Rafael barely slept a wink that first night.
At first, he thought that it had to do with his new bed. The mattress was too firm, his new sheets too cold against his bare calves. He tossed and turned restlessly for an hour, his body refusing to find rest despite the almost crushing exhaustion that weighed on him.
Then it was the silence. He'd long become used to falling asleep to the revving of motorcycle engines, garbage trucks making their rounds, and drunken party-goers stumbling out of nearby bars; now he opened the window overlooking the pitch-black Georgetown Prep golf course and found only a vacuum, devoid of the Manhattan soundtrack that was the backdrop not only to his slumber, but also to his life.
He turned up the volume on his newly downloaded meditation app and allowed the gentle whoosh of waves to fill the pitch-black room. You're at the beach; the waves are lapping against the shore. Feel the sand between your toes; the warm sun on your skin…
Then he remembered that the last beach he'd stood on was in Miami, accompanied by his mother, and couldn't hit the Delete App button faster. Now he wished he'd said yes when Olivia offered to stop by Whole Foods on their way home, because his kitchen was bare and he desperately needed a drink.
At least there was one upside to this unearthly silence. It meant that no one was trying to burst through his front door and shoot him again. (Not like that was particularly comforting.)
By the time he crawled out of bed and settled on his living room couch to thumb through his brand-new copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude, it was 4 am and his resolve was running thin.
Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice…
He didn't even really want to read, but it was better than nothing.
Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice…
Somehow, his mind refused to move past that first line.
Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice…
It was the sheer repetition that finally forced him into an uncomfortable, restless slumber.
Fuck.
Rafael didn't know how long he'd been asleep for when his eyes shot open, but sunlight was peeking through the drawn living room blinds, and someone had chosen to rouse him from his slumber by ringing his doorbell. Repeatedly.
He forced his eyes shut and pretended that he was oblivious to it.
There was a ten-second pause, and then the shrill, piercing chime flooded the room once more. He lifted his throbbing head from the armrest of his couch, only to be blinded by the scorching morning sun, and his half-opened book crashed to the floor unceremoniously as he trudged to the source of the ear-splitting noise and flung the door open.
"Jesus Christ, Liv. One time was enough."
Olivia grimaced apologetically as she took in Rafael's unkempt manner. "Sorry about that. Rough night?"
"Don't ask."
Had she ever seen him this dishevelled? Probably not; neither of them had ever stayed the night at each other's apartments. But he simply didn't have the energy to care. Not like anyone in their (now former) social circles would ever catch wind of this.
"I have coffee and food. Can I come in?"
That finally snapped him out of his early-morning reverie, and it was only then that he noticed the Starbucks bag in her hand. Olivia had thought to bring breakfast for him. Now he wished he had the energy for a warmer reception.
She kicked off her Keds and made a beeline for the window, transfixed by the verdant green of the Georgetown Prep golf course outside, as Rafael hastily tidied the pillows on his couch, almost taken aback by the ease with which she moved around his living room. Sure, his head was threatening to kill him and he had no clue what the fuck to do today, but if Olivia was part of his plans...
That first sip of coffee was like rain in a drought, and Rafael could feel his murky brain come into clarity by the second. But he also knew very well that this just wasn't him. He'd gone the last few years burning the midnight oil regularly, sometimes showing up to court and nailing closing arguments with as little as two hours of sleep - what the hell had happened to his stamina?
(If it was any consolation, he'd been reminded by the marshals numerous times that Rafael Marquez absolutely could not practice law, so it wasn't like he ever was returning to all-nighters hunched over his desk.)
(He hated how much this seismic change had its way of putting even the most egregious parts of his job into perspective.)
Olivia made herself comfortable and hugged one of his new pillows to her chest, Rafael momentarily distracted by the way the morning sun illuminated her brunette hair. "So… any plans for today?"
He crossed his legs on the couch he'd been sound asleep on a mere five minutes ago. "You're looking at an unemployed person with an empty calendar and no friends, remember?"
His eyes darted to his phone on the living room table. Silence. Not a single reminder for a 9 am meeting or even a morning alarm he'd hit snooze on. Just silence. Once upon a time, he'd dreamt of weekday mornings just like this: no distractions as he trawled through databases of law journals. Now he desperately wanted them - and that sense of purpose - back.
"Surely you can call the person who made a breakfast run for you a friend," she pouted as she lifted her coffee cup to her lips.
"Depends on whether you got my breakfast order right," he challenged her, gesturing at the unopened bag before them.
"Egg and bacon," she proclaimed confidently, and tossed a wrapped sandwich in his direction. One thing she'd come to realise over time was that Rafael Barba took his sandwich orders almost as seriously as he did his cases, and she had a distinct feeling, confirmed by his triumphant smirk, that Rafael Marquez had taken on Barba's preference for an excellent breakfast sandwich.
"Good one." He accepted it gratefully and inhaled deeply as the scent of food wafted through the air, the prospect of something to eat especially welcome after a long night.
"So… I thought of something we can do today," she suggested between bites. "Provided you want to spend the day with me, of course."
"Not like I have much of a choice, when you're the one with the car," he deadpanned, although he wasn't lying to anyone. A day with Olivia, with no investigation or trial standing in their way? The Rafael from two weeks ago would have jumped at the opportunity - and the same warmth that'd bubbled in his chest was finally returning.
Way to make lemonade out of a pile of extremely shitty lemons, he thought. His spectacularly terrible morning was being salvaged.
"Actually, I thought you could do the driving. There's a really nice neighbourhood just behind the school. It's probably a good place to practise," Olivia beamed.
Rafael wasn't sure whether to feel impressed or intimidated by her enthusiasm. "You did your research, huh."
"Just a quick glance on Google Maps," she shrugged. "In any case, it's a good chance to check out what our new neighbourhood actually looks like."
She had a good point. They could at least get familiar with their immediate surroundings - their first step towards calling this place home, as incongruous as the word still seemed.
"So… are you up for it?"
He rubbed his puffy eyes and thought for just a split-second that there was nothing more he wanted than to collapse back into bed, but Olivia's eager smile - actually, her mere presence in his apartment at this time of the day, with coffee and food and more energy than he could fathom - did make him want to least try. For her sake.
