XVII:
"Hey," Liv said down the line, "your mom said you aren't answering your phone."
"Emergencies only – you're an emergency. She's on vacation. Not an emergency," Rafael muttered. "What's up?"
"She just wanted to check in and say she got to Miami in one piece and your tia sends her love," Liv said softly. "How's the –"
"Not great, to be honest, and I'm almost out of snacks, so I had to have Carmen send an intern out on a run and they're probably going to get the wrong kind of pretzels – the ones with too much salt so I pucker up after a handful – and… Olivia, why do we do it?" he sighed, putting his head in his hands. "I don't even blink at the horrifying descriptions of rape and sodomy in these testimonies anymore – why the fuck do we do these jobs? I can't –"
"Rafa – sweetheart – calm down, take a deep breath –"
He shoved back from the desk and stood up explosively with a burst of energy. "FUCK." Rafael began to pace in the confines of his office and tried to keep his anxiety under control. All day, he had been on edge, the case bordering on too close to home for him: the victim had suffered at her attacker's hands the kind of viciousness that he had suffered at his father's hands far too often in his childhood before being raped and sodomized. Domestic violence taken to an extreme level. He was well-aware what a fine line he had walked as a child, and cases like this just brought it home with jarring alacrity.
"Hey… do I need to take a few minutes and come over? I'm just logging paperwork: I don't think anyone but Munch would have a complaint. And even he would shut up about it if I said you needed my help with something."
"I need Oreos and a hug," he admitted.
"Then let me get some cookies and get over there with these arms – they're only made for hugging you, hot stuff," Olivia said softly. "I love you."
"Not just cookies: Oreos."
"I know, I know," she agreed, chucking over the phone. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
He hung up and went back to pacing. His tie felt too tight, his shirt too warm; everything in his body was screaming panic, fight or flight, but he was fighting to keep some kind of control until she arrived and he could crumble a little bit in relative safety. Olivia was safe: she understood. Liv knew his secrets, did not judge him for what he kept hidden from the world behind the armor of a three-piece suit and an acerbic wit.
So when Carmen, bewilderingly, let in Sergeant John Munch bearing a vending machine pack of Oreos instead of Rafael's beloved wife, he felt the entire world shift on its axis and his stomach tilt sickeningly. "Sergeant Munch, to what do I owe the dishonor?" Rafael inquired, trying not to sound curt but failing miserably, even to his own ears.
"Benson and Amaro went out on a call – DB in SoHo, I'll spare you the gory details, but they tie to several other unsolved pattern rape-kills we're trying to get a handle on – and she said you needed these and asked me to bring them by," Munch said dryly, holding up the Oreos.
Rafael bit back a string of expletives; the last thing he needed was Munch going to Cragen to report that the man who had somehow been roped into becoming Manhattan SVU's default ADA was being a dickhead to the Captain's right hand man. "Thank you," he said politely.
"What I don't get is why Olivia is getting you snacks when I'm pretty sure you have people for that," Munch added, twisting the knife.
Rafael loosened his tie just a little bit more, yanking at the knot to get more air before he passed out – the dizzy feeling wasn't going away. "I needed her to go over details on the Ford file and asked her to bring Oreos with her," he muttered. "But duty calls and I'm on the back burner. It's fine: it is what it is."
"I can answer questions – I was watching when they gave their statements." Munch, to his credit, didn't look suspicious in the slightest at the weak attempt at a cover up.
"I wouldn't want to inconvenience –"
"Oh please," Munch replied. "I'm tied to a desk: I don't get out anymore. Lemme do the thing and help. Hey, you got any of those pretzels?"
"Yeah, fresh out – Carmen sent an intern out a couple of hours ago and I'm pretty sure we're going to have to send a search party to every Whole Foods in Manhattan," Rafael grumbled. "That was why I wanted Liv to bring Oreos: I'm dying for snacks."
Munch dropped into a guest chair and offered up the package. "Your wife is good people. She was really pissed that she and Amaro were next on rotation."
Rafael paused, hand halfway outstretched to grab the Oreos. "So you do know," he said.
"Don't be stupid," Munch said, making a disgusted face. "Of course I know. And as long as you don't fuck it up, we're all good."
"What makes you think I intend to fuck it up? Just because you've been married however many times –"
"Touche, kid," Munch muttered. "Eat an Oreo and let's do the thing. Unless you didn't really want to go over details and in that case, I really don't want to be here."
Rafael exhaled a heavy sigh. "Let's start with the –"
"Munch knows about us," he said, taking off his glasses and putting them aside on the bedside table.
"I seriously doubt that he –"
"Oh no, Liv, he told me to my face and told me not to fuck it up," Rafael sighed. "There was a threat of violence implied. I'm pretty sure he's going to shoot me in the crotch or something equally heinous."
