"Hello?"
The voice was laced with hesitation, but unmistakable.
Olivia felt a wave of nausea ripple up her gullet as she drank in the sound that filled her ears, one word enough to make her feel shaky. She tightened her grip on the compact plastic box in her palm, contemplating for a second if she should fling it out the window and crush it under the wheel of her car - this was too dangerous; too reckless.
"... Anyone there?" the voice asked again.
An unearthly silence filled the car, punctuated only by Olivia's laboured, shaky breaths. She knew that voice. She didn't know why her tongue felt like lead; her throat parched and hoarse.
There was no one else in this parking lot; it was precisely the reason she'd chosen to pull over here. She'd taken all the relevant precautions that evening: driven across state lines, paid in cash, made a burner email at that dingy Internet cafe, even changed her new number's area code for good measure.
Rafael had driven to Hoboken, for God's sake; surely the Nokia in her palm wasn't half as risky as re-appearing on home turf?
She'd set this plan in motion the instant she'd slammed her car door shut after work. Only the final step - the one she hadn't even realised she'd craved this badly - was within inches of her.
Fuck it. She'd come this far. There was no use turning back now - not after driving over a hundred miles; not after she'd agonised over the ten digits that separated her from the life she now was exiled from.
"Fin...?"
The silence was deafening.
Then a gasp, so quiet and fleeting it was almost indiscernible, but a gasp, nonetheless.
Then the rustle of denim against a chair; hasty footsteps and a closing door. A glass landing on a table with an astonished thud.
"... Liv?"
Her eyes watered; her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Only one person said her name that way.
"Fin... " she choked out in a half-whisper.
God, there was so much on the tip of her tongue, but she lingered on the single syllable of his name, letting it percolate in the air. It was a name once uttered only in hushed whispers, in the shaded darkness of her room as she and Rafael ruefully traded stories from the home they ached for, now all but banished from her vocabulary.
She'd spoken it back into existence. There was no turning back now.
"Liv," he repeated quietly, his tone still laced with disbelief. "Is that you?"
A strained, barely audible, "I'm so glad to hear your voice," was all she could manage, but her relief was palpable, as was the way Fin's breath caught she squeezed out the last word, in disbelief that it really was her on the other end of the line.
Olivia dabbed at the corner of her eye with the blouse she'd worn to work that morning, her mascara leaving an inky streak on the crumpled white fabric. She straightened in her seat and nervously sucked in a breath, her free hand tightly grasping the steering wheel for support. God damn, she'd done it - she'd remembered that cell phone number. She was Olivia Benson again.
"Are you safe? Are you alright?" he pressed when he found his voice again.
"I'm safe," she assured him, choosing to ignore the fact that this was by far the most dangerous thing she'd done since arriving here three months ago. "I'm in a good city..."
She looked out the window and drank in her surroundings: the windows of the Bank of America across the lot now darkened and store signs lying in wait of a new day; the whizz of homeward bound Friday night traffic.
This was a good city. There were many more unsavoury places to live in. She couldn't deny that.
"… But I just needed someone to talk to."
As Fin's familiar concerned sigh filled her ears, Olivia felt her grip around the phone tighten, the plastic pressed to her ear as though closing some of the insurmountable distance that separated her from the life she'd once inhabited. Her stomach clenched from a combination of the dinner she'd skipped and the voice in her head telling her to hang up right now before she tumbled down this rabbit hole.
But she'd opened this door. She was on the phone with one of the two people back in New York who knew that Olivia Benson was alive - and the only person who held the proof that someone had come before Olivia Davis; who could keep Olivia Benson from slipping into oblivion.
She dragged her finger off the red "End Call" button and steadied her shaking breath, forcing herself to focus on Fin's voice - his gruff, hardened baritone, as calm and non-judgmental as it'd always been. Calmness that she needed right now.
"I'm glad you're safe, Liv," he started, his voice still a cautious whisper (even though she knew from the lack of chatter in the background that he was in his apartment), albeit more assured than it'd been just a minute ago. "How are you doing?"
He hesitated on the question knowing that there was no straightforward response to it. Where could she even begin, when she couldn't even tell him that she now was Olivia Davis calling from an empty Barnes & Noble parking lot in Bethesda, Maryland?
"I'm fine… I think. At least I thought I was." Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and sighed deeply, feeling some of her nerves settle as it sank in that she was talking to one of the few people who'd always had her back - and hadn't gone anywhere. "How's the squad doing?"
Fin instantly took the hint and changed the subject. "We're getting by," he explained matter-of-factly. "Still short of a detective, but we're getting someone new next week. Cragen's back as CO."
This time, Olivia's sigh was one of relief. The precinct hadn't burned down in her absence - not like she'd expected it to, of course, but there was comfort in knowing that she'd left behind a ship strong enough to continue sailing, now captained by someone she knew for sure could keep their heads above the water.
(She wondered how well she was keeping her own head above the water.)
"We miss you, Liv," he admitted wistfully, in a rare display of emotion. "Nick and Rollins still talk about you. Cassidy, too. He's come by a lot."
All names she hadn't heard in too long - especially the last one. "How are they holding up?"
"Amanda's a trooper - you know that. We'd be screwed if not for her putting in so much overtime. Nick and Brian, though…" his voice trailed off. "... They're following their hunch that you and Barba are hiding out somewhere."