(Even if the very thought of driving for the first time in almost twenty years did scare the hell out of him.)
"Of course." He smiled back at her through his exhaustion.
In recent months he'd become increasingly terrible at saying no to Olivia Benson, every smile she flashed in his direction like a bolt of rapturous desire. She could do as much as meet his gaze when he searched for it in the seats behind him in court, and he would feel his walls crumble in an instant; sometimes they'd lock eyes as he approached her in the squad room and he'd momentarily forget that she wasn't the only person in the room.
And it looked to be the exact same situation with Olivia Davis.
He wasn't complaining about that. Not at all.
"Jesus Christ, Rafael!"
Panic engulfed Olivia's voice as her eyes darted nervously between him and the sights outside the window, sending anxiety coursing through him.
"What is it this time?"
"You need to use your turn signal when you make a turn!"
"Shit," he cursed loudly, his eyes still apprehensively glued to the road ahead of them. "I'm sorry." He'd lost track of the number of times he'd uttered those two words since the morning.
Olivia took a deep breath and tried her best to compose herself as they approached the next junction. "It's fine," she managed through gritted teeth, although it was apparent that she was far from fine. The relative peace and quiet they'd relished in his apartment a little under half an hour ago had all but disappeared, and both were sure that fear of an imminent car accident was the only thing keeping the tension in the car from exploding. "Slow down and try this turn."
Rafael made a bigger show of hitting the turn signal this time, feeling Olivia's intense and watchful gaze bore into him, her scathing comments on his driving ability (or lack thereof) still ringing in his ears. It wasn't like this was his first time driving - after all, he'd somehow managed to pass his test in New York traffic straight out of high school and once made semi-regular 4-hour trips between the city and Boston between college semesters - but her increasingly emphatic tone and visibly panicked manner were making him shrink into the seat of the Ford Focus.
Where the hell was this side to Olivia coming from? Even the way she interrogated perps wasn't this fiery - or maybe he simply hadn't experienced bearing the full brunt of her anger. He'd never actually seen her drive back in the city, but judging from the way the Brooklyn SVU detectives zipped through the borough, sometimes forgetting that they had a civilian in the backseat, surely Olivia wasn't the most courteous driver around.
(What else did he not know about her?)
But there was no time to mull over that. The car glided smoothly around the turn and Rafael finally allowed himself to exhale. Surely he had to have gotten it right this ti-
"You turned into the wrong lane. And you forgot to check your blind spot. Again." She shook her head disapprovingly, her fists curled into a protective death grip around her seatbelt - her silent, but easily her most blistering indictment of his driving.
"I did check my blind spot," he protested, his cheeks flushing with stress.
"A split-second glance doesn't count. You need to turn your head and look."
"I haven't seen you check your blind spot when you drive," he snarled, almost on reflex.
"That's because you don't know what to look out for."
"Jesus Christ, Olivia - you should consider a career as a driving instructor," Rafael retorted sarcastically as they came to a pause at a red light, emphasising her full name with disdain. "Actually, don't. If I crash the car, it's because you're stressing the fuck out of me. Don't talk to me like one of your perps," he spat out venomously.
He would be lying if he said that he wasn't on the precipice of ripping off his seatbelt and deserting the car - and Olivia - right at this intersection. Maybe it was his exhaustion from that fitful four hours of slumber on his couch; maybe it was the way the coffee and breakfast sandwich he'd consumed had now settled uncomfortably in his stomach. In any case, the last thing he needed was another lecture from a clearly agitated Olivia, and the raw disappointment in her expression was enough to make him wither in his seat.
She softened instantly and released her iron grip on her seatbelt, feeling some tension flee her body as she did. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I wasn't expecting to get this worked up. Old habits die hard, you know…"
Don't talk to me like one of your perps? Did he really think that?
(Old habits die hard? What kind of pathetic explanation was that, anyway?)
"I'm sorry for my terrible driving," he mumbled back. Being bad at things wasn't something that people commonly associated with Rafael Barba; it seemed like Rafael Marquez didn't quite share the same fortune.
Now his cheeks flushed a tomato red - not from his residual driving anxiety, but from sheer embarrassment.
"Your driving isn't terrible, Rafael," she said, her tone now much gentler. "You're just rusty."
"Clearly I'm not ready to get a car yet." Now all he felt was guilt. The faster he got the hang of this, the sooner he'd be able to free Olivia from her self-imposed chauffeur duty - a thought that made his cheeks flush an even deeper red.
"And you don't have to. I'm not trying to rush you into getting one," she assured him. "I just thought a couple of weeks of solid practice would help."
He pulled over by the side of the road and eagerly freed himself from the shackles of his seatbelt. "As much as I agree that I need to practice, can we give this a rest and continue tomorrow? I'd rather not send us both into cardiac arrest."
"Of course. What do you want to do now?"
(She hoped she hadn't agitated him enough to make the answer "going straight home".)
"Get another cup of coffee. And then we can go to Best Buy to buy a coffee machine," he replied without missing a beat.
Olivia's amused laughter instantly dissipated the residual tension between them, and he felt himself break into his first genuine smile of the day. "Alright, we'll find a coffee shop. Help me look one up?"
"That, I can do. I'll leave the driving to you."
"No offence, but I'll gladly do that."
"Thank God," he retorted with an exaggerated sigh of relief, although the relief that hit him when Olivia's bell-like laughter filled the car once more definitely was real.
Olivia couldn't help but notice that Rafael became a completely different person when he was shopping.
First it was that trip to the mall on their first day out of captivity. Even in the thick of her anxiety about assimilating back into civilisation after two weeks in confinement, she hadn't been able to resist an amused grin at the intensity with which he'd conquered the men's section at Nordstrom and compared sets of linen at Macy's.
"Silk or Egyptian cotton, Liv?" he'd asked her casually as she strolled by him, which took her by surprise. If someone had told her just over a year ago that the feisty, ruthless ADA who'd blown into the precinct like a storm would someday ask her opinion on bedsheets, she'd have laughed them off - but here they were.
"I don't know," she'd replied off-handedly. "But whatever you had at your old apartment felt pretty good under me," she leaned in and added a second later, her voice dipping an octave.