Liv laughed and leaned over to give him a kiss as she snuggled up to him beneath the blankets. "That's really sweet and everything, but… I'd like you in one piece."
"Is this what I get for falling in love with an ass kicking police detective?" he asked worriedly.
"Something like that."
He huffed a little and muttered, "I never did get my hug."
She draped her arm over his waist and pulled him snugly against her. "Hey… wanna talk about what happened?"
"No. Not at all. I had an anxiety attack. That's all." He exhaled. "Once Munch left, I took a pill and got back to work. The damn intern finally got back with my food and Carmen reamed him a new asshole for stopping for lunch on the way. It's fine. I'm fine."
"Raf," she murmured, "I don't want you to ever think you can't tell me –"
"I know I can," he countered. "You're safe, you understand. It was nothing, Liv. I'm fine. It's okay: I'm sorry I disrupted your day for something irrational and stupid."
She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked down at him. "It isn't irrational and stupid to feel things, Rafael."
He sighed. "I'm just tired and frustrated. I thought… I thought I would be getting other cases than sex crimes cases, but McCoy just decided that since I work so well with the Manhattan SVU, they should be my primary focus. I've lived and breathed sex crimes for 22 years, Liv. I'm tired."
"I know, baby," she agreed, hugging him tightly again. "But you're the best of the best – and that's why he did it. Because you fight the cases –"
"I have a fucking suicidal streak because I'm prosecuting cases I have no shot in hell of winning, and somehow… I'm pulling rabbits out of hats," he reminded her gently.
"You're working for the victims now," she said. "That's the difference."
"Sometimes, I hate that I love you so much, Olivia." The statement was true: he hated that he would follow her straight into the fire for no reason other than that she was beckoning him on. And yet, he loved her with such fiercely loyal desire that it burned low in his belly and fueled everything he did. It was the worst kind of catch-22.
"I'm sorry."
"No you aren't."
She chuckled and pressed a kiss to his shoulder through his t-shirt. "Not really, no," she agreed. "Better get some sleep."
It was early, too early, when his phone started ringing. "Fuck me," Raphael whined into the darkness, rolling over to grab for it. He'd kicked one leg out from under the blankets in his sleep and the covers were down around his waist, so he didn't have far to go to get the phone unimpeded. He was just used to Olivia's phone being the one to blare them awake. "Barba," he grunted sleepily.
"Nieto?"
"Abeulita? It's two-thirty – what's wrong?"
Olivia mumbled as she woke up and rolled over to face him, her eyes barely open. "Rafa?"
"I was making a snack and I slipped – I can't move my hand, Rafi," Catalina said, her voice tight with pain.
"Okay… Abuelita, I need you to sit down and stay calm till I get there," Rafael said firmly, getting up out of bed and turning on the light. His first instinct was to look around the room for articles of clothing, but he was tidier than that; everything was in the hamper or the closet or the chest of drawers. "Everything is going to be okay – I promise."
"Rafa?" Liv said, getting out of bed herself.
"Abuelita had an accident," he said simply. "I need to get her to the hospital." He turned back to the phone. "Let me get dressed and I'll be on the way, okay?"
"I'm coming, too – you need a driver," Liv insisted.
"You have to work."
"I have sick days," she dismissed.
He got dressed quickly – jeans and an old concert t-shirt – and she did the same – yoga pants, a sports bra, and an off-the shoulder baggy t-shirt with some piece of pop art on it – and both wore natty old Converse that they'd bought together and beat up while playing around in the park. Looking over at her, with her hair in barely braided pigtails, skin pale with freckles stood out, and her eyes soft with tiredness, he felt such a swell of love that it choked him – this was Olivia, the side of her that no one else ever got to see, his wife, and she was beautiful and so full of love that it nearly broke him right there.
"You ready?" she asked softly.
"Never," he sighed. "But yeah – god, I wish Mami was here."
"Oh, I betcha she's really glad she's not," Liv teased.
"Where did Olivia go?" Catalina whined.
"She had to go to work, abuelita," Rafael sighed. "Here, let me help you with that – you can't do that with one hand, you're going to hurt yourself worse."
"I used to do this with your mami in one arm and –"
"Abuelita!" he scolded roughly, angrily, his voice far sharper than he intended for it to be. "You can't. Por favor?"
She huffed and went to sit at the table, scowling at him, muttering under her breath the whole time.
"Now, let me make you some breakfast. The pain pills made you sleep late again today, so it's lunchtime, really, but –"
"I'm not hungry, Rafi." She paused, then said, "Why don't you and Olivia have a family yet? You deserve a house full of bebés."