She laughed mirthlessly. Nick and Brian, as stubborn and impulsive as they'd always been - yet there was a comforting sameness to their rashness, especially when she didn't even know who she was looking at anymore when she stared in the mirror. "It's not like I can go back to New York even if they find me."
"I know."
"Doesn't stop me from wishing that I could, though."
She couldn't decide if the long pause that followed was more mournful or resigned. Maybe it was both.
"How are you doing, Liv?" Fin asked again, this time more gently.
"Well, I don't hate it here," she said on impulse, wondering how true it was only after it'd slipped out of her mouth.
She'd thought she was liking it - she really did. Until half of it had been ripped from her one night a month ago.
"Promising start for someone who's lived in Manhattan all her life," he deadpanned, to which she felt the corners of her lips turn into a smile, and for a moment it was like she was back in the precinct or sitting in a squad car all night long.
(If only it lasted longer than just a moment.)
"I got a new job. Charity work. Started a couple of weeks ago."
"Didn't expect anything less from the Mother Teresa of SVU," he chimed in proudly, echoing Munch's line from his retirement party in a better time, when she still had Brian on her arm and all this seemed unfathomable. "How's the office life been?"
"An adjustment, definitely. My lower back is killing me."
"And I thought that you were getting a little too comfortable being Sergeant, sitting behind that desk all day."
"I keep checking my phone, thinking someone's going to call about a case and that I'll have to get up and go. Usually it's just the summer intern asking if I want anything from Starbucks," she laughed dryly.
"You drink Starbucks now? That's the real crime here."
She couldn't describe how relieved she felt when she realised that the peals of laughter coming out of her mouth were real this time.
"Speaking of coffee - how's Barba doing? You two finally getting somewhere?"
Fin had clearly intended for the question to be light-hearted; cheeky, even, but Olivia couldn't stop her pulse from accelerating. "... It's the opposite at the moment, actually."
He barely hid his surprise. "What happened? Weren't you relocated together?"
"We were. Things were fine up till a few weeks ago, actually," she lamented. "I haven't seen him since then."
"Want to talk about it?" he offered without hesitation.
"You know I'm not going to make you listen to that."
This was the way Fin and Olivia's friendship had always been - silent glances across the room and knowing expressions that spoke more than words ever could; careful dances around each business that had no place in the squad room. They didn't get to fifteen years of friendship without that mutual understanding. Why destroy one of the few constants she still had?
"Knowing you, you probably drove across state lines to get a burner cell so you could talk about something."
God damn, the way he saw right through her, even after three months of exile, was making her unravel.
"I'm all ears, Liv."
What was the use of hanging on to that constant when she now felt backed against the wall?
She took a deep breath and let the floodgates open.
July 11 2012.
That was the first time Rafael had laid eyes on Olivia Benson in the flesh in the Part 12 gallery, after years of perusing her case files and overhearing her name at the Brooklyn Heights bar he used to frequent. Olivia Benson was untouchable: the Manhattan SVU tour de force who existed on New York Ledger pages and in evening news reports - but only as he shook her outstretched hand did it hit him that Olivia Benson was very much a living, breathing person who didn't exist only in myth.
It wasn't the first meeting he'd expected, amid the rush of people filing out of the room and assorted post-arraignment chaos. Neither was the sardonic comment he'd made about it being take-your-daughters-to-work day when he saw her standing next to Captain Harris, or the amused smirk she'd made in response - but his transfer to Manhattan had suddenly been injected with another dose of expectant energy.
Maybe it was July 11 2012 all over again, because that was all he could think of when he first spotted Olivia, juggling her cell phone and plastic bag in one hand and two apples in the other in the middle of the Whole Foods produce section.
He hadn't even realised that he'd stopped dead in his tracks, breath caught in his throat, until an impatient suburban mother with a stroller swerved right into his path and he felt his surroundings come back into clarity - Peaceful Easy Feeling blaring through the speakers (the song she hummed to while making them dinner), the discordant clangs of metal shopping carts, floral displays stacked on wooden crates.
Her.
There were throngs of shoppers picking up supplies for dinner, but he saw only one, her skin still as luminescent as it'd been that July afternoon, or under him in the warm glow of his Park Avenue bedroom. Her blunt bangs had grown back to the side-swept tendrils framing her face he'd tucked behind her ear as they kissed the first time they had sex, and he still clearly remembered the day they'd gone to Ann Taylor at the mall where Olivia had purchased the blouse she was wearing after he'd enthusiastically recommended it to her with a cheeky wink he'd never dare send her way in New York.
Perhaps that was the Olivia he was staring at from across the room as she pushed her cart along the aisle, completely impervious to his presence. A figment of the past. The person he'd chosen to cruelly exile from his life one sweltering July night - only after so much poison had seeped into their relationship.
But that was also the Olivia who commanded such power over him, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her as she paused to check her shopping list, one hand sweeping her hair out of her sparkling brown eyes - eyes that sparkled even from that distance; penetrated him even though they were peeled to the screen of her phone.
It was like seeing her for the first time all over again, except that he didn't know then just how much their lives would intertwine.
Now he absolutely did, which didn't make the twenty steps separating them any easier.
What even would he use as his opening line, he wondered as he lumbered towards the rack with the shopping carts, his eyes never once leaving her: the Fearlessness pendant glimmering against her tanned skin, curvature of the nose he'd grazed with his own the last time they drifted into slumber cheek-to-cheek. He cycled through the possibilities in his head - perhaps a simple hello, maybe a silent smile as they passed in the aisle. Ask her how she was doing? Wait for her to ask him that first?
