Rafael was starting to realise that much of his and Olivia's relationship existed in words unspoken: knowing looks exchanged over coffee cups, casual brushes against the other, silence filled only by their breaths falling in time - just like the silence that enveloped them as the setting sun bathed the highway in strokes of gold.

Once upon a time, the weight of words unspoken had been crushing - trapped emotions simmering until they exploded; poison silently seeping into the brittle ground they stood on. But not today, as Olivia navigated the two hundred miles back to D.C., the peace that had settled over them painfully out of place on a road trip as perilous as this one had been. The iron grip with which she'd gripped the steering wheel that morning had all but disappeared, along with the aggressive way she'd stomped on the gas pedal in a relentless battle against time and distance.

Maybe they were even relaxed.

Was that even possible on a day like this? He bit back the urge to chuckle.

Olivia had spent the first hour of the drive checking her mirrors almost obsessively, eyes peeled for even the slightest signs of danger - vehicles following a touch too closely; side streets that made tantalising shortcuts out of the New York metropolitan area but proved too ominous for her to turn onto. Only when they finally made it back onto the Interstate and were confident that they'd successfully removed themselves from the danger zone did she allow herself a quiet sigh of relief, and Rafael had felt the tension that blanketed them finally mellow into the restful silence they now were enjoying.

It certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting a little over twelve hours ago when they'd set off from Bethesda clad in the most nondescript clothing they owned, with nothing but the burner cell, a wad of cash stuffed into the pocket of Olivia's jeans, and all caution to the wind thrown. He hadn't even considered the melancholy he'd expected to feel watching the Manhattan skyline fade into the distance as they departed for D.C., because he simply hadn't dared to presume that they'd embark on this return trip.

But they had done just that, and he was shocked to realise that what he was feeling wasn't melancholy, but contentment.

Rafael had spent countless hours in solitude over the past couple of months imagining himself returning to New York: breathing in the city air, feeling his feet on the pavement, and blending right back into the streams of people - his people - pouring into the subway entrance outside 60 Centre Street. And as they exited the Holland Tunnel that morning he almost feared stepping out of Fin's rented sedan onto First Avenue and just knowing that he could never leave New York behind again, because he'd never find the strength to tear himself away from the streets that had made him.

But he didn't fight tears when Fin came to a stop at their drop-off point in Jersey hours later and Rafael caught a final glimpse at Manhattan before getting back into their parked rental; neither did he feel a lump form in his throat when Olivia asked if he was ready for the four-hour drive home. A couple of months ago he would have baulked at that question - that Olivia would dare to call Maryland "home - but he didn't flinch, because he knew this time that he had the strength to tear himself away from the neon lights across the water.

Because "home" was more than the new apartment he'd poured hours into furnishing but never matched up to Park Avenue, or the arduously slow job search, or the fish-out-of-water feeling that still hit him every once in a while when he realised that he'd spent more time in malls in the last few months alone than his entire lifetime. Home was the part of Rafael Barba who still lived in him, and the person next to him who held the key to half his being.

Rafael looked at Olivia and all he saw was New York.

This time, however, he saw warmth and familiarity in those brown eyes, not the alienation and estrangement he had two months ago. He looked into brown eyes that cut through concocted backstories and aliases and Rafael Marquez to remind him that he would always be Rafael Barba.

He'd promised his abuelita and mother that he'd do them proud. Forge ahead and take the challenges in his stride, because the Rafael Barba who'd left New York in April wasn't dead.

And as he stole another glance at Olivia out of the corner of his eye, taking in the way the final embers of sunlight bounced off her hair, a powerful wave of resolve washed over him.

He couldn't be the one to drag Olivia - or himself - down anymore. He had to stop getting in his own way; putting walls up and fighting the urge to run from the unfamiliar.

Rafael Barba would never let himself do that.

"Here are the keys for the car we took out this morning."

Olivia had confidently declared that they would return the car tonight while standing in this room over twelve hours ago. Now they were back in the same fluorescent-lit office, staring at the same lackadaisical clerk who obviously wasn't enthused about yet another night shift, with all the nonchalance of a couple rounding up a day of mundane errands and not a covert return to the city streets that'd almost gotten them murdered not more than six months ago.

He bit back the urge to chuckle once more.

The listless young man wordlessly grabbed the keys that Olivia slid across the table and waved them off with a tired grunt, signalling the end of their day-long mission - one that had ended without bloodshed. They emerged into the stillness of the Bethesda night that now felt almost welcome in comparison to the deafeningly chaotic streets they'd driven through hours ago.

There were no bright lights lining the streets of this city; no rumble of subway cars under the sidewalk or sirens blaring in the distance, but Rafael was beginning to think that this city was just as much his home as New York was.

Maybe he didn't have to choose after all.

"Hey, we're here."

Rafael looked up to realise that they were at the base of his apartment building. He unbuckled his seat belt with a click that seemed to reverberate through the car, his movements suddenly tentative and hesitant; the hand that'd instinctively moved in the direction of the door handle simply refused to push it.

She hadn't turned off the engine or reversed into a parking space, and Rafael wondered whether to read those as signs that she wanted nothing more than for him to remove himself from her shotgun seat so she could finally see the walls of her own apartment again. Olivia had spent at least eight hours at the wheel that day; she'd waited patiently in the hospital hallway without a single word of complaint - a good night's uninterrupted sleep was perfectly deserved, and he couldn't possibly keep her from that.

But he also couldn't lie to himself, especially when the realisation that he desperately wanted her to stay the night had descended upon him with blinding clarity in the fifteen seconds between her stopping the car and him turning to look at her in the half-darkness.

Olivia had freed her hands from the steering wheel; her foot was off the gas. She was unflappable as always, the exhaustion of the day not yet settling in, and there was nary a hint of impatience in her expression - maybe there was a chance he wouldn't walk through his apartment door alone tonight. But why was he still trying so hard to read her; to decipher words unspoken and study every movement and predict Olivia? Weren't they long past the point of existing in these liminal spaces; dancing around elephants in the room of their own making? What was stopping him from just opening his mouth to ask her?

And so he did.

"Want to stay?"

Rafael was tempted to berate himself for the blunt, almost crude way that those three words sounded coming out of his mouth, but Olivia was the last person with whom he needed to worry, especially when her lips curled into a relieved smile as though she'd been agonising over that exact question herself.

(She had.)

He immediately followed suit.

It had been some time since Olivia had last stayed over at his place, excluding the night before, which both of them acknowledged had been more out of necessity than genuine desire (although they both also knew that the feelings weren't mutually exclusive). But that was no obstacle to them seamlessly falling back into the same routine they'd carved out back when Bethesda still felt like alien territory, as though they hadn't slept a day apart. Rafael and Olivia barely exchanged a word as they shed the outfits that now were covered in New York grime and stood side-by-side over his sink as affection and relief poured off Olivia in waves: that they both were alive, shoulders brushing in the safety of Rafael's tiny bathroom, like the Cold War they'd still been embroiled in less than a week ago had never happened.

When they'd talked about mending their relationship and starting on the right foot, he'd expected protracted discussions and painful exorcisms of trapped emotion, not for them to go from zero to sixty in less than a week. Talking over coffee, curling up on his couch, planning a museum trip - all those options were far more conventionally acceptable than "secret day trip to New York City". Perhaps it'd been a blessing in disguise all along.

And judging from the assured way Olivia slipped into bed next to him and immediately closed the distance between them, she felt the same.

It was no coincidence that his sheets felt far more comfortable and inviting than they'd been the night before, but Rafael fought the lure of slumber, even after he'd turned the lights down and settled into a relaxed position.

There was one thing he needed to get off his chest before he drifted into oblivion.

