned and looked at Ed. "Don't argue with her. Why do you think I get migraines?"
"I heard that," Lucia said, eyeing her son. "Go! Out of the kitchen. Except you, Ed, you can help me." Olivia and Ed exchanged a look, and then she led the way to the living room with Rafael trailing behind. As soon as he set his drink down, Noah grabbed his hand.
"Wanna help me build a castle?" He asked in the barely-intelligible English of a four-year-old. Rafael glanced at Olivia. She smiled encouragingly, as she always did, and he lowered himself to the carpet.
"Legos were one of the few toys I had growing up. Did you know that?" He reached for one of the big grey baseplates and a handful of bricks.
"I didn't," Olivia said.
"Hey, Noah, can you put bricks all around the outside edges?" He showed Noah where he meant, and handed him a couple bricks to start with. "That was before they had these ridiculous pre-configured sets, though. Where's the fun in that?"
"Maybe those are more for adults than kids," Olivia said. "Maybe adults lose their imaginations somewhere along the way."
"I'd like to think I didn't," he said, adding another layer on top of the border that Noah was creating.
"You're good at building something out of nothing," she replied. "Look at half the cases I bring you."
Suddenly, Noah got a look in his eye as if he'd forgotten something terribly important. He stood up and ran off toward his bedroom without a word. Olivia raised her eyebrow.
"Must be important," she said.
"Apparently," he replied, looking over his shoulder. He sat back on the couch and took a sip of scotch. It burned his throat beautifully.
"So, Barba," she said, and then hesitated. "You know, I've never asked. Do you prefer that, or Rafael?"
"I prefer Your Majesty," he said with a grin. "But I've gotten used to you calling me Barba. Most people do."
"What about Lauren?"
He was glad he didn't have his drink in his hand at that moment, because he would have dropped it all over Olivia's sofa. His eyes narrowed.
"How did you-"
"Marissa let it slip a couple weeks ago," she said. "I was looking for you, and she said you were having lunch with your girlfriend. I think she thought I knew. So, what does she call you?"
"Actually, she doesn't call me anything anymore."
Olivia tilted her head. "I'm sorry to hear that. Want to talk about it?"
"Do I ever want to talk about it?" He sighed. "She decided she didn't want to be part of the campaign."
"Ah," Olivia said. "Well, can you really blame her?"
"I told her that it wouldn't affect us," he said.
"Come on, Barba. You're not that stupid."
"That's what she told me," he replied.
"So when she told you she was worried about the campaign, what did you say?"
He looked anywhere but at her. "I said something that, taken out of context, might not sound very good."
"That's lawyer talk for 'I screwed up.' What EXACTLY did you say?"
"Something along the lines of maybe she's single at almost forty years old because she's insane?" He winced saying the words aloud. She slowly nodded.
"I can see how she might be offended by that, yeah," she said. "Did she say what she was worried about?"
"She just kept saying she didn't want the pressure of the campaign," he said.
"Did you ASK why?" It occurred to him that he'd been so accusatory with his questions that maybe Lauren hadn't WANTED to answer. When he didn't respond, Olivia switched topics. "How's the campaign going?"
"Oh, you know," he said, grateful for the change of subject. "Fighting with my campaign manager, trying to field even more calls from reporters than I usually get. At least people have finally stopped questioning my wardrobe choices."
"Well, little victories. Sometimes those matter more than the big ones," she said, raising her eyebrow. Suddenly, Noah came running back into the room. He held out his hand, grasping a piece of paper clumsily between his fingers.
"Rafi, I made you something." Rafael smiled and took the paper from Noah. He opened it to find a crayon drawing of a little boy and what looked like his parents - a man and a woman, holding each of his hands. Next to the mother, though, was another man, dressed in a grey suit, a bright pink tie, and matching suspenders, although the suspenders were colored on the outside of the suit.
"Who is that, Noah?" Olivia asked, although she knew the answer.
"That's Mommy and Ed," he said, pointing to their respective figures. "And that's you, Rafi."
He may not have known what to do with kids, but he knew a compliment when he saw it. He smiled at Noah and ruffled his hair. "Well, now I have something to put on my desk that isn't paperwork," he said. Then he realized his joke was lost on Noah. Olivia smiled.
"Do you remember when you asked me what I'd be doing when I'm eighty-five years old?" Before he could answer, she stood and took Noah's hand. "Come on, little man, let's get you cleaned up before dinner. Barba, you want to help me?"
"Oh, I, uh…" He cleared his throat nervously.
"Actually, Liv, I'll help you," Ed piped up from the kitchen. "Dinner's going to be done in just a few minutes. Rafael, you mind setting the table?" Rafael had never been so grateful for Ed Tucker's existence.
"Sure," she said. Ed followed Olivia to Noah's room while Rafael started spreading plates from their stack in the center of the table.
"Ed seems nice." Lucia came out from the kitchen and started helping him.
"I didn't care much for him when he was with the force, but he's at least tolerable now," Rafael replied.
"She's a good mom."
"Yeah, she is."
"And she did it on her own until a couple months ago?"
"Yeah. She and Ed don't live together, so she's still mostly on her own."