(If she even wanted to talk to him.)
Rafael felt his stomach clench as he tightened his grip around the cart handles, even the simple prospect of taking a step Olivia's general direction more arduous than expected. He was prepared for this, wasn't he? He'd started getting his life together - starting his job search with the marshals' help, Macallan untouched and cigarettes unpurchased. He rose from bed at 8 am - by choice. Half his days didn't go to aimless drives around the D.C. metropolitan area. He finally had something to show her; something that they both could be proud of.
Surely it was time to break the ice?
When was the last time he'd kissed her? The nights they'd spent in had long blurred into a murky, formless haze, every brush of their lips now engulfed in an inferno of hurt and poisonous words. When was the last time he'd met her brown eyes with affection untainted by envy and self-doubt?
It'd been just them perched on that rock at Great Falls National Park that June afternoon, the thunderous roar of the Potomac River below them as their lips connected in sync, hunger and comfort and need pouring into that caress and Olivia's grip around the thin fabric of his T-shirt. Their first kiss - first real kiss, unprompted by the prospect of their bodies collapsing into a bed by the end of the hour, and he'd thrown it all away in a matter of weeks.
He'd needed that break; that distance. He'd taken it in his stride. But maybe what he needed now was her.
Twenty steps. She was right in his field of vision. twenty steps in her direction. He'd muster the courage to finally break the ice and say-
No, he couldn't do this.
It was almost imperceptible, the way Olivia shifted her weight onto her other leg as she bagged her pears, but just an inch too far in his direction, and he'd returned the cart and headed out the same door he'd emerged through just a minute ago, adrenaline pumping and palms clammy.
That was all it'd taken for the illusion to shatter, his mirage morphing into an emblem of his blistering guilt.
He hoped that July 2 2014 - just shy of 2 years since that fateful first meeting - hadn't become the last night he'd ever talked to Olivia Benson.
The rock seemed far more imposing than it'd been the last time she'd been here.
Olivia's palms dug into the weathered granite as she hoisted herself onto the tree-obscured ledge, leaving angry red welts in their wake, and she dabbed at the drop of blood on her painful and scraped knee with her wrist.
Some things just seem easier in twos, she thought to herself as she settled into a comfortable position, knees tucked to her chest and breeze caressing her ponytailed hair. Hauling her groceries into her apartment building. Splitting one of those gargantuan appetisers at Founding Farmers. Falling asleep in a cold bed in a cold room.
Or scrambling onto a rock with a picturesque view of the Potomac River, the empty space next to her a stark reminder that it provided a picturesque view of the Potomac River for two.
She'd watched the sun rise over the winding road that took her to the park entrance, her Ford the solitary vehicle in the lot and only footsteps hers as she strolled along the gravel-covered path towards the overlook. It was one of the perks of working in an office that didn't care too much if Olivia was at her desk at 8.30am or strolled in at 10am with coffee and a croissant in hand: no surprise visits from 1PP, no sudden crises she'd drive across town to tackle seconds before getting a chance to set her work bag on her chair. And when she'd risen that morning seized by an urge to breathe some fresher air and put her now-underutilised leg muscles to use, she made one final check that the burner cell she'd used the night before was safely buried under a pile of old T-shirts in her closet and set off for Great Falls before the rest of the neighbourhood stirred to life.
Burner cell. Olivia let out a dry chuckle as that thought crossed her mind. She'd lost count of how many dumpsters she'd searched with CSU for the shattered fragments of a Nokia not too different from her own, that TARU would eventually spend days piecing back together in search of the smallest of clues.
Would things ever come to this? Her tossing the cell into a dumpster across state lines to throw someone off her trail?
Olivia had told herself that she hadn't wanted to call Fin that Friday night a fortnight ago. It was far too risky, and she didn't want to know what Nguyen would have to say if she learned that her model WITSEC participant had done one of the few things that was non-negotiably forbidden, right below leaving the programme and broadcasting her whereabouts on national TV. She'd been a cop, for God's sake - she had to know better than 98% of the population that even burner cells weren't infallible, especially with the resources that this sex trafficking ring never seemed to run out of, if her occasional glance at the crime section of New York Times webpage was enough of a clue as to their reach.
But she'd opened that door that Friday night, and that first call had turned into a second - and then more.
Fin certainly hadn't been short-sighted enough to continue these late-night calls on his cell, and when he'd texted back with a new number courtesy of a hacker contact from his UC days, Olivia found her guard slipping and the conversation flowing. He talked her through their cases at her request, allowing her to slip back into being Sergeant Olivia Benson for just a few electric minutes, or updated her on where Nick and Brian were in their increasingly futile search for her. She did all she could to paint a picture of her new neighbourhood without mentioning it by name as she cruised around the darkened streets, the streetlamps giving the tiny LCD screen an especially eerie glow; she told him about Emilie and the marshals and her new job as he listened patiently, chiming in with the occasional question or quiet "mmm" that were more than enough to dull the lonely ache she felt when she woke up to an empty apartment each morning.
And of course, she told him about Rafael.
"It's been more than a month since you last talked to him," he'd remarked suddenly the night before when the conversation topic had inevitably wandered back to Rafael - again.
"Mmm," she'd mumbled defeatedly.
