note: all the poems interspersed throughout the chapter are by Pablo Neruda and translated into English by Donald D. Walsh, with the exception of Sonnet 17, where i use Mark Eisner's translation. the final scene interpolates lines from Neruda's Ode and Burgeonings and Christina Rossetti's I loved you first: but afterwards your love.
There was something different about Olivia that Rafael couldn't quite put a finger on.
The last two hours had flown by so seamlessly that it was as though he'd lost all sense of time - so focused had he been on admiring the art on the walls and relishing the quiet intimacy of Olivia's company as they snaked through each empty hallway, their footsteps falling in time. Occasionally he'd sneak a glance at her when they paused in front of a painting he remembered from his college History of Art seminars and their eyes would meet, and her eyes would light up realising that their glances weren't so secret after all. In other moments she'd lean into him as he scanned an object description on the wall and he would catch a whiff of the new perfume he spotted on her dresser the week before, equal parts comforting and tantalisingly new on her skin.
It was the kind of morning that he'd only be able to dream of back in New York - one without a text drawing his attention to a meeting later that afternoon or his internal clock shouting at him to get back to the office as soon as possible. It was also one that simply didn't exist in the scope of possibilities for his and Olivia's relationship, at least until they'd been uprooted. His Met membership back in the day had only ever come in handy for solo trips on quiet weekends or redeeming a complimentary ticket for a college friend who happened to be in town, and he was more than content with these trips remaining a private hobby. But here he was, with Olivia, of all people, and she hadn't even tried to shush him once when he got carried away remarking about an especially thought-provoking painting. Who would ever have guessed that they'd someday end up here, after their frosty and tense start two years ago? He certainly hadn't, but this was precisely the kind of effortless, laid-back morning that rejected over-analysis - it was him, and her, and he'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel this content and relaxed.
It was only when they settled on this bench on the second floor of the museum and he'd draped his arm around her waist that Rafael secretly worried that they'd hit a snag in the fabric - first the uncharacteristically shy, awkward way that Olivia's cheeks had flushed and she averted his gaze as his hand brushed against the small of her back, and then the way she tensed in his arms, as though something was dangling on the tip of her tongue but not yet finding release.
For a second he was compelled to free her from his embrace, yet she burrowed even closer to him - an unmistakable signal to him not to let go - and Rafael found himself in two minds about what to do next. The morning had given him no reason to worry, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something about Olivia had changed in the two minutes since they'd sat down, and he almost feared what it was.
He hesitated for half a minute before shattering the silence.
"Hey, are you alright?"
He intended for it to be a whisper, but that sentence echoed uncomfortably - threateningly, almost - in the deserted gallery.
"I'm fine," she smiled back, although it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Sure?" he pressed, as he regarded her expression carefully.
Olivia paused for a second and chewed on her lower lip, and Rafael felt like he couldn't breathe; why did his ability to read her always disappear when things came down to the wire? Was this even one of those moments, or was he fretting about absolutely nothing? It was taking plenty of willpower not to run over their morning one more time, in search of an elusive detail he'd perhaps missed that'd planted a seed of discomfort in her mind.
"Actually…" she started tentatively, with a nervousness that he hadn't seen all morning and made his pulse accelerate. "I…"
She never got around to finishing that sentence, but Rafael couldn't bring himself to care - not when her lips were crashing into his with an almost reckless abandon.
It was so unlike her yet utterly right, the way their lips connected like poetry and sent a shockwave coursing through him, the room around them fading into the recesses of his mind; how could he possibly focus on the paintings that hung on the walls, when all he could see was the riot of colour that'd exploded the second their lips grazed?
Did it matter that this wasn't their first kiss; that the first time their lips had brushed wasn't in this sun-lit gallery, but in the darkened hallway of her Upper West Side apartment with three glasses of scotch in their systems? Or that they'd kissed countless times since that first night, as their clothes fell to the floor in rumpled heaps and hands lustily roamed each other's bodies? Those were the furthest things from his mind now, because there was a newness to this kiss so subtle yet unmistakable - one that quietly but unreservedly announced just how different things between him and Olivia had become.
His lips still tingling where they first came into contact with hers as they pulled apart, Rafael watched the self-doubt that momentarily crossed Olivia's expression disappear completely when he pressed his forehead to hers with a giddy smile, still drunk on his euphoria. She remained ensconced in his protective embrace, this time much more assuredly, and there they stayed for what felt like slow hours, as though they were the only ones in that gallery, even as other visitors filed in and chatter swelled around them. They didn't pay those distractions any heed - not when they were luxuriating in each other's company and relishing how much they'd been through to finally get here.
They'd had their lives threatened, friends and family ripped from them, existences in New York erased. But they'd survived; they had survived, and Rafael was starting to think that they'd finally found the peace they'd been chasing since the morning they first emerged from behind the imposing walls of the federal compound into the Bethesda sunshine.
There was something different to Olivia that morning, but different was proving far more intoxicating than he'd ever expected it to be.