"Liv?" he whispered cautiously.

Had he waited too long to break the silence? Why had he hesitated the entire time they'd been standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of his bathroom mirror?

The soft rustle of fabric was his confirmation that she'd heard him. "Yeah?"

Better late than never, he told himself.

Rafael turned onto his side and made out her face in the darkness, her features lit only by the slivers of moonlight that filtered through the closed blinds.

"Thank you. For today."

He could have chosen so many more words than just those four, but somehow, it felt like enough.

Rafael swallowed heavily when all he was met with was silence, but when Olivia moved to close the last of the distance between them and nestled her body against his, the feeling of her warm skin on his was his response.

He fell asleep to their breaths falling in time.


The first thing that Rafael felt when his eyes fluttered open the next morning was cold.

He instinctively stretched an arm towards the other side of the bed, his mind still foggy after the manic pace at which the previous day had flown by, but his pulse accelerated when he felt only a mass of crumpled sheets and pillows next to him.

An almost unearthly silence filled the apartment - no tap creaking in the bathroom or footsteps in the kitchen - and Rafael was sure that Olivia had left.

Had he imagined the events of the day before? Driving back to New York, making it back to Bethesda unscathed, falling asleep with her warm breath against his ear and hair lightly grazing his collarbone? Was all this some fever dream he'd conjured in his anxiety about his abuelita? Rafael craned his neck towards the digital clock on his nightstand, its neon green digits proclaiming Sat next to his cell phone - the one he hadn't taken with him to New York.

And next to the small black box, the piece de resistance that proved without a shred of doubt that he'd been on Manhattan soil after four months away - the brown envelope that Rita had handed him in the stairwell, packed with tangible reminders of the person he'd once been (and still was).

They'd done it. They'd made it in and out of the city without a whisper; Rafael had squeezed his abuelita's hand and embraced his mother. All possible because of Olivia - who seemed to have disappeared without a trace from his apartment.

What reason did she have to stay, anyway? She'd already called in sick yesterday; skipped what would've been a calm and ordinary Friday to get him back to the city with omnipresent, unspeakable dangers hanging over them all day; she'd stayed the night because he'd broached the subject first. Olivia had done far too much for him, and he couldn't possibly expect her to stay, but he still couldn't swallow the disappointment he felt running his arm over the cold mattress where Olivia's body had laid just a few hours ago.

He frowned hearing the crinkle of paper under his palm, and immediately recognised Olivia's scratchy cursive on the small slip on the empty pillow next to him, even through bleary eyes.

Your fridge is empty, so I went to get breakfast for us. Will be back by 9.

-Liv

She hadn't left, after all.

He'd thought far too lowly of her. Rafael felt himself sink back into the mattress, his racing heartbeat slowing back to a languid crawl.

When had someone voluntarily left the house at an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning to buy breakfast for him? Of course Olivia had thought of that while he was still in the depths of slumber, residual exhaustion weighing down every single muscle in his body. He hadn't even done a minute of driving the whole day: not like Olivia had given him much of a choice, but that didn't make him immune to the guilt that stabbed him recalling how she'd deftly dodged every passing car on that frantic drive back into the city, even before the morning sun peeked through the windshield.

Fuck, they'd actually seen this plan through. The single most reckless thing they'd done together, far outstripping any sly legal or police manoeuvre they'd deployed in their previous lives. What had happened to the Olivia who'd roared at him not more than two months ago about him even daring to enter New Jersey?

But he was alive. She was alive. And he very much liked this Olivia.

The slip of paper still in his palm, Rafael stared at the ceiling for what felt like slow hours, silently relishing the fact that he was here, in Bethesda, alive, his mother's voice no longer a distant memory and the way he'd caressed his abuelita's hand lingering like a ghost on his skin. She wasn't out of the woods yet - Rita and Fin had promised to text the burner cell once they got an update - but the knowledge that he'd seen her one final time was enough to put most of his feverish anxiety to rest.

Your fridge is empty, so I went to get breakfast for us. Will be back by 9.

He must've stared at Olivia's scrawl for at least a solid minute, feeling the thoughtfulness of that simple note warming every bone in his body.

God, he didn't deserve Olivia, did he?

He drifted back into a comfortable slumber before he could reach the answer to that question.


"Rafael?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder rousing him from slumber and the mattress dip near the foot of the bed.

Olivia's voice, soft and cautious, echoed through the otherwise silent room. "Rafael?"

Rafael's eyes fluttered open to the late morning sun streaming through the blinds and Olivia perched on the edge of the bed by his feet, clothes changed and freshly-washed hair catching the light: light that made his eyes sting and made abundantly clear that he hadn't taken just a twenty-minute power nap.

"Shit, what time is it?" he grunted as he unsuccessfully craned his neck in the direction of his nightstand.

"It's just past 11," she pointed out calmly. "You were sound asleep when I got here and I didn't want to wake you. Did you see my note?"

"Shit," he cursed, his cheeks flushing a beet red from a combination of embarrassment and the sun warming his skin - Olivia must have opened the blinds. "I did. Must've fallen back asleep after that."

Rafael honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd risen this late - not even after a few drinks too many at Forlini's or one of those ADA pub nights he'd attended in Brooklyn could make him wake up at eleven am. God, had Olivia been waiting around in his living room this entire time? Had she really spent the better part of an idyllic Saturday morning getting breakfast for them and waiting around, in the aftermath of the elaborate plan that'd already consumed the entirety of the previous day?

But if Olivia was even the slightest bit fazed, she wasn't showing it - the exhaustion he'd caught glimpses of as she slid next to him in bed had all but disappeared overnight. "Don't worry about that. Anyway, I have good news," she beamed. "Fin called."

That was Rafael's impetus to spring out of bed despite the protests of his aching back and still-heavy-lidded eyes, and he felt the rest of the room gradually come into clarity. "There's an update?"

She nodded. "Yup. Your abuelita's going to make it, Rafael."

It took a few seconds for that sentence to sink in.

Your abuelita's going to make it.

Two nights ago he'd barely managed fitful slumber with all the worry consuming his mind, skin coated in a thin film of sweat and breath so shaky that his head spun with every inhale - and now that worry had been given permission to flee him entirely.

Your abuelita's going to make it.

"Dios," he murmured in shock. "I can't believe it."

"Your mother's convinced that she heard you. That she knew you'd made it to the hospital," Olivia smiled as her hand came to rest on top of Rafael's. "She's being kept for observation, but she's out of the woods now - she'll be discharged in a few days."

Barely 24 hours ago she'd been lying unconscious in that hospital bed, the beeping monitors lining the wall her last line of defence against the grave, but she'd pulled through, just like he'd begged of her. Catalina had to have heard him.

Rafael didn't believe in miracles, but he sure as heck had been on the receiving end of many of them in the last few months alone. All he could do was stare at Olivia in a stunned silence as sheer, unadulterated relief poured into him. The cloud of feverish anxiety that'd hung over the entire trip now felt like little more than a distant memory.

How were they so god damned fortunate to have everything fall into place; to be sitting in the safety of his bedroom knowing that this reckless endeavour had actually paid off?

How was he god damned fortunate to have everything fall into place; to have someone who'd put her own life on the line for him and still bothered to wait around while he shamelessly slept the morning away?

"Thank you, Liv," Rafael managed when he finally found his voice again. "You made all this happen."

It wasn't even an exaggeration. "All this…"

The events of the previous day flashed through his head once more - drinking in the Manhattan skyline, his mother's sobs of relief as she embraced him, Rita's serene smile in the hospital stairwell. Faces and places he never thought he'd look at again. "None of this would have happened without you."