"I don't know if I could have done that," she said.
He stopped setting out the silverware and looked up at her, hands on the back of one of the chairs. "You basically did."
"I did the best I could for you, mijo," she said. She came toward him and put her hand on his cheek. "You know, you could do it too."
"Do what?"
"Be a father."
"Oh, Mom," he said, sighing, "I know you want grandkids. But my schedule, the campaign… you know I couldn't do it, at least not alone."
"You've done everything you ever set your mind to doing, Rafi. And it's not just about me. What are you going to do when I'm gone?"
"That won't be for a long time, Mami," he said.
"Even so. Your abuelita had me. I have you. Who will you have when you're my age?" The words stung. Lauren's face flashed across the back of his eyes.
"Can we just drop it, Mom?" He snapped. "It's Thanksgiving. If we're going to argue over the turkey, I'd rather it be about politics, like normal families."
Lucia didn't flinch. She just smiled sadly at her son, knowing from his reaction that this was a sore spot. "I'm just worried about you, mijo. I want you to be happy."
Olivia and Ed came back into the room, a freshly-cleaned Noah following closely behind. Ed went to the kitchen to pull the turkey out of the oven, while Olivia situated Noah in a chair. She kissed him on the head and went into the kitchen to help Ed.
Rafael kissed his mother on her cheek and took her hand.
"I know, Mami. But I'm happy with the family I have."
To: Rafael Barba (BARBAR .GOV)
From: Eli Gold ( )
Date: Sunday, November 26, 2017, 9:58pm
Subject: Status Update
Rafael,
First, please don't respond to this email. I wouldn't ordinarily write from my personal email, but we're having some problems with the server at the committee office. That said, I don't want you to send me anything that might not be secure.
As promised, here is the status update. Right now, between your personal contributions and the committee, we have over $400,000. Given that we only announced at the beginning of the month, that's not half bad, but Buchanan has the advantage since he announced earlier. He's running somewhere around the million dollar mark, especially because of his big-law ties. Some of the firms are supporting you. Schuman & Schuman gave the campaign maximum because they represent several members of the State legislature. Their clients want to look tough on crime, so of course they have to look tough on crime as well. You're also getting donations from people who've been crime victims and their family members, which is not surprising. They're small donations, but they add up quickly.
Now, obviously the outgoing District Attorney's supporters will be more likely to support someone who's already in-house, but they may need some encouragement. So, I've got you down for speeches with the Martin Luther King Jr. Democratic Club (December 4), the Gay and Lesbian Independent Democrats (December 11), and the Sonia Sotomayor Democratic Club (December 13). And don't forget the Women's Society speech tomorrow. Obviously we're going for the minority vote. We'll also have a few holiday parties to attend, but I'll try to keep those to a minimum. I know you hate those type of functions.
Lastly, please be prepared to receive phone calls from the press this week. Do not answer them; I will let you know when we want to comment. Of course, if you have any questions, let me know. I'll be in touch.
Best,
Eli
It started with a tiny article the day before Thanksgiving, one that no one but Eli and his team noticed. By Monday, Rafael's phone started ringing. He had turned his cell off for the holiday, so he was still wading through the five dozen emails he'd come back to.
"Barba," he said, his customary greeting when he answered his office line.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Barba, this is Glenn Danbury from the Times."
"Yeah, I have no comment on the Lester trial," he said. "That's not my case." He typed a quick response to an email from Olivia thanking him and his mother for coming to dinner.
"No, it's not about that," the reporter said. "It's about the DUIs."
Rafael stopped typing. "The-I'm sorry, what?"
"John Buchanan's DUIs. I've been trying to get in touch with you, but-"
Rafael slammed the phone down, then pulled out his cell. He dialed Eli's number, but it went to voicemail. So, he yelled toward the door. "MARISSA!"
Marissa came running into the room, breathless. "I just got a call from a reporter looking for you."
"Color me surprised," he said. "I can't get in touch with your dad. Do you know where he is?"
"I haven't seen him since Thanksgiving night," she said. "He said he had to work, and- oh, hell. Don't tell me he didn't tell you."
"Tell me what?"
"Maybe you should talk to him," she said cautiously. "I can try to get him on the phone."
"Marissa," he said, "you said you would tell me the truth. So what do you know?"
She sighed heavily. "Somehow it got out over the holiday that John Buchanan had three DUIs in the last four years."
Rafael's eyes narrowed. "And I know the leak, don't I?" When Marissa didn't answer, he said, "Find him."
She hurried out of the room and went back to her desk. She dialed her father's number on the office line; no answer. So then she tried on her cell. Groaning, she resorted to a text message: He knows. And he's pissed.
"I'm trying to reach him," she yelled out to Rafael as another phone call came in. "Rafael Barba's office."
"Yes, my name is Heath Angers, calling from the Ledger, and-"
"No comment," she said and hung up the phone. Suddenly, a text buzzed her phone. She opened it, simultaneously hoping it was her father and dreading it. Instead, it was from Sonny.
Hey, so, about Wednesday night…
She smiled. He was cute when he was playing dumb.