Rafael remained intoxicated all through that Saturday and for the rest of the weekend, and the high never left, even when Monday rolled around and he returned to the daily grind of LinkedIn tabs, job application portals, minute edits to his resume, and tackling what felt like an endless pile of cover letters. But even the most arduous of job search-related tasks seemed far more appealing than they had the week before, and he tackled them with a newfound and much-welcomed enthusiasm - so much so that he was starting to think that he actually stood a decent chance at least a couple of the jobs he was considering.
Nguyen hadn't taken long to pick up on how buoyant Rafael seemed at their Tuesday morning meeting, correctly guessing from the uncharacteristically cheerful way he greeted her and string of texts from Olivia that lit up his screen that they'd finally reconciled - so much that he had almost forgotten that all this had been set in motion by a very forbidden return to the Empire State that the marshals (thankfully) hadn't seemed to catch on to. But even if they had to bury every trace of that impromptu road trip outside the walls of their apartments, the electricity of that unexpected kiss was more than enough to make Rafael feel like he was walking on air, even if he was yet again reminded that he still had the toughest part of his job search to conquer (interviews) and just over two months until those generous monthly federal deposits into his bank account would cease.
Here he was, revelling in that high like a teenager on prom night when there were so many other pressing matters to attend to. But surely it was warranted after the hell he'd put himself and Olivia through? He'd denied himself happiness for so long that unabashedly basking in it felt profoundly foreign, but Rafael couldn't curb this rapturous wave of ecstasy and how easily it consumed him whole - he hadn't seen Olivia in three days now, but swore that he could still feel her lips pressed to his; her hand on his bicep.
"It's good to see you in higher spirits," Nguyen remarked with a relieved smile as she wrapped up what was possibly their shortest, most upbeat meeting yet. "I'm glad that you and Olivia are talking again."
"So am I," he replied casually, although there was nothing casual about the way his chest almost burst with contentment as he drove back to his apartment that afternoon, the taste of Olivia's lips lingering on his tongue no matter how many cups of coffee he downed while hunched over his laptop.
He didn't care how disgustingly cliche it sounded - Rafael felt like a brand new person after that Saturday. He could live out this cliche, especially when he had a strong feeling that it was going to last.
Olivia remained intoxicated all through that Sunday and for the rest of the weekend, and the high never left, even when Monday rolled around and she returned to the daily grind of fluorescent office lights, lengthy Word documents and three-hour meetings in freezing conference rooms.
Perhaps it was anticlimactic to crash back down to reality after the rash decision she'd made in that gallery, when her desire to kiss him had overcome her so suddenly that she'd thrown all caution to the wind and pressed her lips to his. But that kiss was very much a part of this reality now, and she hadn't even needed three glasses of scotch for liquid courage to bring it into existence. It'd been tentative; careful at first, when she leaned in and caught a whiff of his cologne and almost recoiled at how close she suddenly felt to him - then her lips grazed his stubble and she couldn't settle for careful.
She was past that; they were past that.
Upon reflection she still didn't quite know where that sudden burst of courage came from - perhaps a combination of the tranquil silence they were bathing in, memories of New York winters flashing through her head, and the protective way he held her that seemed to consume every last trace of fear she had. Or maybe she'd kissed him because a part of her was sure that he wanted it just as badly as she did, even though they hadn't exchanged a single word sitting side-by-side on that gallery bench - and she'd been proven right when his hand made its way into her hair and eyes sparkled with adoration when they finally pulled apart, his giddy smile so uncharacteristic of him but instantly made her heart burst in her chest.
It'd been far too long since she'd last taken a sip of scotch, but she could almost taste it on her lips again when those ten euphoric seconds flashed through her head between frantic typing and sips of stale office coffee, and made warmth circulate through her veins. She could stay a little drunk on that high, especially when she had the quiet assurance that that kiss was the first of many more.
CASE NOTES: PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL
Deputy US Marshal Michelle Nguyen
Olivia Davis (Benson)
September 2014
Since our last interview, Olivia has settled into her new full-time job as a programme coordinator at a local women's advocacy group/charity, which aligns closely with her areas of interest and previous experience. While the adjustment to a desk-bound job with markedly different responsibilities from her NYPD career came with its challenges, she has not reported any major work-related issues and is looking to continue in this position for the foreseeable future.
I was also informed that she has reconciled with Rafael in the last month, after their sudden falling out in July (refer to previous monthly reports for details). This development has had a positive impact on her morale, as Rafael and Olivia have been each other's primary support systems since arriving in Maryland in April; she described feeling more settled in Bethesda over the last few weeks. Overall, I am very pleased with the progress that Olivia has made in the last few months, and do not anticipate any further major challenges for her.
Rafael Marquez (Barba)
September 2014
[Note: Deputy US Marshal Edward Blake is on extended medical leave due to a back injury he sustained during a training exercise. I will continue to cover his duties.]
Rafael's adjustment to life in Bethesda has been rocky; however, he has made significant and surprising progress over the last few weeks. He was in much higher spirits during our last meeting than before, which can be attributed to his recent reconciliation with Olivia (see notes above). I was concerned about his lack of a support system and general reluctance to speak frankly about the challenges he was facing, but he and Olivia are determined to rebuild their relationship on stronger footing, which will be of significant help to both of them moving forward.