She smiled and wordlessly squeezed his hand: her silent it's okay; an unmistakable and unconditional I've got you that came without a trace of hesitation.

(Maybe it was high time he started believing in miracles.)

"By the way…" she added casually, "I bought croissants this morning. Want one?"

Rafael's stomach growled loudly - they'd been so engrossed in driving back to D.C. that dinner was the last thing on their minds - to which Olivia laughed amusedly. "There's coffee, too."

"You're a lifesaver," he groaned. The last cup he'd consumed was the awful gas station blend from their quick stop just outside Delaware the morning before, and he couldn't wait to get his Cuban blend back into his system.

Lifesaver - it could be figurative or literal and it'd still apply. "Thanks, Liv," he repeated quietly, but just as reverently, as the last of his drowsiness and shock gave way to a placid contentment.

"I'm just glad you're in higher spirits today."

The way that remark slipped out of her mouth was disarmingly casual, but the weight of those words hung in the air all around them, as with the quiet pride that filled her tone as she said his name.

"Anyway, breakfast - or brunch - is ready when you want it." Olivia unhurriedly rose from her position on the edge of her bed and moved towards the door, her familiar and comforting smile dancing across her face as she looked in his direction once more, only to hesitate for a second as though lingering on one final thought.

He certainly didn't expect that final thought to be her leaning in and pressing her lips to his forehead, one hand gently cupping the back of his head and the other curled around his fingers, tenderness pouring into that brief caress.

It was one thing to feel his lips pressed to her forehead in the shaded darkness of his room just as they slipped into slumber, but another for that gesture to emerge into the light of day, and he was alive to her every movement - her breath brushing against his eyebrow, jeans scraping against his calf. "I'll be outside," she winked, and Rafael's gaze trailed her out of the room.

As he stood in his bathroom minutes later and splashed water on his face, the aroma of baked goods wafted through the air and he inhaled deeply, relishing the twofold joy of whatever currently resided in his oven and the fact that everything seemed to be falling into place: his abuelita out of the woods, his mother most certainly at greater ease after having seen him in the flesh, Olivia in his kitchen…

He'd become so accustomed to methodically running through every last thing he needed to get done as he scrubbed his face each morning, but that instinct had all but fled him this morning. Maybe all this was the undeniable sign that things really were looking up for him - even more than the ephemeral pockets of joy he'd savoured over the last few weeks.

The worst finally seemed to be behind him. Now, there were many better things to look forward to, and one of them was humming an Eagles song on the other side of the wall.


When Rafael emerged from the privacy of his bathroom a few minutes later and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot Olivia had brewed, it took him a few seconds to realise that she was thumbing through a book as she leaned against his kitchen counter - and that the book happened to be the yellowed copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude that Rita had extracted from the depths of her closet to gift to him.

"You were a really intense reader in college, Rafael," she remarked off-handedly before he could interject.

He froze momentarily, recalling that he'd scrawled his old initials on the inside cover in fountain pen - it was an artefact that the US Marshals would most definitely seize immediately if they laid eyes on it. "I know I'm not supposed to have that book, but Rita-"

"Relax, I don't have any issues with it. Hope you don't mind that I took a look."

"No, of course not. Look all you want." Rafael felt like he finally could exhale and perched himself on one of the stools opposite her, although he couldn't help but wonder what Olivia was making of his haphazard scribbles. Even he didn't want to look at them too closely.

"How did you even read the actual book when all the pages are covered with your notes?" she asked amusedly as she gestured at a particularly messy page.

"You'll have to ask my 21-year old self, because I don't know either," he chuckled, feeling the rest of the tension dissipate instantly. "I had so much of that book memorised back then. Used to read it to my abuelita when I visited her. Probably can bust out at least a few paragraphs now if you asked me to."

"But the real question I have is - what did you end up getting Rita for her birthday?"

Rafael frowned in confusion until Olivia extracted the small slip of paper he'd tucked between chapters - the one with his to-do list and "think about Rita's birthday gift" underlined three times in dark blue ink. "Oh - plenty of beer and burgers on me. But she borrowed enough of my exam notes that semester that those ended up being my real gifts to her," he smiled wistfully at the memory.

Olivia studied that note intently, as though it unlocked a part of Rafael she'd never known; in a way, it did. He'd shared enough about his childhood and college years that she had a rough idea of the outline of his life, but this was an insider look much more profoundly intimate. "You and Rita go way back, then."

"25 years, now - seven at Harvard. Even joined the DA's office together - until she sold out and switched sides, of course."

She smiled over the rim of her coffee cup. "It was nice of her to save the book for you. Glad you two had a chance to talk yesterday."

"I hope you weren't bored out of your mind waiting around in the hallway all day," he joked lightly, although there was plenty of truth to that statement. They'd been in Bellevue for what, six hours, separated from the city by a ride in an elevator they knew they couldn't catch? She hadn't even brought her phone with her.

"Not at all," she assured him. "Nick and Brian came by. And Fin was there the whole time, of course. Plenty of time to catch up, which was nice."

"How's everyone doing?" The only regret Rafael had was not exchanging at least a few pleasantries with either Amaro or Cassidy - he'd been so focused on his mother and abuelita that he almost hadn't noticed that the detectives had camped out outside to keep watch in shifts. Nick Amaro and Brian Cassidy working together on something without a single disturbance: had they all entered a parallel universe?

(Then again, it certainly felt like they had the day they'd first left New York.)

"I think SVU's doing fine without us." Olivia couldn't deny the small ripple of sadness that shot up her gullet as she said that, but having that assurance was still immensely comforting. "The squad's a little short-handed, and they had a terribly busy summer, but otherwise, it seems like everyone's doing well."

"Well enough that they all took sick days to help sneak us into the city," he remarked in awe. "I still can't believe you and Fin pulled that off on such short notice. You had, what, a single night to get this in order after he called you?"

"You know Fin. He just gets things done. It's the reason we haven't killed each other even after 15 years of working together," Olivia quipped, although her expression quickly turned serious. "Which reminds me…"

He frowned quizzically. "What?"

"The burner cell. I owe you an explanation," Olivia sighed deeply and put the book aside.

"I don't think you owe me-"

Her posture stiffened as she cut him off. "I drove out to West Virginia to get it when we weren't talking…"

Rafael swallowed the lump that rapidly formed in his throat when the subtext buried in that statement made itself clear. Olivia, driven to get a burner cell out of loneliness… that he'd caused in his attempt to wipe her from his life.

It didn't matter that the burner cell had eventually become a blessing in disguise; their one connection to their previous existences a few hundred miles away. That Nokia had come into existence because of him. His cheeks instantly flushed with guilt.

"Fin's the only person I've ever called on it. But I know it still isn't safe to have it… which is why I'll get rid of it if you want me to. Because someone still could trace it back to me - which means they could trace it to you too."

"You're much better qualified to make that call than me, Liv," he admitted. "The extent of my burner cell knowledge is what I've heard from expert witnesses or in warrants."

"But I can't make that decision alone. We both used this burner cell to get back to New York." Olivia fished the small plastic box, now powered down, from the pocket of her jeans, and placed it on the kitchen counter, right in between where they each stood.

Rafael agonised over that dilemma for a minute as he stared at the Nokia on the countertop, its deceptively simple form far more than just a harmless communication tool. Crush it under his heel and pretend it had never existed, effectively cutting them off from New York once more? Bury this dirty little secret in one of their bedroom closets and gradually forget that the decision could have fatal consequences?

"How about we keep the cell, but toss the SIM card? We'll drive out of the state and get another one," he suggested after a long pause, hoping that it would appease them both. Did that even make technological sense? He kicked himself for not listening harder at one of TARU's many seminars - but then again, when had owning a burner cell ever been a real possibility for him? (He wasn't that kind of lawyer).

