XXI:

Rita had stepped up to the plate in a big way, and for that, Rafael was eternally grateful. She had gone into multiple furniture stores and taken photos and sent them over, then purchased a few bare basic items – a bed, mattress and linens, a leather sofa, and a hightop dining table and chairs – and arranged for delivery and setup under her watchful and disdainful eye at the brownstone.

Olivia had been released from the hospital and Rafael had taken her to the hotel, where they stayed quietly cocooned together in a safe space. She didn't talk about what had happened, only worried quietly about what was going to happen in the days to come.

He wanted to tell her that there was very little she needed to be worried about; it was a lie, but a white lie he could sell. Rafael was good at selling small lies: it was how she'd not discovered the extravagant birthday and Christmas presents he managed to surprise her with. But this… maybe was more than just a series of small partial truths.

Rollins dropped by with dinner and a couple of bags of clothes for Liv. "So… how does stir-fried duck ramen and fresh dumplings from that place up in midtown sound?" she asked as she breezed in. "I mean, I had to make a stop at that boutique for the correct bras Liv specified anyway, so I was right there."

"Sounds great," Rafael said cheerfully.

"I smell dumplings," Liv said from her spot on the bed where she was channel surfing.

"Damn right," Amanda replied. "And that crispy duck stir fried ramen you like."

Liv shrugged noncommittally and eyed her coworker before turning her attention back to the TV. Rafael sighed and said, "She's worried about moving into a new place tomorrow."

"Calhoun said it's a nice place," Rollins said, carefully setting down the bags. "Speaking of, Fin and I are going to run the donations and stuff over this evening, so I need to borrow the key – we'll put everything away neatly and lock up after, obviously."

"Are you coming over in the morning?"

"No, we're on call."

"You know, he hasn't told me anything about the new place," Liv said.

"Calhoun says it's really nice," Amanda said. "I mean… I'd trust that, wouldn't you? She's got pretty good taste, aside from in jobs."

Rafael let out a harsh bark of laughter and fished another set of spare keys for the brownstone out of his pocket. "I had Rita make them up yesterday," he said. "Keep it, just in case. The alarm code is 0-8-1-8-2-0-1-0." Amanda texted the code to herself and nodded, smiling just a little.

"Liv?" Rollins said.

"Yeah?"

"There's gonna be a lot of food for a while – and lots of wives and husbands dropping by to bring food because they're worried and they care," Rollins warned. "So don't you worry about anything for a while, okay? But if you need anything – even if it's just Fin and Munch and me to take away some of the food – just call and say so, please. We don't mind, really. It's not all on you and Barba to make sure everything is taken care of right now."

Liv swallowed hard and turned to look at them. "Nobody died, Rollins. I'm fine. I can make dinner or call for takeout –"

"Yeah, but you shouldn't have to. That's the point. We care… we all care."

Olivia sighed heavily and nodded. "I know. But you shouldn't have to: you have other things to worry about besides me."

Rafael frowned and rested his hand gently on Rollins's arm when she went to move toward the bed. He shook his head in a short, decisive manner, and closed his eyes, trying to indicate that he had been struggling with his wife on that attitude already. For what it was worth, the detective picked up on his cues and let it drop, nodding worriedly but not unkindly, patting his hand reassuringly and mouthing, "Call me." He nodded in resigned agreement; the struggle was real and he didn't know how well he and Liv could parse it out on their own, but he was determined to at least make the attempt.

Once they were alone again in the hotel room, the tension seemed to lift and Liv relaxed – though she still channel surfed like a child with hyperactivity, unable to settle on anything for more than a few minutes.

"Raf," she finally said over the droning of a Senator about a bill regarding a weapons spending bill on C-SPAN, "I… we need to… fuck, why is this so hard?"

"Liv?" he said softly.

"You… you know I love you more than anything." Her voice was very quiet, unsure, unsteady, and he was terrified to think what she was about to say. Rafael sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for her, but she pulled away from him, denying him the simple contact.

"I do know," he assured her. "And I know you're hurting and scared right now, Liv, but we can get past this and –"

"No, Rafa, we can't," she said, shaking her head decisively. "This isn't just something that's going to go away. He knew where to find us, where we lived, that we were married –"

"Which is all a matter of public record, or public gossip –"

"That's the problem – everyone is in our business now, and we're the butt of every joke and all the gossip and… and I can't protect you." Her eyes were gleaming with tears. "If we had gone to the apartment together, Rafael, you would be dead now – and so would I." The implication was clear, and his heart sank in his chest. "I need you to let me protect you now, Rafa – we have to get divorced and one of us has to transfer. It might as well be me."

He let out an incredulous, bitter huff of breath and what could have been a laugh if it wasn't such a strangled noise. "Are you fucking kidding me?" The words were thick, garbled, angry and colder than he had ever summoned and directed at her before. "You think nobly falling on your goddamn sword is going to help anything? Will it make you feel better, Liv? No. It fucking won't. What the actual fuck – what the hell – fuck, I don't even know what to say to you right now."