"You still end up talking about him every time you call."
Fin's tone was gently teasing, but the implication of that statement was clear, and it was what lingered in her mind for the rest of the night.
You still end up talking about him every time you call.
She had a feeling that she knew exactly why. Olivia kept her gaze trained on the rushing water below her, the muggy summer heat having fully given way to a chilly morning breeze that made her regret her choice of shorts - and her lack of company.
It was easy enough to pretend that she didn't know the true reason she'd felt compelled to drive out here before 7am, but the reminders hadn't just snuck up on her over the course of the short walk from the parking lot; they were seeping into every fibre of her being and reaching a fever pitch. So much of the last two months felt like a murky haze, but she did remember the last time she'd been perched on this rock, her fingers idly drawing circles on his arm and their walls crumbling, but still safe in the assurance that they'd pick the pieces up together.
She could get by on her own just fine: the errand-running, supermarket shopping, coffee-brewing, apartment-cleaning, because that was how she'd always lived her life. Why should this be an exception? She now felt less like a fish out of water at her job and perhaps was even finding some once-elusive joy in putting her time and energy towards a cause that she'd always cared about, even long before she'd joined SVU.
But that didn't take away that longing - that longing for the part of herself she'd left behind in his apartment that night.
Some things just seemed - no, were - easier in twos.
"You've spent so much time taking care of other people, Liv," Fin had calmly told during their first call two weeks ago, when she'd unsuccessfully rationalised the continued and very stubborn existence of the Berlin Wall between her and Rafael. "If he doesn't want that from you now, maybe it's a blessing in disguise."
Olivia had bristled at his choice of words - how could any of the last month possibly feel like a blessing? - until it hit her that there was a grain of truth to them.
As she smoothed the wrinkles of her blouse and was enthusiastically greeted by her co-workers the following Monday and the rest of the weekdays that followed, it hit her that there was perhaps even more than just a grain of truth to them, and that was all the push she needed.
Now she was a month into work and finally feeling like she could confidently stand on her own feet again, after the shaky start that'd left her so drained that her eyes fluttered shut the instant her head hit the pillow each night. She'd finally managed to make it to lunch with her co-workers without the nagging fear that Olivia Benson would slip into casual conversation; even gone jogging around the neighbourhood with Emilie on a couple of the rare evenings the diplomat wasn't rushing out some paperwork for early morning meetings with Switzerland. She'd done exactly what was so sorely missing from her life back in New York: finally taking care of herself first and not letting some crisis at work bump that down her ever-growing to-do list - and it felt pretty damn good.
She'd gotten a taste of a new life without Rafael Barba in it - one where she didn't need anyone else to fill the silences and empty spaces in her apartment.
But it didn't make her immune to wanting someone to fill the silences and empty spaces, and she'd given that away to Fin before she'd even fully realised it herself.
With not a soul in view, save for the park ranger she'd passed at the entrance with a friendly nod, Olivia inhaled the fresh air until her lungs were about to burst and let her last visit come back into clarity.
Memories matter to me, Liv, because in the end, memories are all that any of us have.
That moment had imprinted itself in her memory - the wistful way his gaze shifted between her and the river beneath them, memories of New York flashing through his expression. Then there was the indignant way he shook his head, refusing to surrender to suburbia's lure away from the textures of the life he'd - they'd - once led, until she'd really looked into those piercing green eyes and noticed the unshed tears that'd glistened.
She'd seen tears form in Rafael's eyes more times in the last three months than the two years they'd known each other, but that expression, so quietly tormented and agonised, stabbed away at her more than she'd expected.
Memories - that was all they still had of New York. But now she had a lifeline.
And so her memories of New York that'd almost lost their lustre were stirring back to life with every late-night call to Fin, his voice breathing life back into the Olivia Benson that was slipping out of her grip. Now she had an anchor that reminded her that the first forty years of her life hadn't simply evaporated the day the marshals had entered the room with an envelope full of brand-new identification. Olivia was always going to carry a part of New York with her, like Nguyen had promised in the clearinghouse that tense, mournful afternoon; she could retreat into those memories when she drifted too far from Olivia Benson.
And she was always going to carry a part of Rafael Barba with her: the Rafael she'd locked eyes with in Part 12 one July afternoon not realising how entangled their lives would become. The Rafael she'd forced herself to walk away from one July night when it'd become too late to purge the poison that'd bubbled between them - but nonetheless, the Rafael whose ghost continued to haunt her apartment, the laughter they once shared now replaced only by cold, lifeless silence.
She didn't want to retreat into those memories.
She didn't want Rafael Barba to exist only in her memory.
Olivia didn't want that kiss - the thunderous roar of the Potomac River below them as their lips connected in sync, hunger and comfort and need pouring into that caress - to be just a fragment in her mind. Her grip on his T-shirt, his Terre D'Hermes lingering on her skin; their first real kiss removed from the darkness of a bedroom. The nights they fell asleep skin-to-skin, his chest to her back protectively. The languid, slow mornings they spent re-tracing each other's curves, where there was no Olivia Benson or Davis or Rafael Barba or Marquez - just Olivia and Rafael.
A gust of wind slapped her exposed skin and made her shiver, but for just a split second she could feel his skin brush against hers, that ephemeral, phantom-like caress radiating warmth through her.
Was it time to thaw the cold war between them?