"So you're saying that…"

"That I think we should hang onto this just in case something comes up again and we need to get in contact with Fin," he declared, feeling more decisive with each passing second. They both had a taste of the power of that compact plastic brick - and there was no going back from that.

He just hoped that it wouldn't sign their death warrants.

She chewed on his suggestion for a few moments. "Okay, we can do that."

"Then it's settled. And just for the record, Liv…"

Her uncertain look betrayed her trepidation. "Yeah?"

"I'm glad we had the burner cell. Everything that happened yesterday… We needed that cell to make it happen. And it was worth it - to me, at least."

He didn't miss her quiet sigh of relief. "I'm just glad you got to see everyone again. How's your mom doing?"

"She's hanging on. I think it was a good call to tell her about WITSEC - and Amaro must've done one heck of a job helping Rita break the news to her yesterday morning," he smirked. "Still good with the moms and abuelitas, like always."

"Fin's posted a couple of unis to her block for the next few days just to make sure that everything's fine, but it seems like we made it in and out of the city undetected."

"You know," he chimed in contemplatively between sips of coffee, "I thought I'd see New York again and never want to leave, but I'm actually fine with it."

She didn't interrupt him. "Just being able to see everyone again and know that they're getting by - that was more than I'd ever expected to have. And… it was nice not having to make that lonely drive back to D.C. alone."

His emerald eyes met hers as he looked up from his mug with a knowing smile, and Olivia felt her pulse accelerate with a feeling she was absolutely sure wasn't just leftover anxiety from glancing in the rear-view mirror every few seconds as they left New Jersey.

She knew that feeling, because she'd felt it too while cruising southbound on the I-95 as the sun dipped under the horizon and gave way to an almost eerily still night. Life without them had gone on in Manhattan, but why pine for a slice of that when she - they - had a good one here?

She'd spent copious amounts of time convincing herself that life here was good; that she had a job and apartment and could take well to the… normalcy of suburban America, away from the chaos that awaited her at every turn on a New York City sidewalk. And persuasion had been powerful, but never enough - at least not in comparison to the feeling that life was good.

I'm glad you're here too, she wanted to say. Or some variation of thank goodness we were relocated together, but nothing seemed adequate to dignify just how much they'd weathered in the last five months - and so she finally closed the few feet that separated her from Rafael to rest her head on his shoulder, heaving a quiet sigh of contentment when his arm came to rest around her waist.

Yes, life was good.


Neither of them was particularly surprised when Olivia ended up staying at Rafael's apartment for the rest of the day.

She'd grabbed her laptop from her living room table on her way out of her apartment after making a quick stop for a shower and fresh set of clothes, with every intention to beach herself on his couch or at his desk to catch up on the work she'd missed the day before. But when Rafael joked that all he wanted to do was spend the rest of the day in bed, that was exactly what they ended up doing.

Olivia balanced her computer on a pillow and rested her arm against Rafael's side, their legs brushing under the covers while he alternated between multiple open Word documents and a plethora of Chrome tabs. She snuck the occasional glance at whatever he had open, and couldn't resist a relieved - and proud - smile whenever she saw something employment-related on his screen. Of course, she'd never doubted that he'd been serious when he'd told her at the coffee shop earlier that week that he'd started his job search proper, but having the evidence right in her line of sight was different, and the feeling of real change in the air proved an exciting prospect.

And that wasn't the only thing that felt like it'd changed that blissfully endless afternoon, when Rafael languidly ran his fingers through her hair or put an arm around her while she typed away at the terrifyingly long project proposal she'd put off by calling in sick at work the day before - both gestures that she'd become intimately familiar with and took her right back to the blissful first few weeks they'd had in this city, but also undeniably different.

Maybe it was the responsibility of their unexpected trip back to the Empire State that she'd been entrusted with finally being lifted from their shoulders, Olivia contemplated - the sheer relief she felt was taking its time to sink in. Yet even that felt manifestly inadequate as an explanation for the quiet confidence that emanated from him and poured into every touch. She shut her laptop for the evening and rested her head on Rafael's chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart and counting his slow, relaxed breaths.

Something in him had transformed that day, and Olivia had a feeling that she would find out what it was in due time.

"Hey, I was thinking of ordering dinner from the Vietnamese place. Interested?"

She lifted her eyes from the take-out menu that she'd been staring at to find Rafael closing the LinkedIn app on his phone, his mind a million miles away.

"Rafael." Olivia gently tapped his shoulder. "Penny for your thoughts?"

He shifted onto his side and closed the distance between them, the contemplative smile he'd been wearing all afternoon still painting his face. "Just thinking about everything that happened yesterday."

She tossed her phone onto one of the spare pillows. "Mmm?"

"I told my abuelita and mami I'd do them proud… and I think it's about time I do that," he declared with a quiet, but eager determination.

The corners of her lips curled into a knowing grin. "So, you're…"

"Yup. I think it's time for me to stop thinking about getting a job and finally commit to getting one."

The casual, confident way he'd proclaimed that almost concealed the enormity of its significance and just how long Olivia had waited to hear those words escape his lips. This was a reality she'd imagined three months ago: one that had never seemed to pan out despite both their best efforts. They'd exchanged poisonous barbs on the topic; let themselves become completely shattered by it. They'd spent the last week just starting to pick up the pieces, but only now did it feel like the ruins finally were clearing and unearthing much more solid ground.

"I always knew you had it in you."

It'd taken much longer than she'd expected for that belief to make itself clear to her, but she knew as she said it that her faith in him had never wavered - not even under the weight of an existential crisis, bitter Cold War, or a frantic and reckless journey back to the city where all this had begun.

Maybe it was precisely that frantic and reckless journey back to New York that'd re-earthed this Rafael. It had re-surfaced the pieces of Rafael Barba he so desperately sought - and Olivia had no doubt that the hurricane of emotion they'd experienced the day before had been completely worth it.

Rafael's fingers curled around Olivia's, not letting go even as she reached for her phone with her free hand and declared joyfully that tonight's pho would be on her, his heart brimming with nothing but relief and gratitude: relief that he'd finally made it to this day, and gratitude for the fact that Olivia had never left.

He wanted to make his mother and abuelita proud. But only now, their legs still tangled under the covers as they perused a menu on her phone screen and her mirthful laughter echoing all around them, was he reminded of how badly he had always wanted to make Olivia proud too.

And he finally knew just how to do that.


"Glad that the stomach flu didn't kill you, Fin," Amanda called out from across the squad room floor when she noticed Fin approach. "I don't know how both you and Amaro got it but I didn't."

Fin and Nick exchanged a very cursory but knowing glance that Amanda thankfully didn't notice. "Just thank your lucky stars that you didn't, Rollins, because no one deserves to spend their weekend puking their guts out," Fin retorted.

"Okay, I did not need that image in my head this early in the morning, but glad you're alright," she smiled.

"Stomach flu? I have a great home remedy for that. It's been in my family since-"

Fin's head whipped around in the direction of the unfamiliar, heavily-accented male voice, and traced it to the empty desk right opposite Nick's, where a man with impeccably gelled brown hair and a questionable-looking moustache was making himself comfortable.

"Who are you?" Fin frowned.

Cragen's voice boomed behind them on cue. "Fin, this is Detective Dominick Carisi. He's joining us from Queens SVU, and Staten Island and Brooklyn before that."

"Call me Sonny," Carisi leapt up from his chair and stretched out a hand.