"You deserve more – better – than me," Liv said, shaking her head and turning away from him.

The words started pouring from his lips before he could stop them or even begin to formulate complete thoughts; his prosecutor's brain had long since come to the foreground, overtaking everything else in a merry-go-round of debate even in normal life, much to his home life's detriment until he had met Liv.

"There are a number of levels on which that observation is patently false," he said firmly. "Do you think I would have asked you to marry me if I wasn't the slightest bit attracted to you? If I wasn't in love with you? I know I'm a selfish asshole, Olivia, but I'd like to think I'm not that cruel. I'll admit that on first pass, I thought you were just Bad Ass Benson and you'd be good for a few dates and a couple of hot fucks, but once we got to know one another… I was gone. I've never felt this way about anyone, Liv – you're the woman that makes my coffee just right but burns water, you decorate the perfect Christmas tree but your idea of cleaning the hardwood is putting the old sock dust rags on your feet and skating around. You're perfectly imperfect and I fucking love you in ways I can't explain and I won't begin to try. For fuck's sake – you gave me a daughter. I… I didn't know I was meant to be a papi, Liv." He took a deep, shaky breath and reached for her again, glad that this time, she didn't shy away. "I don't want more. I don't want better. All I've ever wanted is you, Olivia Margaret Benson. Till death do us part, remember? I meant it: every fucking word, every breath of those vows. And we protect each other, Liv… none of this one-sided hero shit."

She finally looked over at him, and whispered, "Rafa – I –"

"We'll get through this," he promised. "It doesn't feel like it now, but we will."

"What if…" She was very quiet for a long moment, then finally met his eyes. "What if we don't have sex again? You're going to be angry and I can't –"

"No," he said. "Stop. It doesn't matter. Sex doesn't matter, mi amor, unless it makes you feel pleasure. If you want to be intimate that way, all you have to do is ask: I'll always be ready for you." It wasn't a humble brag: he only had eyes for his wife, and every time she beckoned, he was already half-hard with want and an urge to see what she had in store for him. Going without would be difficult but not impossible, and he wasn't about to pressure her into something she wasn't ready for emotionally, mentally, or physically. "Olivia, I promise we'll get through this – and we'll be stronger than we've ever been." He ran his fingertips lightly up her bandaged arm, tried not to frown, then ran his fingers back down her arm to link with her fingers, pressing their palms together tightly.

"I'm scared," she whispered.

"Me, too," he agreed.

"I'm scared you'll think it's too much and leave. Everyone leaves."

He growled; in her times of vulnerability, she had always been abandoned by those she needed the most, and it had always hurt her deeply. Rafael knew her emotional scars from those abandonments cut deep, but this was a different level of fear that he hadn't encountered in her before.

"I'm not going anywhere," he swore, squeezing her hand. "Want to know a secret?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm madly, hopelessly in love with this amazing woman and she married me – in spite of having a bunch of other options – and tomorrow, we're going to move into a house that I bought for us. And we're going to try to live happily ever after, even though life is hell and everything is hard," he said softly, earnestly. "And when you feel up to it, we'll go get you new rings."

He hadn't said anything about her rings being gone; he knew she was devastated by Lewis having discarded them somewhere along the way when she was out of it. And, to be fair, the loss stung his heart as well. But they were only rings: they were replaceable. Olivia wasn't.

"We can't afford –"

"Liv, it doesn't matter," he said firmly.

"But –"

"I mean it. I'll cash in some stuff and it'll be fine."

"Is that how you got the house so fast?" she asked.

He paused, hesitated a moment, then erred on the side of telling the absolute truth. He exhaled a heavy sigh and said, "I bought the house when you were pregnant with Eva. I cashed in some stocks at the time and after… well… I rented it out." He glanced at her. "The renters were moving out anyway," he added defensively. "We aren't doing anything wrong moving into our own house."

She hesitated; he felt it. "Were you ever going to tell me that you bought us a house?" Liv asked quietly.

"Yes… I just wasn't ready. Everything was so fresh still with – with – and now, we just needed a place to live and I thought, well, we already have a house." He sighed. "I fucked up. I get it –"

"Is that why you wanted me to get rid of my apartment so badly? So we weren't paying triple taxes?"

"No. God, Liv, if you think for even a second that I care more about fucking taxes than I do about you – about us…" He sighed and rubbed at the stubble on his cheek. "I was so tired of being apart, of scheduling time together, of not waking up with you and not sharing everything with you. Even this. Our life together isn't just about the good, Livvie: it's also about the hard knocks, the bad, the… the darkness that threatens to eat us alive. I'm not going to fight the good fight without you, mi amor." Rafael hesitated for a long moment before he wrapped his arms around her; he expected a fight, some kind of tenseness, stiffening of muscles, but no… she just leaned into him and sought strength and comfort from his embrace. And he thought, for now, maybe that was enough.