Want to get a drink this Friday? Around 9, same place? She sent the message off, knowing the answer already. Two seconds later, her phone buzzed again. This time, she expected it to be Sonny, but instead, it was her father.
I suspected he would be. That's why I warned him about the phone calls last night.
She raised an eyebrow. What warning? It's been insane here. The phones are ringing off the hook.
He didn't respond, but Rafael's office phone started to ring instead.
"I've told everyone else, no comm-" There was a pause. "What the HELL is going on, Eli?" At the sound of her father's name, Marissa walked to the half-closed door and listened quietly.
"I sent you an email last night," Eli said. "You said you told everyone no comment?"
"Well, I didn't get any email. And of course I said no comment, since I don't know the details of what I'm commenting on," he snapped. "What did you do?"
"You didn't watch the news at all this weekend?"
"Didn't have time," he said. "After the holiday, I had to catch up on some work, and I didn't check my email. I figured if anything were that important, someone would pick up the phone. Apparently, I was wrong."
On her desk, Marissa's phone buzzed again. She knew it was Sonny this time, but elected to ignore it for the time being.
"Buchanan's criminal records were released over the holiday," Eli said. "And, of course, reporters are calling you to ask for your comment on them."
"I'm aware of this," Rafael said. His breath came a little quicker. "And this just happens to get leaked two days after I specifically told you NOT to play dirty?"
"Let's not have this conversation on the phone," Eli said.
"What, you think they have my office bugged?"
"I'm speaking from experience when I say you have no idea what 'they' are monitoring at any given time. I can be over in half an hour."
"Do that," Rafael said. He threw the phone down and put his head in his hands. Marissa knocked and crept into the room.
"Everything okay?"
"Since I assume you were listening the whole time, I don't think you need to ask," he said, without looking up.
"Guilty as charged," she said. "So he didn't tell you he was going to do this?"
"Oh, he told me," Rafael said. "It's just that I told him NOT to, and he ignored me completely."
"Sounds exactly like him," she said, flopping down into a chair. "So what're you going to do?"
"Well, for starters, I'm going to fire your father," he said. When Marissa looked horrified, he smirked. "I'm kidding, Marissa. I'm not going to fire him. But he needs to be clear that I'm the candidate and he's the campaign manager and I call the shots here."
She didn't say anything, but the look on her face told him she wanted to. Before he could push for an answer, they heard the main door open. "Barba, you here?"
"In here," Rafael replied. Amaro and Olivia walked through the door. "Not even noon on a Monday and I'm getting a migraine already."
"Nice to see you too, Barba," Olivia said. "How are you, Marissa?"
"I'm fine," Marissa replied, rising from her chair. "Coffee, guys? It's fresh."
"Nah, we're good," Amaro said. "Thanks, though. Oh, by the way, Carisi said to tell you Friday's fine." Rafael raised an eyebrow, and Marissa's face flushed.
"Thanks," she said, and then abruptly showed herself out without another word. Once she was gone, Rafael sat back in his chair and put his feet on his desk.
"Everything okay?" Olivia asked.
"Oh, just wonderful," he said. The phone rang again; he ignored it.
"You need to get that?" Amaro asked.
"No. But I do need to get through a stack of files, plus I have a speech at the Democratic Women's Society at two, so if we could move this along?"
"Look, we just need a warrant," Olivia said. "We've got another frat party gone wrong at Tau Omega."
Rafael groaned. "You've got to be kidding me. Haven't they shut that fraternity down yet?"
"Maybe you can put that on your platform," Amaro muttered, shooting Rafael a look. Rafael shot one right back.
"Anyway, we need to search the house," Olivia said.
"You know the drill," Rafael said. "Give Marissa what you need. I'll have it couriered over by the end of the day." Olivia looked at Amaro, who nodded and went to talk to Marissa. "Always a ray of sunshine, that one."
"He's just worried about you."
"I'm sure," he replied, a salty note in his voice. "Anything else, before I bury myself in plea bargains all day?"
"Yeah, one other thing," Olivia said, suddenly uncomfortable. "Those DUI records on Buchanan…"
"I know it wasn't your squad," he said. "It's not even in your purview."
"No, it's not that," she replied. "Did your campaign leak them?"
One of the unfortunate side effects of his job was that he learned the most effective ways to lie. He didn't even blink. "No."
Olivia squinted at him, searching for any hint of deception. Apparently satisfied, she nodded. "I'm sorry. I had to ask."
"I assume IAB is pissed."
"When ISN'T IAB pissed?" She sighed. "Dodds is just on my ass about it. He knows I didn't leak anything, that no one in my squad did. But he also knows about our-"
"Friendship," he finished.
"Yes, our friendship. NYPD just can't be seen as biased. They're just worried about-"
"Perception. I know." He stood and crossed the room. "I get it, Liv. I'll make sure Eli knows, too."
"Thanks," she said. "Anyway, I'd better go. I'll expect that warrant later today."
"Of course," he replied, showing her out. Once she and Amaro had gone, he sat back down at his desk, determined to get through his emails in the next hour. As he was deleting a bunch of spam, an email popped up from Eli. The subject was "Status Update." When he opened it, he noticed the send date was Sunday, but it seemed to have gotten stuck in the pipeline somewhere. He laughed ruefully as he read the last paragraph: Be prepared to receive phone calls from the press this week. Winning in politics seemed to be like winning a case: it was all a matter of timing.