Interesting nickname, Fin thought, and was that the heaviest Staten Island accent he'd ever heard? He'd half-expected some sombre pencil-pusher parachuted in by 1PP, not the unusually cheerful and spirited detective standing before him. But this guy seemed harmless and enthusiastic enough, and just the breath of fresh air everyone needed after an arduous and cheerless five months.

It was about time.

"Isn't this great?" Amanda chimed in with an uncanny enthusiasm honed after far too many late nights alone at her desk, wondering when their manpower shortage would finally come to an end. "End of our endless night shifts!"

"Careful not to jinx it, Rollins," Nick joked, although his relief was palpable - a sentiment that Fin couldn't help but echo.

"Amaro, I want you to show Carisi the ropes this week. Fin and Rollins, you'll be temporary partners…"

As Cragen continued his mini briefing, Fin fished his cell phone out of his pocket and smirked reading the message he'd just received.

Hey - we're still on for dinner tonight?

He didn't hesitate firing a reply under the table.

Of course. See you there at 7.

If someone had told him six months ago that he'd one day look forward to dinner with Rita Calhoun, he'd have balked, but here he was now, contemplating the most efficient way to get from the precinct to the West Village - and he didn't hate that one bit.

Fin took a moment to fully absorb his surroundings when he looked up from his phone - four detectives in this squad room, the knowing glances he exchanged with Nick, the exuberant "see you there!" on the screen of his phone, the knowledge at the back of his mind that Liv and Barba had safely made it back to wherever they'd come from. It was one heck of a combination, and the precinct felt nothing like it had just a few days ago.

Most tellingly, he caught a glimpse of the "In Memoriam - Sergeant Olivia Benson" sign next to the elevator lobby that once served as a sad reminder of that fateful April night, but it no longer made Fin's heart clench when it entered his line of sight.

Things finally were falling back into place.


"Have you ever been in love like that?"

The question had shocked Olivia, but not nearly as much as the person she'd heard it from - or the subtext that'd snuck its way into that sentence and knocked the wind out of her.

She couldn't possibly become friends with their new ADA, Olivia had hastily concluded after she'd first been introduced to Rafael Barba. He was the newest through the revolving door of ADAs who just couldn't seem to stick - Kim Greylek, Sherri West, Jo Marlowe, and a couple more she couldn't recall off-hand, all of whom had disappeared without a trace for greener pastures but were otherwise pleasant and inoffensive.

Rafael Barba, in contrast, happened to be the kind of Harvard-educated man endowed with an almost insufferable confidence and pompousness that did nothing to endear him to Olivia. Flamboyant three-piece suits, plethora of obscure literary references lost on anyone who hadn't spent their college years waxing lyrical about Chaucer, stunts so audacious that she was seriously starting to redefine her definition of "tactic" after over twenty years on the force (especially after watching him get choked with a belt in open court). There was a high chance that he was the smartest person in any room he walked into at any given moment, and he absolutely knew it.

A smug bastard. That was what Rafael Barba was.

A smug bastard who also happened to be terrifyingly good at his job.

On paper, they should have gotten along without a hitch. Rafael Barba eagerly jumped at the chance to prosecute near-impossible cases. He secured convictions. He was relentless in his case prep; laser-sharp and unflappable in court. He stood on the steps of 60 Centre Street after every major trial and fed the hordes of reporters poignant and incisive sound bites that Olivia could honestly find no fault with even though she rolled her eyes from a distance. She was even starting to think that he could give Alex Cabot and Casey Novak a run for their money.

But the heartfelt chats she'd shared with Alex and Casey over the years as they hunched over case files until 2am were nowhere to be found with Barba. Olivia had been quick to warm up to Alex and Casey back in the day - she'd shared many a drink with Alex at the Forlini's predecessor; played on the inter-bureau softball team with Casey to defend the honour of Sex Crimes (and even worn one of those iconic "Sex Crimes" jerseys). With Barba everything was business-like and coolly professional, their occasional arguments fuelled by nothing more than competing ideas of justice and shared desire to do their jobs. Their impeccable teamwork served only the cases they were fixated on, and perhaps things were better this way. What reason did she have to expend extra energy befriending an ADA who seemed to hail from a completely different world from her?

(Also, take-your-daughters-to-work day? What the fuck was that?)

After all, he seemed like exactly the kind to zealously protect his privacy. Rafael Barba struck her as a climber with grand visions of a corner office on the 8th floor or US Attorney's office - maybe even a political seat - who would stop at nothing to keep his reputation immaculate. Why get between the high-profile convictions he needed to get his name in the Times with insipid small talk and mundane chatter? Things were alright the way they were.

Olivia could live with keeping a polite distance from him - or so she thought.

They'd been walking on the lawn of Manor Hill Academy, under the shadow of the red brick administration building and imposing clock tower, the first time Olivia had ever heard him divulge something personal. Smart guy like you couldn't get a scholarship? she'd asked half-jokingly when he admitted that he'd have given anything to go here. Anyone as ruthlessly ambitious as him would have dreamed of it, and she was even a little shocked to find out he wasn't an alumnus of some fancy prep school.

But the pang of resentment that leaked into his voice and wistful look around the immaculate lawn when he explained that the only kids they took from my neighbourhood were the athletes suggested that his youthful ambition had been much more than about a stepping stone to Harvard. It looked a lot like vulnerability - and she immediately found herself questioning what she really knew of the seemingly untouchable ADA. Was he finally inviting her to talk about something that wasn't directly work-related? Had she profoundly misjudged him?

She didn't get an answer to either question that afternoon, because all his walls were back up ten seconds later. He was a prosecutor, not a healer, he proclaimed indignantly as he got into the car, the vulnerability she'd just gotten a glimpse of evaporating completely. And so she'd icily retorted that they had to stay on the case, ending their thirty-second digression, but caught him stealing a final glance at the building behind them as he slammed the door.

Olivia didn't quite know what to make of that exchange, and he didn't bring it up again on their drive downtown. The door had been opened, and she wondered what he'd have revealed to her if they'd continued that conversation. Who was he, really, behind this hard-hearted, unrelenting facade? But the opportunity to ask him about it never came, and so she put the matter to rest.

She learned Barba's habits over time, like any good co-worker would. She knew to find him at Forlini's to discuss a takedown of the unexpectedly formidable Minonna Efron, and grew to expect the little nods he cast in her - and only her - direction after every conviction, which were in equal parts a silent thank you and assured we did this. Olivia Benson and Rafael Barba made a formidable team, and they didn't need to be friends to make that happen, although her mind still occasionally wandered back to the brief exchange on the Manor Hill lawn and all the possibilities that the moment seemed to be charged with.

When they started bumping into each other at the coffee cart parked outside the courthouse enroute to meetings or court sessions, Olivia had thought nothing of their shared taste in caffeinated beverages until she showed up one morning and realised that he had already picked up a cup for her. One morning became two, and then many more, until she knew to expect her order already waiting for her when she made appearances downtown, although he shut down all her offers to pay him back with just a cursory nod before promptly getting back to business.

Often she found herself cradling those coffee cups in her palms for an inordinately long time, which was so unlike her. Why was she looking so much into the simple fact that Barba was consolidating their orders and carrying two cups instead of one at any given cups? Perhaps it was the novelty of it all; the quiet way this had worked itself into her routine. Or maybe it was his aggressive, distanced prosecutor persona finally giving way to something that vaguely resembled acquaintanceship - and the fact that she was the only detective on her squad he did this for.

She tried to not read too much into it. In any case, it was a thoughtful gesture that she wished she could repay. Their discussions had never quite meandered in the direction they'd taken at Manor Hill that afternoon, but the paper cups spoke volumes on their own.

Then that conversation happened.