Furthermore, he has made unexpectedly quick progress in his job search, which he struggled greatly with earlier in the summer. He is considering positions in the education sector that make good use of the transferable skills he gleaned from practising law. I will update this file when he secures a job, which is likely to happen in the coming month.
Case Summary:
Mid-October marks 6 months since Olivia and Rafael's relocation to Bethesda. Both will soon be employed full-time and achieve financial independence in good time for the November federal funding cut-off date, with no major safety issues or threats reported. They have not re-established contact with anyone in New York, and our confidential informants in the ongoing sex trafficking investigation report that their whereabouts remain unknown to their assailants.
Overall, I am very satisfied with the progress they have made. The US Marshals' Office and WITSEC teams will continue to support and monitor them closely, but will also start to reduce the frequency of check-ins going forward unless they report any new major problems or potential safety concerns.
Rafael and Olivia's original plans for her mid-week afternoon off were far more ambitious than this. He'd suggested a jog in Great Falls to savour the last blushes of summer; she'd then proposed they then recoup all the calories burnt with Korean barbecue in Annandale, which he'd immediately agreed to after a long day of sending off applications, despite the restaurant being an hour's drive away in evening traffic. Why complain when that meant an hour with her in his car, listening to her off-key renditions of 80s hits?
But those plans promptly got thrown out the window when he opened his apartment door to her and their lips connected before either of them could manage as much as a quick "hi", Olivia moving into his embrace with ease - a familiarity with only months behind it, yet carried the peaceful comfort of years of intimacy. They didn't tear themselves from the doorway for what felt like slow hours, Rafael's hands making their way into her hair and her fingers curled around his biceps, her grip an unequivocal I want you that wordlessly fell in sync with the quiet, contented sigh he let slip past her ear.
Neither was particularly surprised when they finally pulled apart and realised that a jog down a dirt path was the last thing they wanted to do, and so they found themselves taking a leisurely drive down memory lane, past the immaculately-groomed lawns and front porch swings and basketball hoops on garage doors that once were emblems of an alienating new existence.
They were home now. By now they were far more open to entertaining that possibility, or perhaps they'd grown to accept it without even realising it.
"Thank God your driving's improved."
Rafael chortled at Olivia's remark as he effortlessly navigated a tight turn by a row of McMansions - the same turn he'd blundered just a few months ago when he'd reluctantly taken her car keys and clutched a steering wheel for the first time in years. "All thanks to my very demanding driving instructor."
"Her nagging must've paid off."
"I even heard she was an NYPD sergeant in a previous life."
"When you drive in New York traffic every single day, you're prepared for anything," she chuckled as she helped herself to his half-drunk cup of coffee in the holder, choosing to ignore his petulant sulk in the process. "Anyway, I'm glad you finally learned to use your turn signal."
"If my job interviews don't work out, I can add "Uber driver" to my list of potential jobs," Rafael joked, although the undercurrent of genuine worry in his voice peeked through nonetheless. He was learning the hard way just how ephemeral the relief that came with receiving an interview invitation in his email inbox was - far too quickly would his joy give way to mounting anxiety that his calendar app only rubbed in further.
As expected, Olivia picked up on his unease almost immediately - perhaps even before he did. "Hey, you're going to be fine," she assured him with a confidence he didn't know where she'd found. "You've spent so much time on your applications, and they're rock-solid."
"That's what I keep telling myself, but it's been twenty years since I last went for a job interview of any sort. I don't even think I was this nervous when I applied for my lateral transfer to Manhattan."
"But I can picture you being a great instructor. Didn't you almost choose academia all those years ago?" Professor Marquez had a ring to it, she thought - and Rafael seemed like the kind who was cut out for the labyrinthine bureaucracy and cut-throat politics in any college department (at the very least, he was far more cut out for the job than her mother, a tenured English professor, had ever been).
"I briefly entertained the possibility back in college, but never saw myself seriously applying for anything like this a few months ago," he admitted doubtfully. "Although it seems like a great job…"
"It is a great job. Flexible hours, great pay, you write well… and you have plenty of experience talking like a smartass in front of a crowd," she added with a sly grin.
His smirk didn't last long. "Jury members can't just get up and leave even if my voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Community college students, on the other hand, are a different crowd."
"I promise that your voice does not sound like nails on a chalkboard. Although I'd hold off on the suspenders if I were you. Have you seen what the kids write on Rate My Professor these days?"
"Hey, I thought you liked my suspenders," he retorted with an exaggerated pout.
(His cheeks flushed momentarily at a memory of her tugging on his suspenders as she undressed him that first night they spent together, but he didn't need to bring that up right now.)
"I just can't believe it's been six months since I last saw you in a suit." Olivia gestured at his jeans and linen shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows in a disarmingly casual way - a look she'd never associated with him before moving here, but had promptly become her default mental image of him without her even realising it. She didn't hate this change - in fact, she was quite enjoying this casual side to him - but still, it was a far cry from the battle armour he once cloaked himself in.