Was he ready for it? Was she still going to see the hardened, cold scorn in those green eyes the next time their paths crossed? Had he spent the last month with her on his mind?
Was she ready for it?
When her watch and text from her manager signalled that it was time for her to enjoy her last few minutes in solitude and return to her job in the real world, Olivia allowed herself one final, lingering stare at the rushing water. Her eyes widened at the sight of the same kayaker they'd silently rooted for that June afternoon, his bright yellow vessel still ceaselessly fighting the unforgiving current, and the seed of hope that planted itself in her chest was her answer.
Maybe, just maybe, she was strong enough to fall into Rafael Barba again.
She wondered if he was too.
"You talked to Olivia?"
Rita's sceptical, are-you-pulling-my-leg expression was matched only by the astonishment in her tone.
Fin nodded silently as he helped himself to another spoonful of Lucia Barba's homemade ropa vieja from the massive Tupperware container she'd dropped off at Rita's townhouse that afternoon - five days' worth of dinners for Rafael in another lifetime, but now emblematic of her lingering grief. "She called me two weeks ago. Bought a burner cell."
It took her a few seconds to process those pieces of information. "Is she alright? Safe wherever she is?"
"Mostly. She got a charity job; she's trying to make the best of it," Fin explained. "But it's been hard on her."
"How about Rafael?" Rita immediately asked. "If even Olivia's been having it hard… I can't imagine what it's like for him. We know for sure that they relocated together, right?"
"They were," Fin confirmed. "But they're not talking at the moment. Liv says they fell out a month ago."
"Good Lord," Rita's face fell. "What the hell happened?"
"They got into an argument because the adjustment was tough on him and he couldn't get himself together to find a job. Obviously he can't practise law anymore, so…"
"Jesus Christ. I was worried about that." She shook her head in disbelief. "He's always been too stubborn for his own good. Fighting with the only person stuck in God-knows-where with him?"
"I'm sure they'll sort it out, like they always do," Fin said more confidently than he truly felt. "You know them."
"I'm pretty sure it doesn't usually take more than a month," she remarked sceptically.
"At least we know they're safe and in a decent city somewhere."
"You're right," she affirmed, although her expression quickly turned dark. "Should you even be talking to her at all, Fin? We don't know if the call was-"
"She drove across state lines to get a burner cell. I have one too."
Rita didn't seem entirely convinced, but decided not to harp on the subject - surely two cops knew better than she did about burner cell security. "Well, I hope she and Rafael sort out their little tiff soon. It'd be nice to have a way to talk to him again. I'm sure he'd want to hear how his mom and abuelita are doing."
"I almost forgot to ask - how was lunch with Lucia?" Fin asked between sips of wine.
She instantly stiffened in her seat. "Lucia's doing alright, I suppose. She's getting ready for the new school year and keeps herself busy with all the kids - but she seemed more worried than usual about Rafael's abuelita yesterday."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Did something happen?"
"Apparently Catalina's health took a nosedive in the last couple of weeks. She isn't sleeping or eating well - they're going to get that checked out soon, but she's been getting on in years and all this has been hard on her..." Rita's voice trailed off. "Anyway, I'm going to pay her a visit when I can, maybe help with the groceries or set up FreshDirect for her."
"Do you want me to tell Liv about this the next time she calls me?" he offered. "I know she's not talking to him but… it's worth a shot."
Rita almost said yes on instinct, but what help would that do? It wasn't like Rafael could drop everything and return to New York - and if he already was having a tough time wherever he was, wouldn't bad news only exacerbate the problem? Anyway, it wasn't like Catalina was critically ill. Even Lucia was convinced that the older woman would be fine with an adjustment to her usual medication and fewer walks in the summer heat.
Things had gone terribly enough this year. Surely the gods weren't going to inflict even more agony on Olivia and Rafael as it was.
"Let's hold off on that," she finally decided after a contemplative pause. "Lucia seems to think everything will be fine once they get to that doctor's appointment. I'll let you know if something bad happens."
"I hope for his sake that nothing does," Fin muttered into his plate.
"So do I," she agreed quietly. "So do I."
It had been a frigid winter's day when Olivia trudged into Forlini's that night - the last tolerable Friday night before the nauseating Valentine's decorations emerged and Anthony served nothing but pink, fruity cocktails. Her nose red from the blustery air and fingertips numb even through her gloves, she slid into the seat next to Rafael at the bar, forgoing her usual Cabernet on impulse for his order - scotch on the rocks.
One drink in and he'd given her a blow-by-blow account of the harsh rebuke he'd received from Judge Catano in chambers, Olivia letting a chuckle escape her throat when he slipped a few choice words into his lengthy monologue.
Then Rafael's hand had accidentally brushed against hers when he'd motioned to Anthony to pour them another round on him, and Olivia felt her breath catch.
She'd come to the bar for a distraction from the aftermath of the devastating crash that'd been the demise of her relationship with Brian Cassidy just over a month ago - so why was she feeling electricity course up and down her arm as Rafael Barba's skin grazed hers?
Two drinks in and they'd put the day's events far behind them to hum along amusedly to a tone-deaf defence attorney drunkenly belting out Don't You Want Me by the new karaoke machine, the alcohol loosening their inhibitions and their hands inching closer with every discordant note.