As the campaign kicked into high gear, Rafael had realized he needed someone to take some of his cases. Eli agreed, but insisted that none of the cases he unloaded would be high-profile, and certainly not so many that Buchanan could accuse him of not being capable of handling the office. So, Rafael called Joe Thomas, the young prosecutor who Rafael had covered for at arraignment court. Joe had readily agreed to take a few of Rafael's cases; he seemed happy to move from misdemeanors to felonies.
One of the cases Rafael had given him was a rape of a prostitute by her pimp, Manny Garcia. Unsurprisingly, Garcia wouldn't admit to the rape, or even to being a pimp, but they had ample evidence of the latter. His general plan involved attracting young girls from broken homes with promises of a secure and loving relationship with him. Then, he would use drugs with them, get them addicted, and turn them out to other men. The case was a little complicated, of course. Rafael had tried and won a case just like it years ago, with more than a little grey hair for his effort. But he had faith in Joe. He was green, but dedicated, and hated men who abused and exploited women - even more so after the birth of his daughter. Besides, when Rafael had handed him the case, Garcia hadn't even retained counsel. He assumed it would just be legal aid.
Unfortunately, the problem with handing off cases was that the cases he had retained all pleaded out by the end of the first week of December. Even the Tau Omega case Olivia had just brought him after Thanksgiving had resulted in a deal. Rafael suspected the defense attorneys all wanted to close cases quickly before the holidays, though they would never admit to it. Eli was happy, of course - it meant Rafael's win/loss record improved, plus it freed him up for press events and holiday galas. Marissa was happy to have fewer files on her desk and less paperwork to push. Marbury was happy that Rafael had made it home before midnight every night that week. The only person who wasn't happy was Rafael.
He was restless. The midday sun cast a rosy glow off the windows that early December afternoon. It bounced off his laptop screen, causing him to shut the blinds behind his desk. The world looked brighter in the winter sometimes.
He paced the room trying to decide whether he should call Joe and tell him he could take some of his cases back. Then, he remembered that Joe was in court on the pimp/prostitute case. Suddenly, he had an idea. What better way to look like you have authority than to look like you were supervising the handling of a case you delegated to a junior ADA? He walked out to Marissa's desk, suddenly full of purpose. She was poring over a tabloid and eating a sandwich.
"What courtroom is Joe Thomas in?"
"Don't you eat lunch anymore?" She asked, typing in a few keys on her computer. "He's in 20B, Judge Armand."
"Excellent," he said, throwing on his suit jacket and tightening his tie.
"Tubular," Marissa replied, a deadpan, as he walked out the door without responding.
He entered the courtroom quietly, ten minutes into Joe's direct examination of the prostitute, whose real name was Jamie King. Her bruises had just barely begun to heal, yellowing at the edges as they faded. She looked put-together, a little bookish, which is exactly how Rafael would have asked her to dress. She also looked totally scared.
"Ms. King, can you tell the jury what happened the night of the assault?"
Jamie shifted slightly. "I was coming back from a…" She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "…a date. And I got out of his car - my date's, I mean - and when he left…"
She stopped as she caught Garcia's eye, a flash of hesitation crossing her face. Come on, Joe, Rafael thought. Redirect her attention. Then, as if he had read Rafael's thoughts, Joe moved into the line of sight between Jamie and Garcia.
"Ms. King," he gently prompted, "what happened when you got out of the car?"
"I looked for Manny," she said, looking a little less stricken, "but he wasn't there. It was cold and I didn't have a coat, so I was just going to catch the subway home and find him the next day. But when I got halfway down the block, he just came out of nowhere. Knocked me down."
"He? You mean the defendant?"
"Yes," she said. "He dragged me behind one of the buildings, next to a dumpster."
"Did he say anything?"
"He said I was a dumb whore, and accused me of stealing from him. Said I should have known I wouldn't get away with it."
Suddenly, a familiar voice came from the defense table, calling out an objection. Rafael's heart dropped to his stomach. Oh, no.
"Hearsay," John Buchanan said.
"Overruled," replied the judge. "Continue."
"So, Jamie," Joe went on. "What happened next?"
"He slapped me a few times, kept asking me for the money. It was in my bra, but he was hitting me so hard I couldn't get to it. Then, he-"
She stopped for a minute, tears welling in her eyes. It would have been the moment Rafael approached her and offered a break, but Joe took another path. He reached into his inner coat pocket and handed her a handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and continued.
"He raped me," she said, simply and quietly. John Buchanan had no viable objection to make, so Joe let the words silently fill the room for a minute. Then, he looked at the jury but spoke to Jamie.
"Jamie, did you say no?"
"No," she admitted. "But I tried to push him away. I tried to run, but he caught me. And he was hitting me. I thought the no was implied."
"No further questions." As Joe walked back to the prosecution table, he noticed Rafael sitting in the back of the room. He gave him a questioning look, but Rafael nodded, a sign of a job well done. As he sat back down, Buchanan stood and buttoned his jacket. Rafael was already dreading this cross; he couldn't imagine how Jamie felt.