She didn't know what kind of spell had come over her, but the knowing look they'd exchanged as he confidently tossed the Egyptian cotton sheets back into the bin made heat pool between her legs.
Then came their trip to Best Buy after that disaster of a driving lesson. All the residual exhaustion from the morning seemed to flee his body the instant they pulled up to the parking lot, and by the end of the morning, he'd successfully convinced her to leave the store with a new MacBook Air and coffee machine, although that was nothing compared to the plethora of gadgets he'd added to their cart without a second thought, including a Bluetooth speaker and air purifier. She'd come to infer that restraint had never quite been his strong suit, especially after all the nights she'd spent mentally cataloguing the unaffordable items he'd adorned his old bedroom with, and there was an almost hedonistic quality to the way he lavished his attention on whatever gadget caught his eye next.
Olivia refrained from reminding him not to spend all their furniture allowance in one fell swoop. She didn't want to - not when retail therapy was giving him the control over his life she knew that he so desperately needed.
Then she'd waited patiently beside him as he painstakingly deliberated between two Roomba models and stifled a laugh at the enthusiasm with which he'd questioned the poor sales clerk. She feigned an interest in the battery life and capabilities of each model, but then quickly realised that it was him that she couldn't take her eyes off of.
Perhaps it was because she'd never seen him this way: hair ungelled, linen shirt rolled up to his elbows and bunching where it met the seam of his jeans. Perhaps it was because he, somehow, was still the Rafael she knew: the verbose, witty ADA with a penchant for pithy remarks and proclivity for passion, whether in a courtroom or the ground floor of a suburban Best Buy.
In any case, heat was pooling in her belly.
(She wondered if he noticed the way she fidgeted nervously around him.)
(He absolutely did.)
(They didn't talk about it as they left the store and loaded their things into the car.)
Now she was tailing him as he combed the Whole Foods pasta aisle for his favourite brand of pasta sauce (some imported variety that she'd never even heard of). She didn't know why she was enjoying this so much - didn't she detest shopping? If she'd been alone, she probably would have been in and out of the store in less than twenty minutes, in true New York fashion, but Rafael cared so damn much about this that maybe, just maybe, she could find it in her to care too.
Olivia watched as he scoured the coffee section for a blend that would meet his impossibly high standards, only for him to frustratedly proclaim that I'll just order something online because there isn't a single decent Cuban blend here, and she resisted the urge to laugh at just how Rafael it was - so amusing and familiar all at once.
"Are you sure you need this much stuff?" she asked as he loaded what looked like half the store into paper bags at the check-out counter, including a couple of alien-looking vegetables she didn't have the slightest clue how to prepare and cook.
"You've driven me around all day. The least I can do is make you dinner," he remarked casually as he rifled through his wallet for cash.
"I'd love that."
"Great."
The smile he flashed at her made her weak in the knees.
(Of course, she pretended that it hadn't.)
Rafael slept better the second night.
When home was a five-minute drive away and not a convoluted bus-subway route across town, Olivia had lingered by his kitchen counter until after the clock had struck midnight, the stifling silence of the night before now replaced by mirthful laughter. He'd cooked them pasta; she'd helped him set up his Roomba and new laptop while humming along to an 80s playlist that piped through the new Bluetooth speaker.
Sure, he still missed the way they butted heads in one of their offices as they worked through the intricacies of some case, but he wasn't complaining if this was the substitute. They'd opted to perch by his kitchen counter instead of the stuffy formality of his dining table, Rafael sneaking the occasional glance at her as she laughed into her plate - unguarded, relaxed, happy.
He'd seen many sides to her in the year they'd known each other, but he especially liked this one - even more so that there had to be something about his company that brought it out of her. Rafael collapsed into bed with the kind of giddy exhaustion that only a hard-fought conviction could induce in him, the shy, adoring smiles Olivia had flashed at him across the counter (and that he'd pretended didn't make his knees go weak) all evening still clear in his mind.
Maybe he still wasn't fully comfortable with the eerie silence of solitude and pitch-black void outside his window that was the golf course, but the medley of soothing piano ballads that piped through the Bluetooth speaker ensured that sleep wasn't as elusive as it was the night before - and that he could fall asleep in his own bed, not curled into a ball on the couch with a half-opened book on his chest.
Maybe he still wasn't quite sure what to do with himself in a brand-new city, but the two things he hadn't previously thought were possible this early in his stay - contentment and peace - were enough to send him into a serene slumber. Going to stores and being around people again hadn't been as nerve-wracking as he initially thought they'd be. He wasn't condemned to a life of eternal dissatisfaction and unhappiness. Maybe he could still be happy, somehow.
When he crawled out of bed to answer the door the next morning, Olivia having learned quickly that ringing once was enough, he actually managed a weary smile at her.
She was visibly relieved to see the light in his eyes return. "You look like you're in higher spirits today."
"Oh, definitely," he beamed.
(He wondered if she knew that she was the reason for that.)
"I thought we could give the driving thing another shot," she suggested cautiously, the disastrous attempt from the morning before still fresh in her memory. "Only if you're up for it, though."
"Only if you promise not to yell at me today," he joked.
"No guarantees, but I'll try my best," she winked back, although the breezy smile that she wore as she tossed him his croissant was more than enough to tell him that he had nothing to worry about.
Much to both their delight, there indeed weren't many reasons for Olivia to yell at Rafael when they cruised around the neighbourhood an hour later, which he attributed to the palpably more relaxed air in the car. Her death grip on her seatbelt was gone, as was the tension with which he'd clutched the steering wheel, and he slowed to a leisurely crawl as they turned onto a tree-lined street, flanked on both sides by immaculate colonial houses and manicured lawns.
"You know what this neighbourhood reminds me of?" he remarked casually.
"What?" she asked between sips of coffee (another quiet, but telling sign of her newfound faith in his driving abilities).
"Those sitcoms I used to watch as a kid where every house had a lawn and garage with a basketball hoop attached to the outside." He gestured at a house matching that exact description, before quickly realising that all of them, in their almost eerie uniformity, did. "Kitchen island, tire swing, the whole nine yards."