Her question came out abruptly. "Do you miss them?"
Rafael was visibly caught off-guard. "My suits?"
"Yeah."
"Well…" He found himself hesitating on that surprisingly weighty question. His suits had remained untouched since he'd arrived in Maryland, save for the one time he had a dry-cleaning service come by to pick them up for a thorough refresh before they accumulated any more dust. Still, he'd not actually worn them since that final (interrupted) dinner date in the city, and the thought of removing one from its dust bag was making him feel surprisingly ambivalent.
Sure, he'd always relished the confidence a suit of armour gave him, but did he need that nowadays when he hadn't met anymore nearly as slimy as the perps on trial or fellow defence attorneys? Did those suits, custom-tailored and regularly altered to effortlessly hang on his body, even fit anymore?
It was almost shocking how the wardrobe he'd spent a fortune on had become obsolete literally overnight - but strangely, the loss hadn't left as deep a wound as he'd expected.
"Sometimes I do miss them," Rafael finally explained after a long pause. "But it's not like I have an occasion for them nowadays. And I definitely don't miss getting up before 7 to get dressed for court."
Olivia's expression suddenly turned serious and he wondered if he'd inadvertently resurfaced a bad memory, although the relaxed way she leaned back in her seat and ran a hand through her ponytailed hair quickly assured him that it wasn't the case. "You know, every once in a while I still wake up at 7am and panic because I'm running late for the morning shift - and then I remember that I start work at 9.30 now and don't have to be up for another hour."
"My phone's been so quiet lately - I'd almost forgotten what it's like to sleep like a normal person and not expect 3am updates on a case. Even worse for you, probably." He glanced at his iPhone sitting silently in the cup holder; had he even received a single notification that afternoon that wasn't from the Bank of America app or the Washington Post? Probably not - and he'd gotten used to the new normal.
"Ugh, don't remind me," Olivia groaned, multiple actual bad memories of lugging her unshowered, exhausted self out of her apartment at 5am flooding her head. "I don't miss that at all."
Of course, Olivia could always count on her natural sense of urgency to fill her with adrenaline by the time she pulled up at whatever crime scene she'd been summoned to, but those bursts of energy had started to take far longer to kick in of late - the inevitable results of age and twenty years on the job. The uninterrupted nights of sleep she'd been getting over the past few months were a luxury in comparison, and the Olivia who'd rejected anything remotely resembling an office job her entire adulthood was becoming increasingly unrecognisable (and not just from the disappearance of the bags under her eyes).
It had taken her getting violently uprooted from everything familiar for her to learn that she didn't have to spend every waking second on the precipice of snapping from a sheer lack of rest. That was the only life she'd known from the time she'd first made detective, but now she finally was living out an alternative that she realised she actually liked - very much, in fact.
"You know, if all this hadn't happened, we'd still be doing that right now. But we're driving aimlessly around the neighbourhood at 3pm because we don't have anything else to do today," Rafael observed.
It came out half-jokingly, but the significance of that casual remark hung heavily over them - driving aimlessly, in the middle of the day? How ridiculous.
He stared out at the deserted suburban street he'd just turned onto, neat rows of townhouses glistening under an almost unnaturally blue sky and dashboard clock reading 3.08pm and Olivia sitting in the seat beside him in faded jeans with shoes kicked off, and he almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all - this Pleasant Valley Sunday suburban life that he'd never signed up for, actually feeling like something he wanted now?
But it was a suburban life with Olivia in it, and that made a world of difference.
"I don't hate that we're doing this," he added with a serene smile, as he snuck a glance at her helping herself to another sip of his coffee. "It's a change, definitely, but… it's nice."
"Oh, it definitely is nice."
It was nice, Olivia repeated to herself in her head. This was the kind of storybook childhood she'd wished for when Serena sent her to bed with an empty stomach and unwashed pyjamas; a world where lurking danger on the subway, the smell of vodka, and hard slaps across her face when she did as much as ask for her mother's attention were replaced by front porch swings and evening stops at the drive-through. Then she'd grown up and left that apartment in the Hudson University faculty housing block and made the city streets her own - but that childhood longing fought its burial the more she memorised the tree-decorated streets lining her Bethesda apartment building.
It was almost odd how the things in her life had fallen into place so effortlessly of late. Leaving New York for a fresh start after the single most difficult year of her life, miraculously chancing upon a job that still felt like her when the threat of unemployment reared its ugly head, Rafael…
It was a new life she'd never expected. It was also one with Rafael in it, she reminded herself as she snuck a glance at him over the rim of her mug of coffee, and that made a world of difference.
It was nice.
"If I do get this teaching job, you're going to have to teach me some of your best techniques for dealing with insubordination," Rafael interjected light-heartedly, jolting her from her reverie.
"You don't need advice from me. You always were a natural at insulting people in court… and outside of it, too."
Her cheeky smirk made his heart flutter. "I can't decide if that's a compliment or an insult, or if I want to know."
