It didn't surprise Olivia when she arrived home and it was Barba and not Lucy greeting her from the couch. It also didn't surprise her to see the pissed off expression on his face. She knew hers must look very similar.

"I see you got started without me," she accused, referring to the drink in his hand.

"Don't worry. I'll take a break so you can catch up."

"Good." She took his glass from him and downed it in a gulp, the scotch burning her throat and making her eyes water.

It had been a terrible day. Terrible in the office, terrible in the squad room, terrible in the court room, terrible in the press. Just plain terrible.

Barba had obviously already been home because he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He'd apparently decided that misery loved company and had invited himself over, relieving Lucy and helping himself to the liquor stash that had diversified since he started spending more time there.

Olivia was still dressed in her work clothes, her court clothes. She kicked off her heels like they had been the cause of all the horribleness. "I need to change. And shower. And maybe throw some things." But her intentions threatened to be derailed by the sound of Noah calling for her over the baby monitor.

"I'll go," Barba told her. "You take your shower and change. But don't throw things without me."

"I make no promises."

Noah didn't seem to need anything, and he was happy enough to see Barba that he'd forgotten he'd been asking for his mother. Barba refused the request for a story, but laid down next to him and allowed the boy, still half asleep, to climb onto his chest and settle there, his head tucked under Barba's chin. And during the time it took for Liv to shower and change and NOT throw things, Barba had to admit that the weight and steady breathing of the sleeping child made him feel just a little better. He was kind of disappointed when she appeared in the doorway, hair dripping onto a long nightshirt that almost totally obscured the shorts she was wearing from view, and gestured that he should join her back in the living room.

She was setting out fresh glasses and a small variety of beverages on the coffee table along with pizza left over from the previous night.

Before he could open his mouth she was ready with her plan. "Here's how this is going to go, Rafael: We are going to drink a little too much, we are going to watch crap television, and we're not going to talk about what happened."

They did talk about what happened eventually, once they were a bit buzzed. They bitched and complained about everything that had gone wrong and all the people that had screwed the pooch so very thoroughly. And they toasted each other for being the ones that had held the whole shit-show together and had honestly been in no way at fault for things going south in the end.

By the time they'd transitioned from "a bit buzzed" to "just drunk enough", they were feeling much better about the whole situation and about life in general.

"Rub my feet," she all but ordered halfway through an episode of some late night talk show that had them giggling like fools. She tossed him the tube of lotion she'd brought with her from the shower and had earlier spread over her neck and arms. It smelled like strawberries, and drunk Barba liked strawberries, so he was happy to oblige. But even if he'd been sober he wouldn't have minded. He barely paid attention at all as he didn't stop at her feet but continued up to her calves almost to her knees, using long, smooth, gentle strokes.

Olivia was apparently paying attention. When his fingers ventured even higher to brush her inner thigh and she made sort of a strangled sound, he met her eyes and what he found there was pure lust.

Barba froze. Well, his mind froze. His fingers just kept doing what they were doing and then her fingers were touching his fingers and she looked like she was about to lean forward and -

"Nope. Uh-uh. No." He grabbed her ankles and pushed her legs off his lap.

Without the influence of alcohol, Olivia might have been horrified at her lapse, her presumption. But of course without the alcohol it wouldn't have happened at all. As it was, it just made her brave, a kind of bravery that only needed to be expressed by a raised eyebrow to see him scrambling to the other side of the couch with a not so flippant, "Away from me, vile temptress" offset by a huge grin.

As she started to come to her senses she felt like she should at least put blame where it was due. "Hey! Let me remind you that YOU were the one being handsy!"

"And you were the one running around in those little shorts and putting your very soft, very smooth, very..." He got a little distracted looking at them before he continued. "...attractive legs in my reach. So this is on you." He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and covered the offending skin. "Don't get me wrong - I am bursting with manly pride right now to have gotten you all hot and bothered. But we are less than sober. And there's no way we're risking messing this - " he gestured between them - "up for something as fleeting as an orgasm. Though to be clear..." He playfully leaned close to her and his voice dropped half an octave at least. "...I would have given you several, and they would have been sensational." He kissed her forehead and quickly got to his feet.

"Oh, my God." Then her cheeks were turning pink and she was laughing and her delight and embarrassment seemed so lovely to his booze-addled brain.

He had crossed the room and was shrugging on his discarded jacket before he could change his mind. "I'm going to leave you to take care of - " He made a broad motion toward her. "- whatever you need to take care of, and I'm going to head home. I'll be in your office tomorrow morning at 9:15 with coffee."

He was true to his word and five minutes early, looking significantly less hungover than she felt. Closing the door behind him, he strode to her desk and handed Olivia her favourite gourmet blend before sitting down across from her. All business, anyone would have thought. But as soon as he spoke his pleased-with-himself smirk gave him away. "So, Lieutenant. Did you manage to have a fun night after I left?"

If it had been anyone else, she might have blushed. But this was Barba, and with him she could take it just as easily as she could dish it out. Which she did. "Oh, you know. It wasn't quite "sensational", but it was alright."

He laughed aloud, and she laughed right along with him.

"Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you understood that while I very purposefully haven't given it a great deal of thought, I'm not necessarily opposed to one or both of us having a "sensational" evening now and then. But..." He leaned forward slightly, and his tone grew more sincere. "But I love this. I love us. And I just feel like anything in our control that may threaten to significantly change our dynamic - for good or otherwise - should be prefaced by a discussion, don't you? Preferably one not fuelled by alcohol or sentiment or... well, your horniness."

"Oh. Okay, so that's just my problem then?" she joked as she stood and came around her desk, leaning on the edge next to him.

"I'm aware I haven't been Mirandized, but I believe I still have the right to remain silent." He glanced at his watch. "So, we good?" And a slight change in his voice indicated a break in the confidence that had coloured every word up to that point.

"Of course," she assured him, meaning it. "Though you need to tell me the truth - did you memorise that closing argument?"

He smirked again as he got to his feet. "No, actually. Which I realise is kind of surprising, since I think it might have been some of my best work." He squeezed her arm affectionately. "I'll see you in court later."

Her response was a nod and a grateful smile that nothing had changed. Well, almost nothing.

"Hey, Counselor," she called after him as he reached for the doorknob.

He stopped and turned. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"'Several' orgasms?" she quoted.

"To start," he confirmed with a wink. And her laughter followed him out the door.