She couldn't resist a relieved sigh as he deftly swerved to avoid a kindergartener who'd chosen to ride his bicycle in the middle of the road without a care in the world - something that no self-respecting New York parent would dare allow. One upside of suburbia, she thought. A picture-perfect, cinematic childhood so unlike the sleepless nights she'd spent trying to drown out her mother's drunken tirades against a backdrop of midnight police sirens.
"They are nice," she replied contemplatively. "Ever wondered what your life would have been like if you'd grown up in a place like this?"
"Oh, definitely. All the tiny Bronx walk-ups always made me wish that I could live in a house like that. Imagine: a washer-dryer inside the house and not at the laundromat two blocks away? A kitchen that isn't in the living room? What a luxury."
"You technically could, now. They probably cost less than the penthouse apartment in your old building," she pointed out. "Much more space, too."
He gazed wistfully at one particularly grand brick mansion on the corner, its porch swing and impressive stone columns emblematic of a lifestyle so profoundly unfamiliar to them. "You know, I always thought I'd retire in some nice Tribeca loft. Maybe even one of those fancy new Chelsea condos. Now it's just us and a bunch of McMansions."
"Hey, I'm not opposed to retiring with you," she laughed.
There was a brief pause as the casual enormity of that line hung in the air.
Olivia raised her coffee cup to her lips to hide the way her cheeks flushed - where had that remark even come from? She kept her eyes trained on the next intersection, afraid of the way her heart was suddenly threatening to beat itself out of her chest.
"One problem: I'll actually have to mow the lawn," he deadpanned a second later, and Olivia felt the sudden tension in the air dissipate.
(Tension? Was that even the word for it? She was half a second away from shrinking into her seat.)
"Please - you're exactly the kind of person who'd hire a gardener to do all the dirty work for you," she fired back jokingly, her eyes still consciously avoiding his.
"Normally I'd be offended, Liv… but you're absolutely right," he admitted sheepishly.
(He wasn't sure why he'd sidestepped her remark from earlier. He actually wasn't opposed to retiring with her, either - jokingly or otherwise.)
(Had she meant it as a joke?)
(Now it felt too awkward to bring it back up, and he hated himself for that.)
They left the last of the row of the McMansions behind them as Rafael turned back onto the main road, passing the exact spot where they'd pulled over the morning before. Had it really only been 24 hours?
It was like she had read his mind. "Congratulations on not almost crashing the car today. That actually was pretty good. Didn't even spill my coffee when you went over the speed bump."
"That's high praise coming from my tyrant of a driving instructor," he smirked triumphantly.
Olivia pretended to look offended. "Hey, I promised that I wouldn't yell at you today, and I delivered."
"You know what we should do to celebrate?"
"What?"
"The most New York thing I know. Brunch."
"Brunch isn't exclusive to New York, you know," she chuckled.
He turned in her direction and flashed her the same smile he had in the Whole Foods check-out line, his eyes now blazing with an intense affection that made her knees go weak once more.
Hey, I'm not opposed to retiring with you.
Olivia had expected to be more anxious watching Rafael enter the stream of fast-moving traffic on Rockville Pike, but she couldn't stop going over that exchange - and the way he'd casually meandered around it. Was it too much? When had she ever acted like a nervous teenager around him?
But maybe she didn't actually hate the feeling.
"So… is that a yes?" He waited expectantly for her response.
"Of course."
"Great."
"Great," she echoed almost absent-mindedly, her mind now a million miles away.
Fifteen minutes later they were occupying a booth seat at Founding Farmers, Rafael taking advantage of the cavernous parking lot to verify that he at least vaguely recalled what his mother had yelled at him about reversing into a parking space all those years ago. If only he could proudly tell her that now.
He decided to swallow that thought and turned his focus to his barely touched lemonade glass, the acidic liquid burning the back of his throat as he took a sip.
"I honestly don't remember when the last time I did this was," Olivia remarked into her iced tea with a relaxed smile. "Brunch, on a weekday?"
She slid the menu across the table and waved a hand in front of his face when he didn't respond. "Hello? Rafael?"
"Sorry," he mumbled, red-faced. "Was distracted for a second."
She furrowed her eyebrows. "Are you alright?"
"Of course. Just thinking very hard about what I want to order," he joked.
Truthfully, he'd been distracted by the way the late morning sun was hitting Olivia's face; the way her brown eyes seemed to light up when she looked in his direction - the same way they did the evening of the one time they'd managed to go out to dinner (which then got unceremoniously derailed by the event that they'd wordlessly agreed not to talk about). She casually ran a hand through her hair as she went over the entree options, but her words went in one ear and right out the other.
It took a few seconds for it to sink in, but when he raised his gaze to meet hers it hit him like a freight truck.
Rafael was distracted by Olivia.
He'd almost forgotten what that felt like, but thank God he hadn't, because the force with which it struck him was almost intoxicating.
It didn't matter that they weren't dressed to the nines or going over an inordinately long list of wines in some Zagat-approved bistro. There was an almost disarming quality to the casual way she leaned back in her seat, her eyes once again catching the light that streamed through the window. He felt a quiet, intense heat sear through him, and willed himself to shift his wandering gaze away from her lips.
Perhaps it was because he'd never seen her this way: hair tied into a messy bun, floral blouse vibrant against her tanned skin. Perhaps it was because she, somehow, was still the Olivia he knew: the bell-like laughter, intoxicating smile and warm brown eyes, whether in the privacy of his apartment or in the middle of a crowded restaurant.
He couldn't quite decide if the butterflies in his stomach were from hunger or attraction - or a mix of both.
By the fourth day, Rafael was starting to think that he actually liked being here.
The signs were small but telling. It no longer took two hours for him to fall into slumber. He started setting an alarm for 8.30 am in anticipation of Olivia's arrival at his doorstep bearing coffee and breakfast. He confidently joined the stream of traffic on Rockville Pike each morning without looking anxiously to Olivia for her approval. They were able to walk into stores or the mall with much less tentativeness in their footsteps. They stopped relying solely on Google Maps to get to Whole Foods.
He liked this side to her; this side to them, where the only things they could possibly disagree on were where to go for lunch or which part of town they wanted to explore that afternoon (and they'd disagreed on neither). He waited patiently as she browsed the racks of the Ann Taylor at the mall, the apprehension from their first trip there now a distant memory; she listened attentively as he raved about his favourite novels while expanding his book collection at Barnes & Noble. The once-unfamiliar and almost alienating streets around them gradually became regular sights; buildings started to look distinguishable.