Olivia had informally agreed to meet him at the coffee cart to grab a cup enroute to the precinct for a meeting that freezing winter's morning in February. The Micha Green case had been weighing heavily on everyone's minds over the past week, but the pit of dread that had formed in her stomach the instant she woke up that morning had been an especially painful reminder that Micha's safety wasn't guaranteed - and of course, it was the first thing he asked her about when they collected their drinks.

"She seemed solid?"

His footsteps were assertive and purposeful as always, but she instantly noticed how closely they were standing. Had to be an accident, she rationalised - it was an unusually cold morning and they were at the mercy of the bitterly cold wind.

"Solid. I mean, so far, so good, right?" she'd remarked with a resigned sigh, noticing again that he hadn't widened the distance between them, but she wasn't about to move away and make it glaringly obvious.

A pensive pause as he took a swig from his cup, and then that question.

"Have you ever been in love like that?"

Olivia hadn't missed the way he looked directly at her as he said it, his footsteps slowing just enough for her to notice. His business-like tone gave way to a tenderness that felt foreign, even alienating, and not only because it was the furthest thing from the courtroom tone he used so well. It didn't even feel like superficial small talk; Rafael sounded like he meant that question.

The case. He had to be asking about the case, because that was the only line of questioning she'd ever received from him - so why was she getting the distinct feeling that he really was asking about something else?

Her first move was to stay focused on the case they'd just been discussing. "Like the guy kills somebody in front of me, but he sends me flowers so I let it slide…? That's not love, that's brainwashing," she declared bluntly.

The case. He had to be asking about the case, right? The case that they were going to discuss in the precinct within the next hour?

"Yeah, I know, but…" he sighed wistfully, "she thinks she's in love."

Now they were back on the right track. This was the Rafael Barba she'd come to know; the one so intensely passionate about discussing the case at hand.

Except that it was proving impossible for her to ignore that sigh, which was imbued with emotion she couldn't even decipher, although it felt an awful lot like a much-delayed sequel to that Manor Hill conversation. What was he getting at?

Was it even her concern, anyway?

"Eleventh grade. Lauren Sullivan."

She had her answer.

An amused half-smile was all she could muster in the moment when he turned to look directly at her, his emerald green eyes alive with nostalgia and the same tenderness that'd bled into his voice earlier. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen his eyes look this warm and inviting; his body language this unguarded. Was Rafael Barba opening up to her?

She was so stunned that words eluded her, but didn't have to prompt him to continue. "She could have massacred my entire family; I would have looked the other way." A dry, self-deprecating chuckle escaped his throat, but there was nothing but earnestness in that statement - and Olivia was becoming increasingly certain that he wasn't really thinking about the case anymore.

For a moment Olivia couldn't focus on the lurid details of their case; she couldn't even imagine what this Lauren Sullivan was like, casting such a powerful spell over 17-year old Rafael Barba that he'd felt compelled to bring it up. With her. That was all she could focus on, because it was so unfamiliar to her ears that she hoped her shock hadn't been written all over her face earlier. He'd meant every word, and chosen to share that snippet with her. She quickly collected herself enough to continue the conversation, but that exchange had lingered in her mind for hours, even days after.

The question had shocked her, but not nearly as much as the person she'd heard it from - or how effortlessly that admission slipped out of his mouth that morning, vulnerability peeking through like he was talking to an old friend, all while she drank coffee that he bought and paid for without her even asking. It was an exchange that told her, I trust you; embedded in those lines was the unambiguous assertion that they weren't just co-workers anymore, but friends.

And that prospect didn't perturb her nearly as much as it had just a few months ago.

Have you ever been in love like that?

That was the day she truly learned what it meant to be surprised by Rafael Barba.

"… Liv?"

She jolted in her seat and the room came back into clarity - beige leather couch, aroma of coffee in the air, Rafael standing at the edge of her kitchen counter and looking on with an amused smile. Not a New York winter. Late summer. Bethesda.

His laughter filled her ears. "You've been staring into space for the last minute. Don't you need to get to work?"

Work. He was right. The digital clock on the credenza was a silent call to action.

"Is the coffee okay?"

Olivia stared at the mug she was holding and shifted uncomfortably in her seat realising how uncannily familiar this felt. There was no coffee cart or downtown stroll that morning, but he'd shown up at her door that morning and had a cup waiting for her by the time she emerged from the shower, her usual order exactly right and even cooled to a drinkable temperature, just like the old days.

She wondered if he'd set this up on purpose; this walk down memory lane.

"Of course it is," Olivia replied gratefully. "Definitely beats the morning line at the coffee shop."

Rafael casually slid a filled travel mug across the counter. "Take this. You'll be set for the rest of the day. And you'd better get going now."

"Oh God, I should," she exclaimed when she looked at the clock once more. "Thanks for the coffee."

She would have grabbed her keys and headed out the door immediately if those words didn't feel so manifestly inadequate for such a kind gesture.

It was as though a spell came over her when she leaned in and kissed him on the spot right where the corner of his lips met his cheek, lingering for just a second longer than she'd expected when her skin brushed against his stubble.

And then she rushed out the door with purse and keys in hand and one last affectionate smile, wondering if his lips were tingling with electricity just like hers were.

(They were.)

(They did for the rest of the day.)

Of course, she was thanking him for the morning coffee. But she also was thanking him for all the mornings by that coffee cart outside the courthouse; for trusting her that February morning as they strolled through the square, when she finally opened her heart to the possibility that she was more than just Rafael Barba's detective co-worker.

The metal travel mug felt heavy in her hands, and not just from the coffee. She took a whiff of it when she pulled up by a red light, and felt her memories of the Rafael Barba she'd walked alongside that February 2013 morning come alive once more.


Over time, Olivia had accepted that she'd been wrong when she'd told herself in those early months that she'd never be friends with Rafael Barba.

He'd thoroughly surprised her with his Lauren Sullivan story that morning. The door had finally been opened, she thought, and from there they finally started behaving like actual friends who were invested enough in the other's life to talk about things other than work. But he only continued to surprise her as the months went by.

The first time she saw him tear up on the courtroom floor was during the heated Jolene Castille trial, when tensions had flared up so much that it was as though the entire city had become ten degrees warmer overnight. He was widely known in the New York legal circles for his formidable closing arguments, but this one was even more deeply affecting, and when his gaze found hers in the gallery she gulped seeing his eyes mist. No, this wasn't just Ivy League oratory; it was far more than some slick speech he'd used his literary training to craft. She could feel every word and emotion cut right through her even from a distance, so unlike the highly stylised and well-rehearsed persona he usually defaulted to.

Olivia had always known that he'd cared enough to spend sleepless nights prepping witnesses or strategising for cross-examinations, even if his snarky courtroom persona sometimes reminded her of the slimy televangelists her mother watched fervently. But this trial showed a different kind of care: he'd finally allowed a modicum of genuine emotion that wasn't well-planned rhetoric to bleed into the courtroom.

She'd given him the space to decompress in solitude when she wandered into a deserted hallway after the media frenzy had died down and found him wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his thousand-dollar suit. Her heart had clenched witnessing him so distraught, but seeing him care this much only confirmed that Rafael Barba was more than the aloof, hard-hearted prosecutor he'd been when they first met, and she was even a little moved by that sight.

A couple of months later, she'd been surprised again when she learned that Rafael had once been a part of a childhood trio with Eddie Garcia and mayoral candidate Alex Munoz - both people of interest in an increasingly uncomfortable investigation - but wasn't particularly taken aback by his sudden request for a private sidebar at Forlini's, during which he'd finally waxed lyrical about his formative years in the South Bronx and told Olivia more about himself in one afternoon than in the year they'd known each other. It was only natural for a case this personal to get to him, she rationalised; but still, there was a side to him he seemed to save only for her, and being a recipient of so much trust was a responsibility she knew she couldn't take lightly.