She eyed the brownstone, then him, and her only comment was, "Rafael, how much did you pay for this house?"

"Don't worry about it," he replied, unlocking the front door and ushering her inside so he could turn off the alarm. Honestly, she had nothing to worry about, though she would anyway: that was just Olivia. "I can hear you thinking."

"Do we have a mortgage –"

"No," he replied, "I paid cash in full. I cashed out some investments with particularly good returns, then shifted some others around – it's fine, Liv. My portfolio took a hit, but it's bouncing back pretty quickly. I'm not worried about it. We're fine, mi amor."

"You wouldn't hide that from me?" she asked, searching his face for the answer.

"No," he said, voice soft. "I didn't mean to hide this from you, either – it just… never seemed like the right time to tell you. 'Oh, yeah, I bought a house for our growing family… which isn't growing'."

She smiled a sad, sardonic smile. "Yeah, that's a pretty bad way of announcing you bought a pretty amazing piece of property," Liv said, smothering a yawn with the back of her hand. "Damn it, why am I tired? I just got out of the hospital where I did nothing but rest."

"Because your body has been through an incredible amount of trauma," Rafael replied. "Let's go see what our friends have gotten up to and make sure we aren't going to have to kick someone's ass for being tasteless."

Liv laughed. "My money is on Rollins putting something inappropriate somewhere," she said with a sad smile. "Just to make us try to laugh."

"She's worried about you," he replied gently.

"She hates me," she sighed.

"She really doesn't. She looks up to you and this shook her up."

She swallowed hard and tangled her fingers with his as they walked down the corridor together. "He was going to go after you and her when he was done with me," she said very quietly.

"He's not going after anyone else ever again," Rafael said firmly, pulling her into the kitchen through a set of swinging panel doors. "Want a bottle of water?" he asked, plucking one off the counter and tossing it at her, forcing her to catch it. "Apple? Orange? Oreos? Something heavier?"

"I want a nap," she said.

"Penny tour first," he said. "Gotta sus out the booby traps."

"You really think Fin, Rollins, and Rita would booby trap the place?" she asked, raising a brow.

"I do," he said with a low, dangerous chuckle. "You don't know Rita like I do."

"Okay," she sighed. "I guess a tour, then."

"So, the downstairs garden level has storage and the washer and dryer," he said dismissively. "This level is the kitchen, dining room, living room, and formal parlor and smoking room." They wandered the mostly empty rooms; the dining room was huge and painted a rosy mauve color, with a mahogany hightop dining set covered in burgundy linens and gold plated silverware and basic white china. Likewise, the living room was enormous, three walls painted cream, one navy blue stippled with soft baby blue, a dark brown leather sofa and a basic brown entertainment center with what looked to be a 50 inch TV on it, and white sheer panels up at the windows that faced the street. It was like being trapped in a dolls' house, impersonal and wrong.

He took a deep breath. "There are two more living levels, then the attic storage," Rafael said.

"How many kids did you think we were having?" Olivia asked with a laugh.

"Just one or two," he said softly. "But… I wanted you to be happy. Liv, I only ever want you to be happy."

She sighed and shook her head, letting him lead her through the house. He felt his heart begin to pound when they reached the nursery door, and he opened it, revealing the Winnie-the-Pooh baby's wonderland he had so lovingly created for their daughter.

Liv leaned into his embrace and held on tightly, then closed the door, whispering, "She would have loved it, Rafa. I love it. I love you."

He could hardly see through the tears in his eyes as he led her to the room that they would share if she was still willing to share with him. He opened the door and she inhaled sharply.

The walls of the room were a white that was just barely off-grey. The bed was a striking platform of oak and black cast iron, topped with a thick mattress and linens in striking shades of black, grey, and red. An abstract painting, similar to the one that had been above their bed in the apartment, was above the bed here, too – only in shades of black and grey, with a splash of crimson. Rita had obviously gone out of her way to track down the artist and acquire another of his paintings for her friends, and Rafael was so grateful to her that he could kiss her full on the lips. And so would Liv, if her tears were any indication.

She went to put away her meager bag of things that she'd brought home from the hospital in the bathroom – medicines, toiletries, throw the dirty clothes in the hamper – and made no comment about the fact that there was so little here for them.

And yet, when she crossed to the closet and found all of the things she'd thought she'd left behind at the old apartment – but Rafael had really brought to the house to store in the attic – she started to cry. "Oh, you sweet, stupid man," she wept.

"I'm not sure if you're glad I saved this shit or not," he teased.

"I love you so much," Liv murmured. "I do. And all I want to do is crawl into bed and take a nap with you."

He nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead; he knew exactly how she felt. Somewhere between elated to be home, finally, and exhausted beyond belief. And now… now, they had to begin the fight of their lives to start over. To begin to find a way forward when no path existed to guide them.

One foot in front of the other foot.

Together.

TBC...