"Good afternoon, Ms. King."
"Good afternoon."
"I won't ask you to go back over the events as you described them," he said, "but I will ask you to think back farther than that. You are an admitted prostitute, yes?"
"I was," she said. "I'm not anymore."
"But until six months ago, you had sex with men for money."
"Y-yes," she stammered.
"You've had a conviction, in fact, for prostitution." He didn't wait for her to answer. "How many men have you had sex with over the years?"
"Objection, relevance?" Joe said.
"Goes to prove the victim's conviction for prostitution," Buchanan replied.
"She's already admitted to it," Joe said.
"Sustained. Move on, Mr. Buchanan."
Buchanan gave a helpless shrug toward the jury, then walked toward them, hands in his pockets. "Have you and Mr. Garcia ever had sexual relations in the past?"
"Yes, when we first met," she said, looking Buchanan directly in the eye. Obviously, Joe had prepared her for this line of questioning. "But that was before-"
"And were those sexual relations gentle or rough?"
"Objection," Joe said, "the victim's sexual history is not relevant."
"She admitted to having sexual relations with my client," Buchanan said to the judge. "I'm simply asking the nature of those relations."
"Overruled," the judge said, though he was clearly not thrilled to do so. "Please answer the question."
Jamie's eyes steeled. "I guess you would say they were more on the rough side of things," she said.
"So, you had rough sex with my client on previous occasions, and you expected him to know that you didn't want to have rough sex this time?"
"It wasn't the same thing," she said. "He beat me."
"You testified that he hit you, but in your previous sexual encounters with him, he'd slapped you, spanked you, even choked you. Isn't that true?"
"This was different," she said. "He beat me."
"But you didn't say no, and he'd been violent sexually with you in the past, with your consent! How should he have known you didn't want it this time?"
"Objection!" Joe leapt to his feet.
"No further questions," Buchanan said, and with a wave of his hand, he concluded the assault on a woman who'd been beaten enough.
Joe tried to redirect as best he could, but Rafael feared the worst. Buchanan had flustered Jamie King, reducing her to tears but casting doubt on her story just the same. Besides, it was a rare jury that believed a prostitute could be raped. The State rested its case, and the judge announced that closing arguments would begin the next day before adjourning court. Rafael walked directly toward the prosecution table and tapped Joe on the shoulder.
"You okay?" Rafael asked.
"Would you be?"
"We've all had moments like this. You can win them back on closing."
"There's not much to say after that, though, is there?" Joe cast a dark glance toward Buchanan.
"Juries don't like him."
"But they believe him."
"The thing about prosecution," Rafael said, "is that even when you know you're going to lose, you don't let anyone see it. Because if nothing else, the victims need to know that you fought all the way to the end."
"What's your secret?" Joe asked.
At the defense table, Buchanan was laughing with his client, who seemed like a businessman in his muted suit and tie. Rafael supposed that's how Manny Garcia envisioned himself anyway. He looked directly at Joe, lips curling into a cheshire cat grin.
"Conventional wisdom says to try not to alienate the jury by coming across as a dick with an agenda. But if you already know you're going to lose," he said, "then you've got nothing TO lose, do you?"
Joe had taken Rafael's advice to heart during closing arguments. He replaced the gloves with brass knuckles and swung hard at the defense's case. He blew up photos of Jamie's injuries, quoted testimony by the treating physician in the emergency room, and pointed out the fact that Jamie had gone right to the police after the beating - exposing herself to criminal charges for prostitution in the process. But despite two days of closing arguments, the jury came back after only three hours of deliberation: not guilty on all charges.
He'd seen it coming. That's why he'd given Joe the advice he had. If you're going down, go down in a spectacular blaze of glory. At least that way, people don't think you cowered in the face of defeat. And, as he'd said, at least the victim knows they were heard by someone.
Joe was speaking softly with Jamie King, who looked as though a bomb had gone off in her head. This was one of the worst things a prosecutor had to do, Rafael knew: consoling a victim who had put their faith in you. He understood all too well what it was like to feel like you weren't up to your job, that you'd let someone down. Joe put his hand on Jamie's shoulder, and she nodded slowly at what he was saying. When she'd left the courtroom, Rafael approached Joe as he'd done a few days earlier.
"I'm sorry, Joe. I know you did everything you could."
"It still wasn't enough," he said.
"You did exactly what you were supposed to do," Rafael replied. "You fought, and you fought hard. No one could have tried this case better."
"You could have." Rafael shook his head.
"There's a reason I gave you this case," he said. "If anyone had a shot at winning it, you did. But, at the end of the day, the decisions are made by twelve people who you can't control. The outcome isn't always what we'd like, but that doesn't reflect on the job you did."
He saw a hint of understanding flash across Joe's face. Suddenly, he realized that being a supervisor was about more than just delegating work and pushing papers. Maybe he could do this job after all.
Just then, John Buchanan approached the pair of them from across the aisle. "Tough luck, Mr. Thomas," he said. "It's not your fault, though. Mr. Barba here threw you a dog of a case."