It was only somewhere between the second and third repetitions of the chorus, over the pulsing beats that punctuated every come-hither don't you want me, baby, that Olivia was hit by the realisation their thighs were touching under the counter, her face so close to his shoulder that every inhale came with a heady whiff of Terre D'Hermes. The woodsy notes were even more intoxicating than the amber liquid in their glasses - but still not as intoxicating as the way his hand grazed the small of her back, affectionate yet quietly possessive.
And god damn it, that possessiveness was killing her.
She still had to pack the last of Brian's things to be shipped to his new Crown Heights studio, but couldn't stop warmth from rippling through her entire body - and pooling between her legs - when Rafael didn't pull away, not even to reach for his glass on the countertop.
Three drinks in and only a thick, expectant silence enveloped them, Olivia impervious to everything in the crowded bar except the ADA next to her, everything about him screaming scorching desire. Green eyes darting to her lips. Adam's apple bobbing with every word. Voice dipped. Fingers tracing circles on her arm.
It was forbidden desire. They worked together, for God's sake, and she'd parted ways with Brian on a Tribeca sidewalk little more than a month ago, so why was she sitting so close to Rafael Barba that she could smell the scotch on his lips (or was it hers?), shattering the invisible touch barrier they'd always kept between them at work?
But she couldn't bring herself to pull away.
Perhaps it was precisely because it was desire so forbidden; so alluring, that she didn't need to be stone-cold sober to know that all she wanted was to tug on those damned suspenders and pull him against her until she was moaning his name.
She couldn't remember whose fingers wandered up the other's thigh first, or whose idea it was to call the Uber back to her place - all she remembered were their shoulders pressed together and his lips dangerously close to her neck, every last nerve ending on fire as he slapped his Amex on the counter and turned to look her in the eye, silently giving her one last chance to back out before the fall.
It was the first time she'd ever admitted to herself that she wanted him just as badly as she knew he wanted her, and she didn't need an escape hatch when all she wanted - no, needed - was him in her bed, hands roaming all over each other's bare skin.
They'd emerged into the city streets, the alcohol in their systems and fervour in their touches all the heat they needed in the cold night air, and let the blaze between them swell all through the endless Uber ride to the Upper West Side until their bodies collapsed into Olivia's bed and it finally exploded into white-hot light.
It was heat that crept under her skin even after they'd risen to a snow-blanketed city a few hours later. Heart clenching when they made plans to meet covertly at one of their apartments later that night; mind racing when she caught a whiff of Terre D'Hermes as he passed her in the precinct; heat pooling between her legs when their eyes met from across the room, the rest of the squad oblivious to their clandestine liaison that even they didn't realise was erupting into something tantalisingly more.
It was heat so unceasing in its embrace that it'd survived that four-hour drive to Maryland that spring night and continued burning all through those indolent, languid afternoons on her couch, every sense of hers alive to him even in the most tranquil of moments they spent together. Then it'd exploded again the night they returned from that maiden trip to D.C., their furtive, flushed glances and cautious touches liberated by their surrender to their scorching need.
She'd gotten used to that heat; that fever. It'd become a part of her - until the night she shut his apartment door behind her and everything turned cold.
Now she was standing in the middle of the Macy's home section at the Montgomery Westfield, feeling the sparks re-ignite, because twenty steps separated her from the linen display that Rafael Barba was browsing, a J Crew bag in one hand and a new placemat in the other.
Olivia tightened her grip on the empty basket she was clutching and instinctively ducked behind a rack of towels, nearly knocking over a waddling toddler. She mouthed an apology to her exasperated mother, but her eyes never once left him. He was humming along to Eric Carmen's Hungry Eyes, body language remarkably more relaxed than it'd been the last time she'd seen him - his shoulders had lost that defeated slump that he hadn't been able to shake, and a five o clock shadow now dotted the chin she'd cupped many a time in the throes of ecstasy.
He certainly looked like he was doing better, but didn't make it any easier for her to move from the spot she now was rooted to to walk up to him to actually ask him.
After all, he'd exiled her from his life that night. Maybe all it'd take for him to spiral back into misery was one look from her, and she wasn't sure she could withstand extinguishing the light in his eyes once more.
But what if she tried?
What even would she use as her opening line? She watched closely as he inspected the shelves with an almost religious intensity, his shirt bunching around his waist as he reached for a box on the top shelf. She cycled through the possibilities in her head - a cautious hello? Call him by his name? Ask him how he was doing? Wait for emotion to flash through his eyes when he first caught sight of her, on the off chance that he still wanted nothing to do with her?
Olivia hastily tossed the towel she'd been holding back on the display, eliciting a tired sigh from a nearby sales clerk, to which she mouthed a quick and apologetic "sorry". She wanted this, didn't she? She'd fended off the new-job jitters; the late-night calls with Fin were all she needed to remember that Olivia Benson wasn't truly dead and buried. She and Rafael hadn't talked in far over a month now, but surely neither of them wanted this to be permanent?
Surely it was time to break the ice?
He'd needed that break; that distance, and she'd given it to him. She could only hope that what he needed now was her.
Olivia lingered behind that towel rack, unsure of how to bridge the ocean of distance between them. twenty steps separated them - but what would she find when she got to the other side? Was she ready to have her heart shattered a second time if she looked into those green eyes and saw only scorn and contempt?
But what if she looked into green eyes and finally saw Rafael Barba again? What if it was finally time for Rafael Barba to leave her memory and walk back into her life?
Twenty steps. She had a choice: to be engulfed by her own trepidation, or start tearing down that Berlin Wall.