It wasn't terribly exciting, but it was comfortable. It was becoming a routine. A routine that had Olivia in it.
There was no competition for the other's attention - no Amaro, or Carmen, or Fin, or Jack McCoy pulling them back to work; no monster of a case to get between their dinner, or even lunch, plans. And it was far too early to start thinking about new jobs, especially not when the surprisingly generous federal allowance meant that money was the least of their issues, leaving them alone with each other with little more to do than running errands and exploring the area.
It was just them, in a city where literally no one except the marshals knew who they were. They were in their own private world, the ghosts of Olivia Benson and Rafael Barba intermingling with the Olivia Davis and Rafael Marquez of the present.
There are lots of things in my life that have weighed too heavily on me, and I'm thinking that I actually don't mind... letting some of them go.
The sombre conversation they'd had over mushroom soup back in the clearinghouse had never left his mind, and Rafael found himself replaying that sentence in his head verbatim, as he gradually realised that he understood what she meant. Everything that had happened between them had started as an explosion of stress and heartache - for her, the gaping wound that Brian Cassidy's departure had left behind after a terrible year; for him, the lethal combination of a string of difficult cases and his rapidly growing desire for her. After all, stress was all they knew in their line of work, and the fact that they'd stayed in their jobs as long as they had was enough of a sign that they'd come to accept it as part and parcel of who they were.
But this new Olivia was different. More relaxed. Uninhibited. Carefree. Maybe even happy. Yet she was still very much the Olivia Benson he'd gotten to know and quickly fallen head over heels for: empathetic, kind, compassionate. It was as though the emotional baggage she'd been carrying around for years was finally finding release, and there was a luminescence to her, once concealed behind layers of hurt and betrayal, that was finally peeking through. Even her voice was starting to lose its hardened, gravelly edge; that sotto voce he'd become so accustomed to over time evaporating.
He was happy for her; he really was. He loved stealing glances at her from across the living room of her apartment or meeting her gaze in the middle of a busy store and seeing the twinkle in her eyes. He couldn't stop the bubbly warmth that grew, like a teenager on prom night, when their hands brushed as they were walking, or when he heard Olivia's full-throated laugh in response to some pithy remark he'd made. Rafael was no stranger to his own feelings for her, but something different was stirring in him, as though they were on the cusp of something tantalisingly new.
They'd been waiting for a table at Matchbox Pizza the first time he thought about kissing her. After an afternoon moving between clothing stores at the mall, he'd decided on a whim that they ought to eat something better than Chipotle in the mall food court, and so they found themselves inspecting the menu in the foyer, Olivia not being able to resist a giggle over the fact that one of their signature items was a "ginormous meatball" (literally). Their hands grazed lightly as she handed him the menu, only for him to quickly pull away as the hostess approached to lead them to their table.
The second time he thought about kissing her, they were standing in the North Bethesda Whole Foods ice-cream aisle as she deliberated between mint chocolate chip and strawberry. Rafael wordlessly offered to carry her basket and stared into the freezer before them, the cold making his hair stand on end, but the temptation to lean over and press his lips to hers burning at a fever pitch. She made her choice (mint chocolate chip, which Rafael didn't tell her was also his favourite flavour) and relieved him of his load, heading in the direction of the self check-out line before he could linger on that thought.
He kept seeing opportunities to kiss her - while shopping for pasta, in the middle of tinkering with her wifi router. He imagined what it'd be like to lean over while they paused at a stoplight as she hummed quietly to some Eagles song (he hated the Eagles, although he'd never tell her). Rafael had never forgotten the feeling of her warm breath on his skin or the way their lips had grazed outside that Chelsea restaurant - the first time they'd almost kissed outside the privacy of one of their bedrooms; the first almost-kiss that wasn't just the by-product of torrid, physical desire. The expectant energy hung heavy in the air, silently taunting him about when he'd finally muster the courage to pick up where they'd left off that fateful night, but he remained paralysed every single time.
This is all too new, he told himself repeatedly. They had been here less than a week; they'd only just settled into a comfortable rhythm. She was the only person he had here - one wrong move and he risked losing the one person who knew him; the only person who could complete Rafael Marquez with Rafael Barba.
He was better than this. He couldn't let bursts of feverish desire derail something so precarious; so integral to his new existence. He'd rather live in this liminal state for as long as he could if it meant that he could have the quiet security of her presence at his doorstep every morning.
Rafael wondered if Olivia had even the slightest inkling of what was brewing in his mind.
Olivia wondered if Rafael had even the slightest inkling of what was brewing in her mind.
Her walls - the ones she'd put up to protect herself from what felt like a lifetime of hurt, loss and betrayal - were crumbling rapidly. Sure, she didn't have much of a choice over her company when she and Rafael had ended up in the thick of this unimaginable change completely not of their own volition, but one thing was unambiguously clear to her: she wanted to spend her time with him. She didn't mind rising early to pick up coffee and croissants or the anxiety that came with watching him navigate the unfamiliar streets in her car.
She wanted to luxuriate in this brand-new intimacy: one that was so easy, so comforting, yet came with a depth that for once, she wasn't scared of plunging into. It was an intimacy that had its own quiet, gentle way of taking her mind off the terrifyingly vivid memories of that night in Chelsea, or even the bone-chilling terror that sometimes ran up her spine when she was taken back to that beach house on Long Island. Olivia was more than content to leave those horrors back in New York and run even the most mundane of errands with Rafael, whose pithy quips and dry humour could instantly take her out of her solipsistic meandering into her past and right back into the immensity of the present that she now shared with him.
It was an intimacy that came in brushes and split-second caresses: when she was trailing him through Barnes & Noble or sitting opposite him in a restaurant, and their knees would brush and she could feel her breath catch. They were walking closer; leaning in closer. It was more exhilarating than the ease with which they'd first fallen into bed together months ago. It was just as intoxicating as the fleeting, yet incredibly electrifying glances he used to direct right at her when they won a trial.