"You're going to be fine, Raf," she assured him again, the ease with which his pet name slipped out of her mouth taking them both by surprise. "You'll get that job and your students aren't going to drive you up the wall."
"I hope the school doesn't make me teach at 8.30am. It's quite a drive away."
"Don't worry, I'll drag you out of bed if you have to."
(Both pretended to ignore the admittedly tantalising implications of that statement.)
"Ah, the joys of employment," he remarked sarcastically, although the idea was starting to become increasingly appealing after months of languishing in his apartment.
"Well, you'll have to get up even earlier if you're the one making the coffee."
"Oh, speaking of which - remind me to pass you a bag of the Cuban blend to take home with you later. I have an extra."
"You really don't have to," she protested as she recalled the ludicrously large figure on the price tag he'd forgotten to peel off the back of one of his unopened packages.
He waved off her protest with a smile. "It's fine. Anyway, it'll be nice to wake up to good coffee when I'm at your place."
(Again, both pretended to ignore the implications of that statement.)
(But she very much appreciated his choice of words: when, not if, he next stayed over.)
They basked in the comfortable silence as the car came to a stop by a red light, and the rush of passing traffic on Rockville Pike filled her ears once more, signalling to them to choose their next destination before they embarked on yet another aimless lap around their neighbourhood. Olivia turned to him, intending to ask where they were headed next, only to find him already looking in her direction - to which her cheeks instantly turned pink.
She didn't quite know how to describe the expression on his face. If this had happened a year ago she would have flinched at the intensity with which his green eyes bore into her. In fact, they'd been one of the things she'd quickly noticed about Rafael when they first met: how he seemed to see right through her and cut through all her carefully built layers, even though every single spoken exchange they'd had up to that point was strictly professional. So much so that it sometimes physically hurt to lift her eyes and meet his gaze, because how could someone she'd just met look at her like he'd known her for a lifetime? How were those eyes so piercing, yet so steadying; why did they stir her that much?
Of course, she no longer had that same fear now. The strict, cordial professionalism of their relationship had thawed over time and then shattered irrevocably the night they fell into her bed, and so much had happened in the last six months alone that she could barely wrap her head around them. But his emerald eyes remained as piercing and passionate as they'd always been, those greens still commanding a power over her that made her feel so naked yet profoundly safe - only now they were laced with an even deeper affection that made Olivia's heart beat just a little faster.
"You have freckles, Liv."
She laughed amusedly at the randomness of his remark, which felt reminiscent of ADA Rafael Barba's keen eye for the most minute, seemingly irrelevant of details. "You just noticed? I've always had them."
"I know…" he admitted sheepishly, "but they're so much more distinctive now."
Olivia snuck a glance at herself in the rearview mirror, the harsh afternoon sun lighting every last inch of her makeup-free skin. She'd never been one for a full face of make-up - why bother when she'd sweat it all away while chasing a perp? - and less than half of her current workplace bothered with anything more than basic mascara and lipstick. And sure enough, there they were in the mirror: the freckles that she barely paid any attention to, especially in frigid New York winters, but Rafael had suddenly chosen to comment on.
"You don't like them?" she asked, her voice laced with doubt and still questioning the origin of his remark.
Rafael shot her a horrified look. "No - why would you think that? You look beautiful, Liv."
Ah, fuck. She was almost certain her heart skipped a beat when that sentence slipped out of his mouth, its effortlessness belying the sincerity in his expression, and it took her a second to process what she'd just heard.
She laughed as casually as she could, increasingly helpless against the unexpected tidal wave of emotion that was washing over her. "A compliment from you? Today is my lucky day."
Deflecting - that was what she did best when someone robbed the words from her mouth.
She couldn't deny it: those four words had hit her hard. God damn, she hadn't expected their leisurely drive around town to take this turn. The coffee cup she was still clutching trembled in her grip; she felt like she couldn't breathe.
What a sneaky bastard, slipping that into their conversation just like that. She'd come to learn over time that Rafael was as generous with compliments as he was with pointed barbs (and only with her), but it was one thing to catch a wordless, adoring look in his eyes from across the dinner table and another altogether to hear those words from his mouth, in the same cuttingly direct way that'd long been his signature. You look beautiful, Liv, without any pomp and circumstance - straightforward and frank and honest. None of the elaborate rhetoric or linguistic trickery he could deploy like it was second nature. Just him.
Truth be told, she'd been called beautiful countless times by boyfriends and suitors alike, maybe even the occasional perp (which made her skin crawl). Perhaps she'd desensitised herself to the effects of those words, having perfected the art of brushing off or deflecting even the most well-intentioned of compliments. Why revel in them when there was always another fire to fight somewhere, or another battle to mount that had little to nothing to do with the way her hair framed her face or clothes hugged her curves? Why get carried away when a small voice at the back of her head always reminded her to take every honeyed word with a pinch of salt? She couldn't possibly have her heartstrings tugged by every single person who uttered those words to her.
But this person - Rafael - was different.