"Oh, I don't know, John," Rafael said, deliberately using Buchanan's first name. "Your client seems like the animal to me."
Buchanan simply smirked. "Careful," he said. "Wouldn't want to besmirch an innocent man near the microphones."
"Better to do it to an innocent victim in open court?"
At that, Buchanan's nostrils flared, but he remained cordial. "Time to go meet the press," he said. "Until next time."
Rafael turned back to Joe. "Sorry about that," he said. "I didn't mean to undermine you."
"Are you kidding?" Joe said. "That was the first time I've seen someone shut that man up."
"It won't last," Rafael replied, checking his watch. "Anyway, you should get out there. Someone needs to stop him from gloating. I'll walk you out; I've got to be somewhere uptown in a couple hours." They grabbed their briefcases and headed for the front steps. Rafael hoped he could sneak down the side steps while Joe was giving his statement.
"Is the campaign going well?"
"I'm not sure yet," he said. "We're behind in fundraising, since we announced late, and Buchanan seems to have most of the big firms locked up. But from what I'm told, the more I'm in front of a camera, the better my polls look. Let's face it - I AM the more camera-ready face."
Joe laughed just before they pushed through the courthouse doors. Then, he put on his best serious face and walked down the steps toward the throngs of reporters. Buchanan was in the middle of all of them.
"-alleged victim, a sex worker, was simply not credible. I am hopeful that, on Election Day, the voters will see that I have no greater goal than protecting innocent people from wrongful prosecutions like these."
As the reporters saw Joe approach, they parted and directed their microphones toward him. "Mr. Buchanan seems to forget that a not guilty verdict does not indicate innocence," Joe said. Then, he turned toward Rafael, watching dutifully from a few steps above. "I'm sure Mr. Barba would agree that this is not a victory for the wrongfully accused as much as a loss for victims of sexual assault."
Rafael raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected Joe to pull him into the fray. But as his colleague motioned for him to join the group, he realized there was no escape. He stepped forward and stood next to Joe, eyeing Buchanan. Before he could say anything, reporters started shouting questions at him.
"Mr. Barba, do you think the victim in this case just wasn't believable?"
"Why do you think your office lost the case, Mr. Barba?"
"Will this affect your candidacy?"
At the last question, Rafael's eyes flared with anger, but he did the same thing he would have done in a courtroom setting: set his jaw and responded fiercely.
"It astounds me that anyone is talking about the outcome of this case in the context of a political campaign," he said. "The fact is, approximately 50% of sex workers in this country will experience sexual violence at some point in their lives. There are far more Jamie Kings than we are aware of, many of whom also never see justice. That is what we need to be talking about."
Seizing the chance to engage Rafael directly, Buchanan leaned toward a waiting microphone. "If you care so much about sex workers, Mr. Barba, then why didn't you prosecute this case yourself? If this has nothing to do with your campaign, why did you pass off the case to a junior district attorney?"
Joe started to respond, but Rafael cut him off. "Joe Thomas tried this case with every bit as much skill as I would have put into it. I gave him this case because I knew I could trust him with it. That the jury chose not to convict is not his responsibility." Buchanan started to speak, but Rafael cut him off. "But make no mistake, my office will continue to prosecute those responsible for sexual violence, regardless of the victim's profession, sexual history, or criminal record. It doesn't matter if you are a sex worker - you are still entitled to human decency, respect, and justice. And you are still allowed to say no."
Rafael nodded toward Joe and gave him a pat on the back. Joe leaned in and whispered quietly, "For what it's worth, you've got my vote." With that, Rafael turned and headed back up the stairs, leaving his words on the steps but taking the message with him.
She really needed to get a desk. Trying to work at her laptop on the coffee table with files spread all around her on the couch was just not productive, nor was it particularly comfortable. She glanced at the clock; it was nearly eleven at night and she'd made little headway on the contract negotiation she was finalizing. Opposing counsel's handwritten notes were illegible, even by attorney standards, and she couldn't very well call him at this hour to ask about them. It wasn't until she realized she'd spent ten minutes staring at the blinking cursor on the screen that she decided enough was enough. She closed the laptop and moved the files down to the floor, leaving them open so she could pick up where she left off the next day.
Ever since Rafael had walked out of her apartment all those weeks ago, she'd done her best to bury herself in work. It was the best way to distract herself from anything that might be going on in her personal life, not that she had one. Aside from a baby shower for a coworker and a few obligatory happy hours after work, she had been hibernating in her apartment, working from home most days. She loved telecommuting: it was so much easier to deal with people when you didn't have to actually talk to them.
She stretched and released her hair from its low ponytail, shaking the waves loose. Then, she grabbed the remote and flipped on the television. The Tonight Show would be on soon, but for the moment, she let the local news play in the background as she went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. When she opened the cupboard, an avalanche of spices and tea bags tumbled out at her. She had so hurriedly cleaned up the remnants of the aborted dinner with Rafael that she hadn't bothered arranging the contents of the cupboard - she'd just thrown everything in and shut the doors, figuring she would fix it all later. Letting out an exhausted sigh, she began to clean up the mess she made, when the anchorwoman said, "And now, we turn to the District Attorney's race."