They'd been standing in the check-out line at the Old Navy in the mall the first time she thought about kissing him. He was fumbling through his wallet for his debit card to pay for the two pairs of socks he'd picked up, Olivia noticing the way his hand trembled ever-so-slightly before signing Rafael Marquez on the receipt, and wondering what would happen if she threw her Ann Taylor bags onto the floor, took him in her arms, and kissed him right there. The clerk returned his card and he shoved the socks into the Nordstrom bag he was already carrying, Olivia quickly following him out of the store as he went in search of a new case for his phone.
The second time she thought about kissing him, she was watching him load their dishes into her dishwasher after the dinner of grilled salmon that they'd cooked together. Rafael stood at her sink, scrubbing the last traces of food into the garbage disposal with methodical precision, and the picture of suburban domesticity made her want to wrap her arms around his waist and press her lips to his. She remained rooted to her vantage point across the kitchen, and lifted her wine glass to hide her lips, which suddenly felt scorching and swollen.
She kept seeing opportunities to kiss him - when they were in line for afternoon coffee at Starbucks, or maybe loading their shopping bags into the trunk of her car. She envisioned herself rashly cupping his face and leaning in when he opened his door to her every morning, or at the end of the day when she dropped him off at his building, the memory of their lips brushing outside that Chelsea restaurant vivid in her mind. Olivia desperately wanted to rip apart that expectant, almost suffocating energy between them and pick up exactly where they'd left off that fateful night, but hesitated every single time.
Things between them were good. Peaceful. Comfortable. Why stir the pot and risk the premature demise of this blissful state; this decidedly optimistic and hopeful new normal? She didn't want to imagine the possibility of things going south between them - not when the road ahead still seemed arduously long and tangled.
She could exist in this liminal state, especially if it came with the quiet security of his presence next to her. It wasn't ideal, but Olivia was starting to think that she was content being here - and that was more than enough to make each day pass by in a flash.
"Someone was up early today."
Rafael looked up and was greeted by Olivia's smiling face at the entrance of his apartment building, the floral wrap dress she'd picked up at Ann Taylor (one that she'd run by him before paying for it) gently hugging her curves. God, Olivia looked good in practically anything - even the drab black slacks she was so fond of back in New York - but the sight of her this morning made his heart thump loudly in his chest.
"Someone looks awfully nice today," he smiled back, wondering if she picked up on the way his voice trembled as he said that.
His compliments always had a cutting simplicity to them. She turned away from him so that he wouldn't see her blush. "I'm surprised you were out of the house so early," she remarked, while gesturing at the CVS bag he was holding.
"Thought I'd walk there to pick up some essentials. What brings you here so early?" He glanced at the new clock on his credenza - 8.30 am, a solid half an hour before she typically showed up.
"Well, I thought we could switch things up a little today…" she started.
He raised an eyebrow quizzically. "What are you thinking?"
"I was thinking that I could do the driving for a change. What do you think about heading into town today?"
"Bethesda? Weren't we there yesterday?"
"No - D.C."
Rafael looked up from his mile-long receipt. D.C.? First time in a major city after three weeks in captivity and suburbia? It certainly was tempting, but he lingered on that possibility for a few extra seconds.
Olivia sensed his trepidation even before he had a chance to fully form that thought. "We don't have to go if you're not comfortable with it, Rafael. I'm not particularly attached to this idea," she shrugged casually, although the hopeful look on her face suggested otherwise.
"Actually - I think it's a great idea," he beamed. What reasons did he have to hesitate? They'd spent the last few days learning how to be around civilisation again; they'd made a couple of trips to the mall without feeling like either of them was going to spontaneously combust from stress. And it wasn't like he was going to be alone. He'd have jumped at the chance to spend a day with her doing things completely unrelated to SVU cases back in New York - now, the opportunity was staring him in the face. He could stop his residual fear from consuming him.
"Great. Let's set off soon? We can figure out where exactly we want to go along the way." She handed him a cup of coffee, as she did every single morning, and crossed her legs on his couch as he retreated into his room to get dressed.
This spontaneity was very new to him, he realised, as he pulled his shirt over his head. When was the last time he'd started the day without having the rest of his hours clearly allocated and outlined on his calendar? When had he ever done something - a day trip to D.C., for example - without clearly demarcated plans?
Maybe Olivia was changing him. Maybe he was letting Olivia change him. In any case, he liked it very much.
Rafael and Olivia once had very clear ideas of what "perfect days" looked like: for him, an afternoon of scintillating debates over lunch in Tribeca, followed by whatever new show on Broadway he hadn't yet caught; for her, a lazy morning in bed, strolls in Central Park, and dollar pizza in Greenwich Village. But they were quickly realising that this day was retooling those ideas.
It'd been a whirlwind of a day from the moment they pulled out of the parking lot. They'd gotten caught in the bumper-to-bumper traffic entering D.C., and Olivia had accidentally driven into oncoming traffic, having not previously familiarised herself with the peculiar reversal of traffic directions across the capital at rush hour. (Rafael made it a point to burn this event into his memory to tease her about the next time she nagged at him about his driving.) To smooth over the residual tension from that brush with death, he promptly turned the radio up, until both he and Olivia were singing along to Bette Davis Eyes with gusto.
He couldn't stop sneaking glances at her. She had absolutely no sense of pitch or rhythm, but even the pedantic musician in him didn't jump out to correct her. Seeing Olivia this uninhibited and joyous, wind in her hair and make-up free skin glowing in the morning sun, was a spectacle in itself.
They decided on a whim to visit the National Museum of American History - the closest one to the parking meter they'd miraculously found. He regaled her with tales of his fifth-grade field trip to D.C., where he'd run through the museum playing hide-and-seek with Alex Munoz and Eddie Garcia; now, as a Harvard (Yale)-educated adult, he traded questions about the exhibits with the volunteer guides and pored over the cultural artefacts on the second floor with the same burning curiosity he tackled legal problems with.
She couldn't stop sneaking glances at him. She'd once feared his blazing intensity, to the point that even looking into his piercing green eyes almost physically hurt at times, but now she revelled in it. Olivia didn't have many friends like Rafael, with his massive repository of factual tidbits and the intellectual curiosity of her smartest friends in high school, so seeing him so profoundly in his element, his eyes burning with zeal, was a spectacle in itself.