She'd allowed herself to, and maybe even wanted to be floored by Rafael. The way he just looked at her, with no malice or caveats or reservations. She allowed herself to believe him; to let his words wash over her knowing that he meant them, because doing otherwise was a disservice to herself just as much as it would be to him. They'd spent the last few months tearing down the walls between them, and the last thing she wanted was to start building one again.
You look beautiful, Liv. Those four words were her undoing.
"Hey, I think I'm a lot more generous than you make me out to be," Rafael joked, pretending to be hurt, as though he hadn't just completely floored her with his earlier remark.
What a sneaky bastard, she thought to herself again, although his half-joking self-assessment also happened to be astoundingly true.
"Ha, we'll see about that," she retorted without skipping a beat, astonished at how quickly their conversation had gotten back on track. Ten seconds ago she'd been reeling; now laughter was escaping the back of her throat. The air in the car had seemed to settle without as much as a second thought - or maybe it was a shift only she had felt, judging by the relaxed way Rafael turned back onto Rockville Pike. But it'd been a shift that made warmth explode in her chest, especially when she glanced at him from the corner of her eye and she felt her lips curl into a smile almost unconsciously.
"Oh, I'll prove it to you," he declared confidently, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror.
The fact that this sneaky bastard also happened to be extremely competitive made Olivia chuckle, but there was intentionality behind that declaration - and that confident, determined look in his eyes - that struck her with another shockwave of electricity. I'll prove it to you - it was just as much playful banter as it was a challenge to himself that he absolutely would accomplish, and Olivia felt her insides warm again as his voice echoed through the car.
God damn, she hadn't expected their leisurely drive around town to take this turn.
Olivia leaned back in her seat contentedly and brought the cup of coffee to her lips, even its warmth and familiar aroma not nearly as potent as the warmth that percolated in the air between them as they cruised through Bethesda - his assured smile at her, their peals of laughter, the lightness and buoyancy of a new life they'd finally grown into after an uphill battle.
She snuck another glance at herself in the rearview mirror right as he reversed into a parking space at Barnes & Noble, and sure enough, there were her freckles, illuminated by the afternoon sun dancing across her skin and more distinctive than they'd been in years. Of course Rafael was bound to pick up on them, she realised as she trailed him into the store, being as sharp and observant as he was - but the very fact that he'd noticed still made her heart flutter.
She wanted to be floored by him.
She was floored by him, and there was no turning back, but she could handle this fall.
It was a strange and almost bizarre sight, yet felt eerily familiar.
Olivia watched Rafael unbutton his jacket with the same effortlessness he did when they settled by their usual table at Forlini's in another lifetime - carefully smoothing the sleeves, lightly brushing off any dust it'd accumulated in the Uber on the way to town, draping it over the back of the chair with the same care a mother would carry a newborn baby. Typical for someone as dramatic and vain as Rafael, she would have scoffed a year ago, but tonight she relished this sight. It was one that instantly transported her right back to a time before long chats over dinner had become the norm, when she and Rafael still were on the cusp of something excitingly more.
It hadn't even been a year since the last time she'd seen him do this, when he'd settled into his seat across the table from her at that Italian restaurant in Chelsea for what was soon to be their final meal in the city, but those days now felt like a distant, hazy memory. Back when Rafael Barba was a walking catalogue for Brooks Brothers and she honestly questioned if he ever wore the jeans she'd spotted in his closet; when she'd lost count of just how many different combinations of jackets and suspenders he'd worn in court. Then the last six months had happened and practically obliterated that version of Rafael from her memory, at least until tonight, in the candlelit dining room of a swanky D.C. restaurant that wouldn't feel out of place in Tribeca or Columbus Circle, their glasses full of wine and starched napkins laid across their laps.
It was a welcome change of scenery, indeed, especially when they finally had a reason to celebrate.
"I think a celebratory dinner is in order. On you, of course," Olivia had joked over the phone when Rafael called with the good news during a lunch break earlier that week, to which his melodious laughter had filled her ears.
"I haven't even gotten my first paycheck and you already want me to buy you dinner," he teased, and she could practically hear his smile.
"Hey, you deserve it - and I'm just seizing the opportunity before you lose all your weekday nights to grading papers."
He'd promptly let her get back to her overdue report and unfiled paperwork, but the reservation email he forwarded to her an hour later, bearing the name of a chic downtown restaurant, provided another welcome distraction. Olivia hadn't expected him to follow through so soon, and she certainly hadn't expected the night to feel like a do-over of that final night in Chelsea, this time as one without a gruesome ending.
None of the restaurants they'd visited in Bethesda ever justified a suit, but this special trip to D.C. certainly did; the night had barely started but the memories were returning in droves. Quick lunches between court sessions, obligatory post-trial dinners with the whole squad, which evolved over time into long, intimate nights perched by the bar, the two of them growing closer in ways that neither had ever expected. They'd since lost the jobs that'd been the foundation of their nights at Forlini's, but there was no reason that they couldn't relive those memories or make new ones, even without a case looming over them.