He stiffened and sighed before he went in search of a skillet and the eggs. "We can't have our own," he said quietly. "And… there are hurdles to adoption because of our jobs and the amount of time we spend working. It's not exactly conducive to raising a family. We've been turned down for fostering, as well. It's pretty disheartening for Liv, abuelita."
"Not for you?"
He shrugged. "I just want her to be happy." Rafael put the skillet on the stovetop, got the burner going, and set the gas to a medium flame before he added a couple pats of butter and turned his attention to the eggs. Busy work so he didn't have to think about his own inadequacies as a human being.
Yes, yes, scrambled eggs, toast, and a bit of cheese… he could deal with that.
He could not deal with the crushing weight of his feelings. That was some straight up bullshit. And definitely the reason why anti-anxiety drugs existed to take the burdens off his shoulders, at least temporarily.
After Catalina was fed and had another pain pill in her system, he was startled to admit that he was relieved that he got a phone call from Rollins to come in for an update regarding the guy they had collared. "Abuelita? I've got to go to work," he said softly. "But Livvie and I will come back later to take care of you, okay? If it's going to be too late, I will make sure that I call and tell you that we're delayed. And I'll be sure to get some food delivered for dinner so you don't try to cook anything. There are snacks in the pantry; you don't have to do anything but open the package."
"Rafi, you worry too much –"
"Abuelita, I won't be able to come running," he warned. "Okay? Be careful. Te amo."
"Go, go," she insisted. "I'll be fine. I'll take a nap."
He headed out and took the subway back as fast as he could, and by the time he got to the 16th Precinct, Rollins was looking pretty pissed at him and his casual attire. "Where were you?" she grunted.
"Not here," Rafael replied.
"How is she?" Liv asked.
He shrugged; not the time or the place, and he gestured back at the group to get things back on track. By the end of the day, when they made their way back to the Bronx, they were both exhausted and snappish.
It all went downhill from there: William Lewis was a slimy piece of shit, charming people right and left, his luck running high. Out of the halls of justice, Rafael didn't spend any time at home except to get clean clothes: he ran back and forth between his grandmother's apartment and work, trying to keep a handle on everything.
And then it all fell apart.
William Lewis walked on a technicality, and he found himself wondering if he could have done better; if he had not been so distracted, if he had only slept more, if –
"Olivia, I –"
"Shut up," she snapped. "I'm not mad at you. I'm pissed as fuck at that scumbag. He's getting away with it, Rafa: all of it. And there's nothing we can do about it."
He hung his head and sighed. "I tried –"
"I know," she said curtly. "Your phone was ringing earlier. What was –"
He shook his head. "I don't know. I didn't even look: I was too…" Rafael took a deep breath and grabbed his phone from his inside breast pocket and played the voicemail. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck – Liv, I've got to – abuelita fell again and broke her hip. They're doing emergency surgery right now."
"GO," Liv ordered. "I'll go home, pack bags, and meet you at the hospital, okay?"
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and all but ran out of his office, pausing long enough to tell Carmen what was going on and that he would call McCoy with more details when he had them if she could pass on the initial information. And then he was on his way back across the city as fast as public transport could get him there – because the one thing he knew was that surface traffic was a beast in rush hour.
He didn't think anything of it when Liv didn't show at the hospital: something obviously came up at work. His phone had died anyway, and he didn't have his spare charger, like an idiot. But he was grateful when Catalina was rolled into her room and she looked up at him, exhausted and shamefaced.
"I thought I told you to take it easy," he sighed.
"I didn't think changing my pants would be such a problem!" Catalina responded in tears of sad laughter.
When he hadn't heard from Liv by the second day, he gave up and dismissed himself from the hospital to go get some things from home – because, quite frankly, he stunk. And his teeth were furry. And he wanted clean underwear.
What he wasn't expecting was for the door to the apartment to be open, or the smell of charred flesh, over-heated metal, and burnt hair to be hanging in the air like a thick perfume, or for the mass destruction in the kitchen, living, and dining rooms. There was blood smeared on the back of the front door, and a single hand print, and his blood ran ice cold in his veins.
From room to room, the destruction grew: the books in his office had been flung around, pages ripped out and the computer smashed beyond recognition, the panes of glass leading onto the balcony shattered, the curtains slashed; and in their bedroom… the mattress and box springs had been half yanked off the bed in opposite directions, dried blood caked on the comforter and the sheets, the lamps shattered, the bedside tables in pieces, both their sex toys scattered everywhere – hers covered in blood, his destroyed utterly – the painting that had been above their bed ripped to shreds by god only knew what. He didn't dare look in the closet, or the dresser, or the bathroom.
He called Captain Cragen directly. "Don… it's… it's Rafael Barba," he said, his voice rising in panic. "He has her. William Lewis. William Lewis has Olivia. William Lewis has my wife."
TBC...