"Ideas for lunch?" he asked her as they left the museum.
"I have an idea, but I'm not sure you're going to like it," Olivia offered mischievously.
"What is it?"
"How does the most shamelessly cliche New York dining option sound?" she suggested with a devilish grin.
"I'm almost scared, Olivia…" he teased gently, "... but surprise me."
He certainly was surprised when they pulled up a block away from a Shake Shack - she'd hit the nail on the head about it being shamelessly cliche. But he could at least try to be spontaneous, for her.
"When was the last time you had Shake Shack?" she asked as they waited in line, their shoulders now tantalisingly close in the tight space.
"I like to pretend it doesn't exist," he deadpanned. "The better burgers are at JG Melon, and we both know that." (He regretted not having the opportunity to take her there at least once.)
"Shake Shack isn't that bad, Rafael," she countered with an amused chuckle.
She was right: it wasn't that bad. At least he could pretend for half an hour that he was sitting in Madison Square Park, watching dog-walkers stroll by, as they split a chocolate milkshake.
They were splitting a milkshake. It felt almost absurd, even juvenile - yet neither of them had suggested getting another. There was an almost indecent slant to the realisation that he was sipping from the same straw her lips had been curled around just a minute ago, but he wasn't sure how much he cared, or if he cared at all.
Olivia was looking at a map of the National Mall on her phone, and Rafael couldn't resist sneaking another furtive glance at her. God damn, she was beautiful - and he wondered for the umpteenth time that week if he should just fuck it and lean over to kiss her.
(She pretended not to notice the way his eyes kept wandering to her lips, and turned away to hide her blushing cheeks.)
Rafael spent the rest of the afternoon mulling over that question as they strolled along the perimeter of the National Mall. If not for their expansive surroundings and imposing Capitol building in the distance, he might have thought for a second that they were back in Lower Manhattan, discussing some case as they walked outside 60 Centre Street, their hands brushing ever-so-slightly. Their conversation flowed like water and muggy spring heat made way for a gentle breeze, but the simmering tension between them only grew hotter as they approached the Washington Monument.
It was as though there was an invisible barrier between them. Olivia's hand hung by her side, beckoning to be taken in his, but he kept a careful distance from her, as though her skin was on fire. She wondered how he'd react if she rested her hand on his arm as they walked, but never inched quite close enough to him to do that.
Olivia couldn't decide if time was flying or had slowed to a crawl as they settled on a bench overlooking the Reflecting Pool, the late spring sun dipping languidly over the horizon. The tourist groups were starting to clear out, bathing them in markedly more tranquil surroundings, and Rafael felt his breath catch as she slid next to him, their thighs just touching.
(It would have been the perfect time for him to put his arm around her - maybe even kiss her - but he feared puncturing this peace.)
"Today was nice," he remarked wistfully, his gaze trained on the sunset in the distance.
"Today was nice," she smiled.
It came over both of them like a spell; the way Olivia wordlessly leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder, her hair caressing his collarbone. God damn, he was spellbound by her - the woody notes of her perfume that lingered on her dress, her rose-petal soft skin against his arm. Her chest gently rose and fall against him, and his hand instinctively wandered to the small of her back, eliciting a quiet, contented sigh from her - almost indiscernible against a backdrop of screaming children and rev of tour bus engines in the distance, but music to his ears.
Neither said anything, but the sheer intensity of the quiet ecstasy between them was intoxicating. They didn't have a single drop of alcohol in their systems, so unlike the nights they'd spent with tongues duelling in one of their living rooms, but Rafael almost felt like he couldn't walk straight as they wandered back to the car, his hand still gently pressed to the small of her back. The conversation between them had all but halted as the parking meter came into view, the tense silence between them of a magnitude neither could put into words.
"You have the keys, don't you?" she asked as she stood by the car door, remembering that this dress didn't come with pockets.
"Yup." He rifled through his jean pockets and handed her the black fob.
Their hands touched again and she suddenly realised how close they were standing.
Very, very close.
His face was inches away from hers and green eyes were boring into her, this time shamelessly and unabashedly flooded with desire.
Her knees almost gave way as a restless heat immediately washed over her.
It didn't take long for both of them to get into the car.
There was no Bette Davis Eyes on the 10-mile drive home. There wasn't even any conversation.
Rafael kept his hands folded in his lap tensely, grateful that Olivia's were clutching the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white, lest their skin touch and he explode before they made it back to Bethesda. It almost hurt to look at her; to admit to himself just how much he wanted her.
Olivia forced herself to keep her eyes on the road, lest she catch another furtive glimpse of him and never recover. She nervously turned up the volume on her phone and let the robotic voice of Google Maps fill the uncomfortable silence.
Ten miles to your destination.
Rafael wondered if it was finally time to bid goodbye to that languid, comfortable rhythm they'd settled into. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on for, but he also didn't know if this was something that would irrevocably destroy the new lives they'd been working so hard to build.
Was it finally time to give in and let this simmering tension explode?
Seven miles to your destination.
Olivia had always been good at self-control, but her resolve was wearing thin. They'd agreed to take things slow; to carefully work through all these upheavals and not let their blazing desire take over. And she thought that she'd been able to hold it all in, until each successive day she'd spent with him had slowly unravelled that willpower.
Was it finally time to give in and let this simmering tension explode?
Four miles to your destination.
They couldn't risk everything falling apart again. One wrong move and they'd lose each other - a gulf that nothing could patch. What if it was just their shared circumstances - a desire for solace and familiarity - that were bringing them together?
One mile to your destination.
But things had been going so well between them back in New York. Why stop now? Why deny the sparks that had been flying between them for months? What reason did they have not to trust themselves?
You have arrived at your destination.
The car came to a slow stop outside his apartment building, but neither Rafael nor Olivia moved an inch. There was only silence, punctuated by the low hum of the engine - a deathly silence much like the bone-chilling one that filled his bedroom each night. He couldn't decide if it was foreboding or taunting him into action.
The right thing to do would have been to thank her for the ride and get out of the car - but it wasn't what he wanted, and he had a feeling that the same thought was running through her mind.
Rafael finally turned to look at her, their gazes just as smouldering as they'd been half an hour ago. The answer to his doubts couldn't be clearer.