His voice had cracked ever-so-slightly as he explained that they'd once been los tres muscateros de Jerome Avenue - the three musketeers of Jerome Avenue. The faraway look that crossed his face was burned into her memory after that afternoon, partially because it was deeply amusing to imagine that someone as serious and intense as he was actually had fun as a child - but in all seriousness, Olivia knew from the very fact that he'd invited only her to lunch that day that she'd been entrusted with this side to him - the sentimental, nostalgic one who still looked out for old friends.

Perhaps, she thought, she'd be fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of his grace and magnanimity one day - and so she remained taciturn about that sidebar even when Nick pressed her about it, and pretended not to notice when the two of them butted heads in the precinct elevator.

Anyway, she was more than fine with having this side of Rafael Barba all to herself.

But Rafael Barba didn't have a bleeding heart, either; he knew exactly how to put his walls back up when the situation called for them. Absolutely no one had been looking forward to the William Lewis trial - the one Olivia had dreaded so much that she'd thrown up on Brian's sweater and lost her appetite the morning of the first hearing. Focus on me, not him, Rafael had reminded her countless times during the preparation process - he had case files full of evidence that he'd repeatedly assured her spoke a thousand words on their own, and spent countless nights going over every possible underhanded manoeuvre in his head, devising a clear way around each until it felt like they had absolutely no chance of losing. Still, she had to hide her shaking legs as she approached the stand and caught sight of Lewis' devilish smirk from across the room.

I've got this, Rafael's confident stare assured her before she could sink further into her nerves.

He had to have winced examining the case files and going over Olivia's statement. He did all he could to maintain a strong front, but she hadn't missed the way his lips trembled or the way his fist clenched for just a second whenever they went over an especially painful memory during prep. But he'd never cracked, because he didn't have to ask her to know that she didn't want to be coddled or pitied. She needed him to stabilise her; to be that rock-solid and unflappable Rafael Barba she could count on while she re-lived the lurid details of her waking nightmare.

That was precisely what he did, often without even saying a word. He made his carefully planned questions look effortless; when he sensed that she was on the precipice of crumbling, that confident, assured stare returned until she collected herself enough to look William Lewis in the eye.

And when he got his hard-earned guilty verdict, the usual nod he cast from the seat next to her took on a new significance. It wasn't just the closeness with which they were sitting; it was just as much a proud you did this as it was a relieved we did this, even though she knew perfectly well that the stress of the trial had almost consumed him whole.

Then he and Olivia were back at work days later, throwing themselves into a new case, because that was the Rafael Barba she needed him to be - the one who didn't fuss over her in the way Nick and Fin inevitably did when she went back out into the field. He asked for her opinion, challenged her arguments, pressed her for more evidence - trusting her and helping her recover the humanity she so desperately needed to pick up the pieces and move on.

Somehow, Rafael had acquired the uncanny ability to read just what Olivia needed that day, sometimes far more accurately than Brian ever did, and the assurance that she could look in his direction and know that they were in sync never failed to make her heart stir a little. Had they really been little more than acquaintances just a year ago?

And that was the stability that she relished now, when she stepped into her apartment after an hour in bumper-to-bumper traffic out of central D.C. and felt a wave of comfort wash over her instantly. Rafael was just there, sitting by her kitchen counter and going over his resume on his laptop while the take-out he'd bought rested in the oven in anticipation of her return, and Olivia felt her heart clench in a way it never had before.

"Hey, you're back."

His eyes lit up when he heard her key turn in the lock. "Thought you'd want something horribly greasy today, so I got us a pizza from Matchbox."

Olivia's eyes shot open in surprise. She hadn't even given her mid-afternoon text to him - the one she'd fired off in between two particularly vexing meetings she'd been roped into - much thought, but he'd clearly been paying attention.

How did this man still find ways to surprise her? God damn, how did he always know exactly what she needed?

"God, yes," she groaned in relief. "Thank you so much."

He held out a firm hand to stop her right as she walked towards the oven. "I'll take care of it. I've been sitting in front of my computer all day."

She'd been to hell and back with Rafael Barba over the two years they'd known each other; they'd traded deep-seated insecurities and laid themselves bare. Heck, their jobs had revolved around them poring over gruesome and heart-wrenching cases late into the night.

So how was it that everything between them now just felt so easy?

She and Brian had never been able to exorcise the demons at their feet - him getting shot, the rape accusations and demotion to beat cop, and of course, the Lewis saga.

She and Rafael had just as many demons to exorcise. But she was starting to think that they could.

"Here you go," Rafael announced when he returned with the pizza box. "You can have the slice with the extra sausage."

Maybe they already had.


Olivia was starting to realise that much of her and Rafael's relationship existed in words unspoken: languid mornings spent soaking in every second of each other's company before she left for work, evenings in front of the TV with her head on his shoulder, being so in sync that he'd hand her the exact jar of pasta sauce she was seeking before she could look up from her shopping list.

They'd been making their way through Whole Foods at a snail's pace today. She was tempted to blame it on Rafael's insistence that they try every sample in the store, but that was only a convenient excuse for how distracted she had been since the morning, when she'd emerged from her bathroom to find a silent Rafael sitting on her couch, timing himself completing the Washington Post crossword. He'd folded the unwieldy sheet into the perfect size for writing - a mark of a seasoned pro - and borrowed one of the office pens she had lying around, working so intently on it that she didn't dare call his name and interrupt him.

Interrupting him was one concern, knowing how seriously he took his crosswords, but this sight conjured a memory so specific that her footsteps froze even before she'd closed her bedroom door behind her.

November, perhaps? She had been battling a migraine and never-ending caseload that day, and couldn't even remember what she and Brian had fought about that morning - maybe the coffee machine or bathroom sink? In any case, their little tiffs happened so often that all of them bled into one another by this point, and left her with zero patience for the detour she had to make to Rafael's office to collect a few case files he'd borrowed for another trial. I'll make this quick and get the hell out of here, she'd grumbled to herself all through the elevator ride and walk down the long corridor to his office, greeting Carmen with only a cursory nod and storming in without knocking.

The door flew open but he wasn't at his desk. Instead, he'd made himself comfortable on his sofa and was so engrossed in that day's New York Times crossword that he didn't notice her arrival. I need those case files, she was about to announce brusquely when Rafael didn't budge, but caught herself before she could.

It was mystifying how quickly she forgot about the cloud that hung over her head, and all because she was looking at Rafael Barba time himself doing a crossword. Why was she so envious of the way he could so effortlessly steal a minute for himself and throw himself into something he enjoyed even when cases piled up around them? Why was it so god damn captivating seeing him deep in thought like that, twirling his gold pen in his hand and hair tousled from how intently he was focusing on the grid?

"Liv, I didn't see you there."

He was up from his seat within seconds when he saw Olivia standing by the door, an apologetic grimace crossing his face. "I have the files you need. Sorry for making you come all the way here."

"Oh… it's fine." She'd been anything but fine two minutes ago, but pretended not to know the reason for her sudden change of heart. "Thanks for the files."

"Anytime. Need anything else from me?"

"No - no, I'm good," she stuttered. God damn it, this migraine was making her feel like an abject idiot. "Thanks again."

It would have been her cue to leave had he not taken a concerned step in her direction. "Hey, are you okay?"

That was more concern than Brian had shown her the entire day - heck, the exasperated "again?!" he'd exclaimed when she mentioned it over breakfast had probably made her head feel worse.

Olivia waved Rafael off as casually as she could. "Migraine. My head's hurting like hell. But I'll be fine."