Olivia smoothed the fabric of the emerald dress she'd picked up on a quick trip to Saks after work, its silken bodice a dead ringer for the number she'd worn that fateful last night in the city, albeit without the metallic scent and crimson stain that'd soaked into it as she collapsed to the pavement. Perhaps this is deja vu, Rafael thought as he felt his breath catch for what had to be the tenth time that evening when he looked across the table at her, or maybe the plain and simple truth was that Olivia looked stunning, and he didn't want to tear his eyes away from her.
Luminescent. That was the right word to describe Olivia, her skin glowing even in the low light and brown eyes sparkling when she raised them to look at him. He was no stranger to his own attraction to her, but god damn, it was like seeing her in a brand new light all over again: this relaxed, carefree version of Olivia whose effervescent laughter made his heart soar, yet still very much the same Olivia he'd fallen for all those months ago, with her kind smile and unshakeable determination - who could also make his skin flush with desire.
It was like that night in Chelsea all over again; a rare chance at a do-over of an evening that'd ended in abject disaster. But even with stakes that seemed sky-high, Rafael had absolutely nothing to worry about. Why worry, when they were long past the awkward dance around their feelings for each other? Why catastrophize when their lives had already become far more intertwined than he'd ever expected them to be? The worst was finally behind them, and things could only go up from here.
Still, Rafael's entire body hummed with anxiety as he sipped his Cabernet, and his pulse only accelerated more when Olivia's bare knees grazed his under the table. There was something significant that he hadn't yet done, and it was as though the candlelit interior of this restaurant and his conscience were beckoning him to take that leap of faith.
They'd been browsing the linen section at Macy's the first time he thought about telling her that he loved her. He'd dragged her through probably half the stores in the mall as they bought fall-appropriate attire after a sweltering summer, but she'd been nothing but patient and accommodating the entire evening, even when he agonised over whether to buy a new bathroom mat that he didn't quite need. She'd made it a point to jokingly pick out the most heinous designs on the rack for him until the PA system played the closing announcement and they found themselves sprinting to the check-out counter with only half the things they'd come here to pick up.
The second time Rafael thought about telling her that he loved her, they'd settled into their usual booth seat at Founding Farmers, which had seamlessly worked its way back into their routine after an extended hiatus. They eschewed iced tea for piping hot coffee in light of the rain that pelted the glass windows, but the miserable weather hadn't dampened Olivia's laughter as she told him about a new sitcom about a fictional 99th precinct in Brooklyn that couldn't be further from what the NYPD actually did. The skies were overcast and dreary and the wind bitterly cold by late August standards, yet Olivia was every bit as radiant as she'd been the first time they'd been here in the spring, when the sunlight hit her face at just the right angle and Rafael was hopelessly distracted by her. It would have been the perfect opportunity to let those three words escape his lips, with the coffee and conversation warming them from their insides and plates of comfort food on the table more homely than they'd ever been - but then their server popped by their table to refill their coffee and check on them and he bit his tongue.
He kept seeing opportunities to tell her he loved her: driving into downtown D.C. to check another museum off their list, kissing her forehead right before they went to bed, in the line for take-out salads at Cava, all these quotidian moments teeming with possibility yet feeling like minefields of emotion. Those three words were bursting in his chest and hanging on the tip of his tongue, lying in wait for a moment that would dignify them. The expectant energy hung heavy and omnipresent in the air around him, silently taunting him into finding one elusive moment to let the words roll off his lips for the first time, but none of them ever seemed like enough - enough for Olivia, that was.
No, he couldn't tell her he loved her against the backdrop of a suburban grocery store or while stuck in bumper-to-bumper evening traffic while she hummed along to Black Velvet on the radio, because words of this gravity couldn't just slip out of his mouth in a moment of recklessness. The moment had to be scrupulously thought-out; as intentional and significant as the sentiment behind them. I'll know it when I see it, Rafael told himself each time he felt the words bubble to the surface. Surely he'd be able to find the final ounce of resolve he needed to look her in the eye and make that declaration when the time was right.
This was supposed to be a celebratory dinner for his most recent accomplishment, but all he could think about was what he hadn't yet accomplished - and how practically every detail in this restaurant was conveying to him that it was the perfect time to cross that hurdle. But was it, really? Rafael fidgeted with his left cufflink, grateful that the tablecloth obscured the nervous energy that only grew the longer they sat in this candlelit dining room, and allowed his eyes to wander around the room in search of a distraction - hushed, serious conversation all around them, the soft clinks of wine glasses, immaculately laundered tablecloths, the warm light of the twinkling candles giving an almost ethereal glow to Olivia's skin…
Of course he could count on his eyes wandering right back to her, because god, she was beautiful; maybe even more so than usual, with her ebullient, relaxed smile, hearty laughter from the Uber ride into town still reverberating in his ears, and the dress hugging her curves so effortlessly.
He'd chosen this restaurant solely based on the rave reviews of the food. At least that was the simplest explanation, because even he couldn't admit to himself that he'd lingered for a few extra minutes on each potential restaurant's website, mentally setting the scene for the task he had lying ahead of him. But even that mental theatre hadn't prepared him for how immediate this felt: the vicious war in his mind between the certainty of his feelings for her and the uncertainty of putting them into words, all while feeling his breath catch each time he raised his eyes to meet hers.