No, she couldn't do this.
Olivia hastily returned the basket to the rack and walked out the entrance almost as quickly as she'd entered, because they were bound to have what she needed at Nordstrom anyway - and the sparks that'd re-ignited went cold once more. She ran the rest of her errands; picking up towels at Nordstrom and exchanging a blouse at Ann Taylor, almost forgetting about that close brush with fire.
No, she couldn't do this. He'd made the choice to douse the flames; she was going to wait until he decided that it was time to re-ignite them.
That was until she looked up from the bags she was loading into her car trunk and locked eyes with a very familiar pair of greens across the parking lot.
It was almost imperceptible, the way Rafael slowed his footsteps, Olivia reading his face intently for signs of the same scorn he'd directed her way a month ago, but finding none. Time came to a standstill in that moment as they took in the sight of the other, their expressions inscrutable and gazes locked.
It was almost imperceptible, the way the corners of Rafael's lips curled into the slightest of smiles, but that was all Olivia needed to exit the parking lot with warmth percolating in her chest.
Just like Olivia had expected, the cup of coffee was waiting on the counter when she burst through the doors, her name in Sharpie in Allison's impeccable penmanship - along with a cookie in a brown paper bag that the cheerful barista slipped to her with a mischievous wink.
"Thank you," she mouthed gratefully as she checked her watch - ample time to get to work for her 9am meeting - and turned to exit through the same doors she'd emerged through, only to find herself rapt by one unassuming corner table.
Or more specifically, the person sitting at one unassuming corner table.
She almost hadn't recognised him behind his MacBook Air, furiously typing away at something that certainly didn't look like an electronic version of the Washington Post crossword puzzle. When even was the last time she'd seen it in a state that wasn't shut and powered down on the desk in his bedroom?
She peered at his screen from her vantage point, her breath catching when she saw the familiar Updating Your Resume for a New Job Application in bold text - the same bold text that she'd stared at two months ago.
Rafael was looking for a job now?
She'd once wondered if she'd ever heard herself think that, but here she was, at a coffee shop before 9am, watching Rafael do precisely that.
The wheels in her head started turning - the twenty steps that'd separated them at the mall now were five. She recalled the exact way the corners of his lips had curled into that slight smile - surely she hadn't imagined it? Surely that was the sign she needed to tell her it was time to break the i-
"Liv…?"
His voice cut through the cacophony of noise surrounding them with a clarity that made her hair stand on end, and Olivia looked up from the paper bag she was holding to find herself face-to-face with Rafael Barba, the aroma of coffee mingling with that unmistakable Terre D'Hermes woodsiness. His scent.
"Liv," he repeated, this time slightly more confidently, his eyes frantically scanning her for the slightest hint of discomfort. Blouse, blazer, slacks - not dissimilar to the sleek black ensembles he saw in the precinct or on his bedroom floor. Of course she was on her way to work.
"Rafael," she mouthed, surprise still written all over her face.
He'd gotten up from his seat, leaving his opened computer on the table, and didn't miss the way Olivia's eyes darted towards the screen, where his new resume, "Rafael Marquez" lining the top in the same bold blue font she'd used for her resume two months ago.
One that they'd picked out together.
She quickly turned her attention back to him, although she couldn't stop herself from doing a double take. Rafael Marquez. His resume. "You look good," she remarked, her tone warm and sincere.
"You look good too, Liv," he replied, and finally mustered the courage to take a tentative step in her direction. "How's everything been?"
"I've been fine. Work's been good," she remarked, feeling some of the initial awkwardness dissipate as he closed the distance between them. "You?"
Her body gave it away before it crossed her mind - the warmth that pooled in her chest as she took in the sight of him, the scorn and hatred in those emerald eyes replaced by a warm affection she'd once thought lost forever.
It was the same warm affection from the last meal they'd shared in New York, tipsy on Cabernet and on the cusp of something tantalisingly more.
Was this the start of something tantalisingly more?
"I've been doing well. I talked to Nguyen; I'm looking for a job now." He gestured at the laptop screen next to them. "Hoping to send my applications out by the end of the summer."
"I'm happy for you, Rafael."
She didn't have to say anything else, because her radiant, satisfied expression said the rest.
It was a smile that he'd craved from her ever since the first glimpse he'd caught of it one gloomy February day, when snow blanketed the city and he'd groaned his way into the freezing squad room for an afternoon meeting. Olivia had trudged into the precinct, boots caked in grey slush, jacket damp with snowflakes, and nose and cheeks red from the brutally cold air, but all Rafael had felt was heat as she slinked past him, his weary senses suddenly alive to her every movement.
He'd wordlessly handed her the spare cup of coffee he'd picked up from the cart outside 1 Hogan Place and the unassuming, grateful smile she'd flashed him nearly knocked him off his feet, because god damn it - that was the first time he realised he'd fallen in love with Olivia Benson.
February 18 2013.
Nothing had ever been the same after that day, and even that felt like an understatement.
Rafael was jolted back to reality by the sound of Olivia's paper bag crinkling in her hands, and he looked up at her, drinking in the way the morning light that poured through the glass windows hit her skin and hair - brown eyes so warm and welcoming, yet commanding such power over him.
They'd left the dead of winter - and New York - far behind them, but this was February 18 2013 all over again, and Rafael felt his skin flush, but not with the embarrassment that'd once consumed him whole.