He found his voice after a long, excruciating pause.
"Do you want to come in?"
They were out of the car within 10 seconds of her wordless, confident nod.
It started as a slow, tender seduction.
The instant Rafael locked the front door behind them, his hands were roaming her back and hers were wrapped around his waist, time once again slowing to a crawl as he gently pressed his lips to hers. He luxuriated in that kiss, as gratifying as rain in an Indian summer, as he re-traced the curves he'd spent the last few months memorising. It'd only been three weeks since they last kissed by the bay window overlooking Central Park, but they'd lived a whole lifetime between that night and now - and he drank in her presence in his arms like it was their first night together all over again.
Olivia's hand gently brushed against the front of his jeans and he barely stifled a low gasp, every touch of hers just as electrifying as he remembered them being in the shaded darkness of his Park Avenue bedroom. She was the first to plunge her tongue into his mouth, feeling the expectant energy they'd shared on that Chelsea sidewalk find its release.
The natural thing for him to do next was to reach for the waistband of that wrap dress, but his fingers danced teasingly around it as Olivia promptly freed his shirt from the waistband of his jeans, her palms circling the bare skin of his lower back.
He didn't know why he was moving so slowly. Maybe he wanted to. He wanted to soak in every touch; every breathless sigh of pleasure. He wanted to find the Rafael he'd left behind in New York three weeks ago; bask in the complete and utter familiarity that flooded him as he took her in - the impatient, restless longing in her eyes, her scent intermingled with his, her lips against his neck.
All through their torrid affair he'd constantly downplayed his desire and lied to himself about just how badly he wanted her. Now all he wanted to do was revel in that burning passion; to do justice to all that restless anticipation. Rafael found her lips with his again, feeling the tension of the day pouring into that kiss, the scorching heat between them rising with every touch.
"Wait," she interjected firmly, and forced herself to catch her breath as released her grip on him. "Wait, Rafael."
Rafael looked up at her concernedly, silently scanning her eyes for doubt.
There was none. "Please tell me you have a condom," she implored. God damn, she wouldn't know what to do with herself if he didn't and they had to stop now…
He involuntarily let out a tortured gasp hearing the aching heat in her voice, and within seconds he was emptying the contents of the CVS bag he'd strewn on the kitchen counter that morning, his hands suddenly shaking and clumsy, until he found the small square box they'd been looking for. He'd picked them up that morning, tossing them into his basket without a second thought, just like he'd taught himself to do back in New York.
Thank God old habits died hard.
He ripped the box open with gusto, Olivia unable to conceal her relieved smile.
And with that ounce of hesitation gone, the tender seduction Rafael had envisioned quickly erupted into restless, smouldering heat.
She immediately lunged for the collar of his shirt, her tongue nipping at the stubble on his chin; he pulled at the waist tie of her dress and watched it fall to the floor in one fell swoop, his breath catching at the sight of her lacy black bra and panties.
God damn it.
He'd seen this exact set before - many times, in fact. But he'd never seen the vigour with which she attacked the buttons of his shirt, the plastic beads crashing to the hardwood floor and echoing in the darkness as he caressed her erect nipples through the thin fabric, eliciting a low whine from the back of her throat. Olivia's hands wandered to the buckle of his belt, pulling at it impatiently as Rafael's eyes darkened with desire, his throbbing erection twitching uncomfortably when she palmed it over the stiff denim of his jeans.
The jeans quickly pooled on the floor, joining the bra he'd unhooked with deft fingers, and she lunged at him ferociously, their lips reconnecting with all the fervour that'd been bubbling to the surface on that agonisingly long drive back home. Rafael leaned down to engulf her nipple with his mouth, his fingers lightly dancing around the other, her strained moans music to his ears - until the cry of passion that escaped her throat when he brought his other hand to her panties, teasingly brushing her swollen clit over the lace with his thumb. Her hips jerked erratically against him in frustration as his hand lightly brushed against her core once more, his grazes agonisingly tame against the burning heat she was radiating.
"Damn it," she cursed testily, her eyes asking - no, imploring - he hurry the fuck up and let her shed these damn panties and-
Her voice was strained; her exclamation thick with frustrated longing.
"Damn it, Barba!"
They froze.
Rafael lifted his eyes to meet hers, the smouldering desire in them replaced by stone-cold shock.
Barba. The name, now a taboo word, rang uncomfortably in both their ears.
Barba. He hadn't heard it in far too long.
Barba.
Thank God old habits died hard, because he loved the way she said that name. His name.
And something stirred in him: the heated yearning from the last time he'd seen her naked figure under him washing over him once more.
It was a carnal, uninhibited lust that he very much didn't want to leave behind in New York. It was the Rafael Barba that he very much didn't want to leave behind in New York.
He didn't waste a second longer. He pushed the fabric of her panties aside and plunged two fingers into her soaking core without warning, smiling devilishly when she cried out in ecstasy, every moan her breathless encouragement. God, she was wet; so wet.
It was like a spell had come over him as he raised his gaze to meet hers, his eyes shooting open as she reached out to stroke his aching cock, his briefs falling to the ground with one strong, decisive pull.
"Bedroom, now," he commanded in a low, authoritative whisper, never once breaking eye contact with her.
They crashed onto his bed with wild abandon, Olivia immediately sinking into the familiar-feeling silk sheets as Rafael climbed on top of her, his erection twitching wildly against her core. She breathed heavily as his hands glided down her bare skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and finally slid those damn lace panties down her legs.
Olivia let a guttural moan escape her throat when Rafael's lips found the exact spot on her neck - the sweet spot he'd come to memorise - and sucked viciously, the hickey that would inevitably show up now a worry of the past. He brought his hands to her hair and plunged his tongue into her mouth, engulfing her moans with white-hot kisses until he had to pull away because god damn it - he couldn't take his eyes off her. He never could.
She reached up and tugged at his shoulders until his bare chest was pressed against her pert nipples, their skin meeting like fire and ice under him.
And then his cock was teasing her entrance, her hips bucking against his in invitation and begging for him to finally, finally slip inside her.
"Fuck me, Barba," she growled under him, her brown eyes feverish with hunger and silently beckoning - challenging - him to give in to the rest of his pent-up desire.
And that was exactly what he did.
