Part III: Cold

This case is really getting to him, but what comfort can she possible give?

Warnings: OC

Associated episode: Institutional Fail (S17 E04)

My eyes opened at 3:02am, blinking into that brief Not-There state between awake and asleep. The bedroom was too bright with the city lights pouring through the gauzy white curtains - I'd forgotten to pull the heavier panels closed - and I was a woman-shaped icicle beneath the blankets. The day had been the epitome of New York Autumn, beautiful, bright, and barely 60 degrees. The bedroom was cold. The chill seeped into my feet, my fingers, and snaked up my arms and legs despite the sheets and the thick, plush comforter. I reached for Rafi but found his side of the bed empty and cold. Shivery all over, I slipped out of bed and padded toward the glow in the living room.

I figured I'd find him on the couch, and there he was, in the golden glow of the table lamp, surrounded by a virtual explosion of paperwork, briefs, and folders. I crept forward and… yes, he was actually asleep. A smile pricked at the edges of my lips. Miracles do happen. I wasn't sure if he'd fallen asleep before the apartment got so cold, or if he had deliberately left the heat off. He maintained that cold helped him think, but this was glacial, and sometimes I thought he harbored deep-seated self-harming tendencies… would certainly explain his dedication to this job.

I cranked up the thermostat, then carefully gathered the paperwork that was scattered around him like so many autumn leaves on the ground outside. I tried to keep it in some semblance of order, holding the folders with the same care that I would a bomb - it gave me the creeps just holding this stuff. This case… it was killing Rafi to take it on, and the work involved only part of it. The cases involving kids… they always hit him hard. But this? How many dozens of children had been neglected by the very caseworkers charged with ensuring their care? So much for Child Protective Services. How many children had been subjected to physical abuse, neglect, malnutrition, while they had case workers who were supposed to be safeguarding them?

With a moue of distaste, I set the papers out of the way, and pulled the cashmere throw from the back of the chair. The white of the blanket was especially bright against the remnants of the tan he had from our trip to St. Barts, and I tucked it in around him. Even in sleep he looked discouraged, like he'd taken the details of the case into his dreams. I brushed his hair away from his forehead - it was getting long - and pressed my lips to his skin.

My fingers were on the lamp switch when his voice rumbled through the silence. "A four year old girl…" his voice was rough as tires on gravel, and he cleared his throat. "She was admitted to Mercy with cigarette burns all over her body. The day her case worker reported a home-visit. The report said… they she was fine."

He sat there, eyes still closed, head lulled back, looking to all the world like he was asleep. Except for the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed hard. A lump had formed in my own throat, and didn't want to be dislodged.

"The case workers, CPS… they said they were there for that little girl. And for… for the others. For the eight year old boy whose mother was making him drink bleach. For the nine year old girl living in a dog cage. For the seven year old who was r-" His voice broke, and he stopped speaking.

The floor was frigid beneath my feet, but I couldn't move. What words could I possibly offer? What comfort? Could I say, 'It'll be okay, Rafael?'. There was nothing okay about any of it.

When I finally convinced my feet to walk, I came to stand beside the couch, looking down on his upturned face, his carefully blank expression. "How do you… how can you find anything… good? Anything good in people after… after hearing this?"

I sank down onto the couch beside him as he ran a finger and thumb across his closed eyes, and sniffed quietly. "I can't," he said, but didn't finish. "I… I can't."

I lay my head on the back of the couch, shoulder to shoulder with him. Searching the shadows on the ceiling desperately, as if they would form into the words I needed to comfort him. No. Not even comfort. Words to try to make sense of it. But I couldn't find them. So I slid my arm over his chest, and put my cheek on his shoulder. I had finally settled on what to say as my fingers slid up his neck -

He jerked away from my touch, those crystalline eyes popping open at once, glassy but immediately alert. "Dios mío, your fingers are freezing!" He threw off the blanket and draped it over both of us, taking my admittedly frigid fingers between his much warmer ones. His heat was glorious, and there was something comforting in seeing him occupied with thoughts other than those case-related. I tucked my feet up under me and wrapped him in my arms, pulling him close, even as he hissed at the feeling my cold skin on his. I offered the only thing I could think of, however insufficient, but the most basic truth I knew: "I love you, Rafi." And that was it. That was all I had.

Translations:

Dios mío - my God

A/N: First post of a chapter that correlates directly to an episode. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, and taken time to read this; you make my day. - C