drabble; over
pairing: rafael barba/olivia benson
word count: 832 words

begin

Liv didn't know how they have come to arrive at this point.

After all, they were friends first. He was her best friend. And together, they had climbed so many mountains, weathered so many storms that it seemed almost inconceivable that it was all coming to an end. This was really one relationship that she had thought would last, and last forever.

But perhaps it was naïve of her to think that they would last forever. Nothing does. Not even them.

She couldn't pin point when it all started to go to hell. It was all the little things, she supposed.

He hated that she still involved herself in undercover work; he hated the way she kept throwing herself into the line of fire. He couldn't see that she weighed out every decision she made before she made it. She had Noah to think of; she was very clear of that. But he didn't think so.

Rash. Impulsive. Selfish. These were words that had been coming from him with alarming regularity.

She hated the long hours he put into the District Attorney's office, working on cases that were not even his prime responsibility; she hated the fact that he had started attending functions and parties frequently. He had political ambitions, she understood that, but it was overtaking him, it was consuming him.

He was never going to put her first. He was never going to put them first.

It was time to cut her losses early, and leave.

She told him that she was ending it, her tone calm, steady, matter-of-fact. What scared her the most was the utter lack of emotion she felt when she listed out the reasons as to why they were not working anymore. She listed the reasons as she would with a case, short, succinct, and if she had written them, it would all be in bullet points.

He listened to her, his face carefully blank, betraying none of what he was thinking or feeling. And she found that she couldn't read him anymore, she had no idea what was going through his mind.

Once upon a time, they only needed one glance at one another to deduce each other's feelings and thoughts perfectly.

But that was all in the past.

She finished talking, and waited. He said nothing, but merely looked at her, his eyes shifting into a dark green.

A part of her wanted him to argue. To scream at her, to tell her that this was all her fault, it was all her, he was not to blame. She wants him to fight, to cry, to show something, because she was unable to.

The silence stretched between them as they looked at each other, challenging each other, almost. She was not backing down, and neither was he.

But he chose not to play this game anymore, not to drag this on unnecessarily, as he looked away first.

"I'll be over later to pick up some of my things. Please make sure Noah is in bed when I do. He doesn't need to see me leave," he said, his tone cool.

Finally, she felt something; fury sparked in her to hear him speak of their (no, hers, hers alone now) son in that detached tone. But she said nothing; she glared at him, willing herself not say things that she would never be able to take back.

"Fine," she said at last.

He stood up, collecting his suit jacket, his coat, and his briefcase, and walked towards the door.

"Is that all you have to say?" she asked, standing up, fingers gripping the edge of her desk, her knuckles white.

He stilled, and then he turned back to look at her. She saw something flickered in his eyes – regret? Sorrow? Pain? – but it was gone before she could truly decipher it.

"There's nothing else to say, Liv, nothing at all," he said quietly. "There hasn't been anything to say for months."

She felt the ice around her heart thawing, perceptibly, but it wasn't enough. Still, she found herself calling out to him. "Rafael."

This time, she saw it, raw, unadulterated pain, etched upon his face, burning in his eyes, but it was of no use, it was all for nothing, and she knew it.

"Don't, Liv. Just…don't."

And he practically ran out of her office, slamming the door behind him.

It was a week later when they saw each other again. She was heading into the courtroom, and he was walking out of it.

Their eyes locked onto each other, as they continued walking, neither of them breaking their stride. They walked past each other, shoulders brushing, and for a moment, her step faltered.

She looked back, and she saw that he had stopped walking too, his shoulders tensed.

I miss you. I think I still love you.

And I think I do, too.

But it was all too late, and they were too broken.

And so she was gone, and he was, too.

end

I blame untapdtreasure's latest and wonderfully painful Barson fic for this one. And since that piece of writing was said to be the fault of barsonaddict, I guess by extension, I can blame her, too.

Fix it plot bunny is very much alive, though.