His pulse accelerated when he realised that his skin was flushing with desire.
Maybe this was the start of something tantalisingly more.
"I think… I should get to work now." She broke the silence after a long pause, hints of disappointment peeking through in her voice. "Gotta beat the traffic into town, you know."
"Of course," he replied casually, although he didn't hide his disappointment either. "But…" he sucked in a breath for courage and added, "We should get coffee sometime. I'll text you?"
And with that simple question, the residual tension dissipated immediately, the Berlin Wall between them decimated without so much as a sound. The strained chill between them evaporated into palpable, almost overwhelming relief.
"We should," she beamed, the seed of hope that'd been planted in her chest that day finally blossoming. "I'd love that."
"Great. We can fix a day."
There were no flirtatious touches or alluring looks exchanged this time, but this wasn't Forlini's. Neither were there the slaps of sweat-dampened skin or hedonistic, guttural moans that'd once filled their darkened rooms, because they knew better than to regress into the torrid, carnal desire that'd never felt like enough. They both knew better than to let that scorching, uncontrollable heat burn them once more.
And why crave that feverish, explosive heat anyway, when this new, ebullient warmth - one that promised so, so much more - was enveloping them now?
They were going to do things right this time.
"I should get going," Olivia repeated disappointedly as she looked at her watch, her footsteps still slow and hesitant.
"I'll see you soon, then," Rafael promised as he returned to his laptop and watched her turn in the direction of the door.
"Oh - and Liv…?" he called out on impulse just as she placed her hand on the handle, feeling another wave of courage flood him as he replayed that proud smile in his mind.
"Mmm?" She turned around to meet his gaze, her eyes brimming with hope.
He'd run through this scenario in his head since the afternoon he'd spotted her at Whole Foods countless times, each time rehearsing what exactly he'd say when he finally came face-to-face with Olivia once more, but all that flew out the window when his lifted his eyes from his laptop screen and saw the same Olivia Benson he'd fallen for that blustery February 2013 afternoon.
He didn't need a rehearsal for the three words that'd lingered on the tip of his tongue since she'd unexpectedly walked through the doors of this coffee shop five minutes ago.
"I've missed you."
A melange of emotion danced through Olivia's eyes - surprise, relief, joy - but all that lingered was hope.
"I've missed you, too."
And with one final, buoyant smile, she slipped out the door with a new spring in her step.
Olivia inserted her key into the ignition, the sparks she'd doused that day at the mall bursting back to life in time with the roar of her engine, and she reached for her cell phone in her pocket to find a notification on her screen.
Nice seeing you again, Liv.
She couldn't see him through the blinds lining the glass windows, but could have sworn that she felt him beam back at her, and the fire in her she'd thought she'd extinguished for good that July 2 night swelled back to life.
She liked this kind of heat.
"Thank God that's over," Amanda sighed as she dabbed at the beads of sweat that had formed on her forehead, only to be pelted by the harsh midday sun as they emerged at the top of the courthouse steps after an early trial start.
"I could use some lunch," Nick declared. "Any suggestions?"
"Somewhere with air-conditioning, please. Fin, you up?"
"Sure," he replied distractedly, his attention diverted by the well-dressed woman who was marching towards him.
For a split second Fin assumed that it was a case of mistaken identity - since when did he and Rita talk in public? - but those Louboutin-clad footsteps were unmistakable, as with her surly expression. Shit, he muttered under his breath. as he ran his thumb over the cell phone in his pocket he hadn't touched all morning, which he now was sure was flooded with notifications from her.
"Is that Rita Calhoun?" Nick asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Detective Tutuola, a minute?" Rita asked, expression calm and no-nonsense like always, although a sense of urgency brimmed in her tone.
"You can go ahead without me," Fin quickly said to Nick and Amanda, and followed Rita back up the stairs without waiting for a response. He'd deal with the nosy detectives later - especially when it was clear that something was wrong.
"Fin and Rita Calhoun?" an astonished Amanda asked as they walked the unlikely duo head back up the courthouse steps.
"This is news to me," Nick muttered, although that was a lie. He still remembered the text he'd seen on Fin's phone, first name and all, and the sight of him walking so close to the prickly defence attorney only piqued his interest more.
"Think they've got something going on?" Amanda chuckled, seemingly impervious to Nick's perturbed reaction.
"Well, who knows with Fin, right?" he shrugged. "I don't think he's joining us - let's head off and grab a bite."
"You have a point," Amanda laughed as she twirled her car keys in her hand. "We'll grill them about it later."
Still, Nick couldn't help but turn back to sneak a final glance at the unlikely duo as they disappeared through the brass doors, and for a second he could have sworn that Fin's hand was hovering extremely close to the small of her back…
Maybe the something going on between them he'd caught a glimpse of on Fin's phone screen was of the romantic variety, and he'd given Fin the evil eye the last few weeks over nothing.
However, romance was the last thing on Fin's mind as Rita pulled him into an empty meeting room and locked the door behind her.
"Rita, what's up? It couldn't wait until this evening?" he finally asked.
He watched as Rita scanned their surroundings one last time before dipping her voice to a grave, desperate whisper. "When Olivia calls you from that burner phone - do you have a number you can call her back with?"
His eyes shot open. This had to be serious.
He nodded silently, to which Rita heaved a small sigh of relief - although worry was still written all over her face. "What happened?"
"We're going to need that number."