"Want coffee? An aspirin? Of course, I have something stronger if you need it…"

It was a ridiculously Rafael Barba move to gesture teasingly in the direction of his half-opened bottle of scotch when she had a hurting head and three more cases to attend to back in the precinct that Olivia felt a laugh escape her throat - a laugh that he immediately echoed, enveloping them both until she momentarily forgot that she'd stormed here in a huff.

She paused for just a split-second to look directly at him and her knees grew weak.

The fall came even more quickly.

Olivia's head throbbed with every movement she made, but the question that flooded her mind cut through the pain.

Why was she looking at Rafael Barba and feeling desire?

The crossword, the scotch, that small show of concern - how had those three tiny things unleashed this torrent of feeling in her?

Was she just tired? Delirious from the migraine? Looking at her co-worker and friend and zooming on on every trait that Brian Cassidy, her boyfriend didn't have?

The pang of visceral guilt that slapped her brought her thoughts back into clarity.

No, Olivia couldn't entertain this train of thought; it didn't matter that all she and Brian had done lately was argue about the most inane things. She still loved Brian; still shared a bed with him - she couldn't let a few trivial and petty disagreements shake her faith. All she had to do was get over her irrational annoyance with him and remind herself repeatedly that Rafael was her co-worker and friend who had every right to be concerned. This was nothing special.

Rafael Barba couldn't possibly replace Brian Cassidy - and she wasn't about to open that door.

And so she buried every trace of the feelings that'd consumed her in that moment, because Olivia Benson wasn't the kind of person who dared to entertain the possibility that she had feelings for a person she wasn't falling asleep next to each night.

Olivia chose to block that afternoon from her memory, even when she'd parted ways with Brian and stumbled into Forlini's alone and home with Rafael Barba. She chose not to think about it when they fell into bed together, over and over again, because they'd never signed up to be anything more than friends. She was nursing a broken heart and her wires were crossed; he'd claimed to want something without strings attached. So, no, she couldn't let those buried feelings resurface, no matter how much they threatened to unearth themselves at the most inopportune of times.

She was brought back to the present by the clang of the glass jar against the bottom of her grocery cart. "That should be it for the pasta. I'll grab the bread - meet me at the check-out."

He clearly hadn't noticed the walk down memory lane she'd just taken. Rafael headed in the direction of the bakery section without another word as Olivia looked on, leaving her alone in the aisle with her half-filled cart watching him disappear around the corner with the same self-assured stride she'd grown to recognise.

It was no longer a question, but a statement of fact: she was looking at him and feeling desire.

Crosswords, silent courtroom looks, supermarket telepathy. She'd been to hell and back with Rafael Barba, but the little surprises always got the best of her.

They'd promised each other to take things slow this time; to find the stable footing they truly needed to start afresh. It was reasonable; logical. Why risk another wall between them, this time one that they'd never be able to scale? But "reasonable" or "logical" didn't always mean "best", and Olivia couldn't bury her feelings anymore.

Neither did she want to.


Olivia wouldn't have blamed Rafael if he'd forgotten about their planned outing to the National Gallery of Art: the one they'd planned a little over a couple of weeks ago, but had never materialised when their plans had taken them a few hundred miles out of the D.C. metropolitan area. But when he'd texted her Friday morning at work with the same link she'd found on Facebook with a simple, straightforward Still interested?, she'd agreed in a heartbeat, and realised that even the unforeseen delay hadn't dulled her anticipation.

She'd never been one for museums like these, if she had to admit that to herself. They felt much more like her mother's kind of pastime: roaming around the Met and rambling about Walter Pater or impressionism or one of those literary essayists on her more lucid days, and it'd been the reason Olivia had steered clear of the gargantuan 5th Avenue building for most of her adult life. However, the unassuming Facebook banner she'd almost scrolled past felt like a sign: one that matched up perfectly to the stack of coffee table books on Rafael's living room shelf, their glossy pages cataloguing a veritable array of paintings and photographs, and she was inclined to give him the chance to exorcise the ghosts of Serena Benson from her memories of art galleries.

And so Olivia met him outside her apartment building that morning, the floral wrap dress she'd worn on their first foray into D.C. all those months ago now replaced by more weather-appropriate and practical jeans and boots. It didn't stop him from looking at her just like he had that idyllic April day, his green eyes blazing with affection so intense that it almost physically hurt to look directly into them.

Yet there was a soothing tenderness to the way his hand naturally found hers as soon as he'd parked the car and brushed against the small of her back when they ascended the stairs at the front of the building. Olivia realised quickly that the building's imposing exterior was the only similarity it had with her tarnished memories of the Met. This was going to be different, she told herself as she allowed Rafael to lead her around the galleries, walking so closely that his arm grazed her side with every step.

It already was different.

"I could spend all day here," he sighed contentedly when they came to a pause in a room full of 16th century European sculptures, and Olivia couldn't help but agree even though only one of them had been bitten by the art history bug, because seeing him in his element came with a bigger rush than any ornate sculpture or rare painting could do for her.

She didn't talk much that day, but couldn't wipe her contented smile from her face.

Olivia had seen this side to Rafael in flashes in New York: the artwork he hung in his office, Carmen's emails about him being unavailable because he'd left 1 Hogan Place early to attend some exhibition opening or performance somewhere, the literary or art references he casually slipped into conversation like he was talking about last night's Modern Family or a classic episode of Seinfeld and not gesturing at the Ivy League education he'd received.

She'd seen more to this side of Rafael on their trips into D.C. together, when they'd vowed to conquer all the Smithsonian museums by the end of the year. Then their plans had gotten derailed - but today they'd been resurrected and were suddenly bursting with life again. All his fervour and intensity, now so close and visceral, were far more intoxicating than she ever imagined they would be.

Now they were standing so close that Olivia could almost feel her breath catch each time she looked down and was reminded that his hand had never once left hers since they'd entered the gallery that morning.

Brian had never been like this; this passionate. She had learned to settle for tired grunts while he watched a game and became accustomed to filling silences with mundane chatter as he sipped a beer and looked up sports news on his phone. Now she knew for sure that she never wanted to go back to that - and she probably would never be able to.

Olivia and Rafael meandered through corridor after corridor until they came to rest on a bench in the middle of a deserted gallery. She kept a cautious distance at first, seeing that his attention had been stolen by a massive painting directly facing them, until Rafael's eyes met hers with a knowing glance and beckoned for her to come closer.

She couldn't help but blush when his hand grazed the small of her back, and instinctively turned away to hide her reddened cheeks. She wasn't even standing, but could feel her knees tremble.

There was something markedly different about that look, its intentionality softened by affection and adoration. She'd become used to the way Rafael always seemed to look right through her, but today his greens felt even more alive and penetrating than they usually did, if that was even possible. Yet another one of those surprises that snuck up on her and knocked the wind out of her - and she had no more defences against them.

The epiphany came over her like a spell, but that was the only thing mythical about it.

She could never go back to the friends-with-benefits, will-they-won't they liminal space she and Rafael had occupied for months. She could never again try to convince herself that this relationship was one of mere convenience or circumstance, or that going slow was the only way forward. No, she was done with standing in her own way - or their way.

The sudden resolve that had been ignited in her was very much real and burning right through every inch of her skin, and there was no putting out a flame like that. She didn't want to.

And maybe she didn't need to.

Have you ever been in love like that?

Olivia could have sworn that she heard that question once more, this time without city traffic as their soundtrack. He hadn't been talking about the case that day, had he? Had he always had another person - who wasn't Lauren Sullivan - on his mind?

Had she ever been in love like that?

She snuck a furtive glance at the man sitting next to her, his arm draped protectively around her waist and gaze completely transfixed by the canvas he was studying.

Yes, she absolutely had.