She popped up like a cork. The newswoman continued. "Despite Election Day being a year away, contention between the candidates is already brewing."
The screen then flashed to a video of John Buchanan giving a statement to the press, silently at first while the voiceover said, "Defense attorney and candidate John Buchanan won a victory today, defending an alleged pimp accused of raping a prostitute earlier this year."
The video's sound then came on, and Lauren watched as Buchanan addressed the crowd of reporters. "Today was a victory for an innocent man, but more importantly, a victory for the criminal justice system. The jury decided, correctly, that the alleged victim, a sex worker, was simply not credible. I am hopeful that, on Election Day, the voters will see that I have no greater goal than protecting innocent people from wrongful prosecutions like these."
She felt like throwing up from that one quote alone. This guy actually wanted to be in charge of prosecuting criminals. She went back into the living room and stood in front of the television. The video cut back to the anchorwoman. "The prosecutor on the case, Joe Thomas, deferred to Assistant District Attorney Rafael Barba, who assigned him the case and who was present in the courtroom for part of the trial."
Lauren's heart fell as hard as the box of tea. Her hands shook as Rafael's face graced the screen. He looked confident, and a little bit angry. She expected a quote about his own campaign, but he spoke only of the victim in the case, and sex trafficking in general. He wasn't interested in turning the not-guilty verdict around for his own political agenda. He responded to Buchanan with conviction and thinly-veiled disgust, but made a point to bring his statement back to the thrust of the State's case: no means no, regardless of who you are.
The video cut back to the anchorwoman again. "We reached out for comments from both campaigns. While we didn't hear back from Mr. Buchanan's staff, Mr. Barba's campaign manager Eli Gold said, 'Mr. Barba's statement regarding the Garcia verdict is consistent with his commitment to seeking justice for ALL of New York City's citizens.'"
As the anchorwoman passed off to the meteorologist, Lauren sank back onto the couch. She switched the television off, and sat in silence, Rafael's words hanging in the air: It doesn't matter if you are a sex worker - you are still entitled to human decency, respect, and justice. And you are still allowed to say no. He'd looked right into the camera as he'd said it, as if he knew. But he couldn't. There was no way.
He was willing to stand up for a woman he had never met before the trial, a woman with a past. A woman with a record. A woman who knew darkness intimately and needed someone to see the light within.
A woman like her.
She shook her head. She knew the consequences too well to consider it. No matter what Rafael said, he couldn't understand her. Besides, he was probably just reciting a prepared speech. Suddenly, she realized the kettle was screaming at her. She hurried back to the kitchen, where she turned off the burner and returned to the disaster on the floor, intent on cleaning up the mess and the memories.
That night, however, she lay awake in bed, focused on words she couldn't unhear. She had left him weeks ago, told him two truths and a lie. She said she didn't want to be in a relationship with him, that it would be better for him if she were gone, that the campaign would be too much for her. Her life was, at last, uncomplicated. She made a good living, had a decent apartment, the life she had struggled for. She felt like a whole person for the first time in her life, though it had taken years of therapy to get there.
Still, when the night set in and the shadows spoke to her, they whispered that something was missing. Not a piece of herself exactly, but a piece of life in general.
The clock on the nightstand read midnight - she needed to be up early for court.
Court. Where she'd seen him for the first time since high school, rediscovered him. Where she wasn't afraid of anything about him. Where it had just been casual drinks to catch up.
She rolled over and checked her phone, hoping for a text that she knew would not be there. The screen glowed blue on her face. She knew it wasn't going to help her sleep. She scrolled through her texted, lingering over the one that bore only a phone number, its contact having been deleted weeks ago.
I'm sorry, it read.
She considered responding to it now, but worried she might get the reply everyone dreads: Who's this?
She put the phone down and flipped over, practicing the breathing techniques her therapist had taught her for panic attacks but which she also used to fall asleep. Slowly, she fell into the half-asleep stupor that allowed for waking dreams and imagined conversations.
It doesn't matter, he had said. You are still entitled to human decency. Respect. Justice. It was as if he were standing over her, saying it in her ear. And she was sure she could feel his breath on her neck.
Respect. Justice.
Maybe even, she thought, as she finally quieted her mind, love.
Summer turned to autumn so slowly that you barely noticed, but winter didn't creep up on you that way. It just slapped you in the face. That October night without his gloves seemed positively tropical now. The snow had just fallen anew, crunching under his shoes. He'd realized too late that he should have worn boots. He turned up the faux fur collar on his overcoat and pulled his scarf tighter around his neck.
As soon as Eli had seen his comments on the steps of the courthouse the day before, he had called in a tizzy. Apparently it was a generally bad idea to make comments directed at your opponent without having said comments pre-approved by your campaign manager. But when the new polling data came in that morning, Eli had considerably relaxed - although he had all but threatened to personally murder Rafael if he pulled a similar stunt. But it seemed that Rafael's statements about rape victims had caused at least a temporary spike in his polling data, particularly among women and minority voters, and a few thousand dollars in donations had even poured in. People weren't happy hearing Buchanan politicize the outcome of a rape case, even if it wasn't a winning case for Rafael's office, and even if it was the rape of a prostitute.
But even though he should have been ecstatic about his poll numbers, he had instead been going over what Olivia had said on Thanksgiving night: Little victories count just as much as big ones - sometimes even more. The last little victory he could remember was the night he'd kissed Lauren for the first time, so that's where he'd retraced his steps.
Passing Umpire Rock and through a small red tunnel that temporarily shielded him from the wind, he realized it could have been midnight for the darkness. Where a few months ago there would still be joggers and bicyclists flying past him, this part of the park was deserted now; those who chose to brave the frigid weather congregated at Pilgrim Hill, with its steep sledding hills, or at his destination - the skating rink, now within his sight.
He walked on top of the pavilion overlooking the rink. The holiday season brought the tourists and the kids on field trips and with play groups. It was loud and busy and crowded. The multicolored lights twinkled off the bare tree branches, winking at him off of the snow and ice. He didn't know why he expected to be able to think here. Maybe that was the point, though. Maybe he didn't want to think. Maybe he just wanted to miss her.
And he did miss her.
That night when he'd left her apartment, he'd tried to apologize. Maybe text message wasn't the best way to do it. But he wasn't good at vocalizing his emotions. His father had spent the better part of eighteen years literally beating that idea out of him. Olivia had been right: he hadn't had much patience with Lauren, and he hadn't tried to listen to her. In fact, he'd realized in the last twenty-four hours that he was better at listening to victims than he'd been at listening to his own girlfriend. The worst part was, he didn't even know why.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into the air, wishing it meant something.
"Hearing voices?"
He whipped around so fast he almost fell over. Her red knit cap was pulled so far down and her collar turned so far up that he could barely see her face, but he would know her voice anywhere. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out at first.
"That won't go over so well with the general public," she said.
"I - how did you know where I was?"
"I'm brilliant," she said with a shrug. "Plus, Marissa said you'd gone for a walk. I had a hunch."
Suddenly, there didn't seem to be any noise around them. He felt like he was underwater.
"What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," she said.
"I asked you first."
She sighed. "I saw your press conference."
He stiffened. "You and half of New York, apparently."
"Kind of hard to miss it when it's on the eleven o'clock news."
"So that's why you're here?"
"You stood up for that girl."
He shrugged. "She's like any other victim. She deserves the same justice and respect that anyone else deserves."
"If that's the case," Lauren said, carefully choosing her words, "then why did you tell me that I'm alone because I'm scared of publicity and the press on top of the normal stress of a relationship? Don't I deserve the same respect that she deserves?"
He stood silent for a moment, but remembered Olivia's question: did you ask her why she was worried?
He took a cautious step forward. "Lauren, why are you worried about the press? Are you concerned about something in particular, or-"
She looked momentarily taken aback, but then shook her head. "It's nothing specific, it's just… it's just that I'm a private person, Rafael, and this is all very…"
"Lauren," he said, taking another step toward her, realizing he was pushing his luck. "Don't you know that I would protect you from all of that? Besides, there's nothing to invade. You're a good person. What could they possibly have to say?"
She didn't respond, but looked away, blinking back tears. "What you said on television," she said, "was that true? Or was it just for the cameras?"
"I wasn't even supposed to be there," he said, half-smiling. "Eli was less than thrilled with me."
She squeezed her eyes, which had taken on an icy tint, pushing wind-bidden tears down her cheek. Then, she looked back up at him. She seemed to be searching for something, but he couldn't tell what. He stood, frozen in place by what could either be the wind chill or fear. He couldn't tell. All of a sudden, she closed the remaining distance between them and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder.
He was able to summon the presence of mind to wrap one arm around her waist, not really pulling her closer but still wanting to make sure he was really feeling her there and that this was not some trick of his mind. It was difficult for him to comprehend the reality of what was happening; an hour ago, he had committed her to just a memory. Now, he could feel her hair against his cheek, smell the fabric softener she used. It was sensory overload on all levels.
They stood in silence among the shuffling would-be skaters for a long while, until finally, Lauren said, "I'm sorry."
Rafael pulled back and shook his head. "What I said, there was no excuse." The wind blew her hair into her face, and he pushed it back. His fingers were warm on her skin.
"I just don't want to hurt you," she said. "And I don't want to be hurt." Her eyes watered, partially from the wind and partially because of how hard she was staring at him.
"Then I think the thing to do is not hurt each other," he said, looking her up and down, eyes darting everywhere all at once. "Whatever this is, it's just you and me. Everyone else is just… noise."
"Just you and me," she repeated, almost as if it were a question. He dipped his head down and pulled her scarf aside, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She breathed him in. He smelled like pine trees and soap. She wished the weather were warmer; there were too many layers between them.
"So did the camera add ten pounds?" He asked, smiling against her skin.
"I missed your dumb jokes," she said.
"I missed your laugh."
"I missed your suspenders. And that look in your eye when you know you've come up with some brilliant argument."
"I missed this." Before she could answer, he tilted her head up and put his mouth on hers, kissing her like he'd never get the chance again.