Rafael raised his glass to his lips and hastily took a sip in a futile attempt to swallow the lump in his throat, silently admonishing himself for being this unsure; for languishing in this liminal space even though the stage had been set for him. He knew Olivia: learned the cadences of her voice, read her expressions like he did a book, memorised the warmth of her rose petal-soft skin on his. How could he not know the woman who'd stolen his heart one frigid February morning over a year ago, and stolen his heart over and over again in the months since? How was it that he was sitting across from her right now, his heart about to burst in his chest with just a single look from her, yet he couldn't muster the courage to string I, love and you into a sentence?
Thank goodness Olivia was distracted by the extensive menu (the reviews were right - the food was exquisite) and soft Diana Ross piano covers in the background, because Rafael was distracted by just how overwhelming it suddenly felt to be sitting across from her - and the realisation that this was one of the few things about Olivia that he knew close to nothing about. When had Brian Cassidy told her he loved her for the first time? In the privacy of their apartment; or maybe a city sidewalk? Had she blushed and averted his gaze in the same way she always did when Rafael complimented her? Looked him in the eye and said it back? Abruptly changed the subject? How much did Rafael know about Olivia and Brian Cassidy's relationship anyway, and would any of that information even be remotely helpful in this reality?
Her voice pierced his stream of consciousness. "Do you know what you want to order?"
The casual way she asked him that question made it apparent that she didn't have the slightest clue about what was brewing in his mind, and he needed things to stay that way. The last thing Rafael wanted to do was scare her - to shatter that wall before she was ready for that leap of faith. The power those three innocuous words wielded terrified just as much as they excited him. They'd escape his lips, nothing but truthfully, but the fear that the truth simply wasn't enough continued to form a pit in his stomach as Olivia gave her order to their server.
Guarded, hesitant, cautious: those were the adjectives that characterised everything he knew about Olivia's love life. Had he done enough to tear those walls down?
They were certifiably a couple by now; in fact, they could check off all the cliches. The kind with clothes in each other's wardrobes and two sets of toothbrushes on both bathroom counters. Slow, languid evenings and frantic mornings punctuated by soft kisses and gentle caresses; a private world with inside jokes and anecdotes only they could retreat into. It'd been less than a year since their lips had first touched in the hallway of her apartment, and already they'd come further than he'd ever dared to imagine in a previous life, but now they were on the cusp of another level of intimacy.
Rafael forced himself to lift his eyes from the cufflink he'd been fidgeting with all this while and look - really look - at Olivia as he took another shaky sip of wine. God, she was beautiful -
how was he still holding back? Was tonight the night he'd finally gather his resolve and say-
"Raf."
The sheer terror in that single syllable brought his train of thought to a screeching halt and he promptly put down his glass.
"Don't turn around - but there's a man sitting by the window who's a carbon copy of Trevor Langan."
Rafael whipped his head around without a second thought, and sure enough, seated alone at a table overlooking the National Mall was the monstrously tall figure of Trevor Langan, a glass of wine in one hand and Blackberry in the other… and fuck, that was one unnerving sight. This wouldn't have been uncharacteristic at a swanky Tribeca restaurant or one of the wine bars near the courthouse after a trial - he ran into Trevor there almost every week - but in D.C., after six months of gradually forgetting the faces of the people he used to rub shoulders with on an almost-daily basis? This was a situation he didn't know how to - or simply couldn't - small talk his way out of.
Especially not when the monstrously tall man in question thought that Rafael Barba and Olivia Benson were dead.
"Hey, what happened to not attracting attention?" Olivia flinched when Trevor - that had to be him, right? - almost turned in their direction. "Is it really him?"
"Trevor spends plenty of time in D.C. when he's not in the middle of a trial, so I'm pretty sure it's him," he reasoned as he snuck another glance in Trevor's direction, all of his self-doubt from seconds ago redirected to the more immediate situation they had in front of them. Had the defence attorney already done a double-take seeing two ostensibly dead former colleagues on a date hundreds of miles from New York?
Olivia frowned quizzically, her voice still a cautious whisper. "Why when he's got a firm in New York?"
"He's from a family of politicians. Cecilia Langan…?"
"The senator?"
"She's his aunt. Wait - you didn't know?" he asked, visibly surprised, although he made a concerted effort to keep his head down and out of Trevor's line of sight.
"To be fair, I didn't spend seven years at Harvard with him. And we don't usually talk about ourselves when we're sitting on opposite sides of the table in the interrogation room."
"I'm surprised. You know, Trevor's always been very fond of you," Rafael smirked.
"I doubt it. He just happens to be one of the few defence attorneys I actually can have a civil conversation with."
"Oh, I'm sure he has a soft spot for you. Whenever we met, he always asked about you."
"Well, I hope it wasn't because he still holds our one terrible date against me."
Rafael's jaw dropped. "You went on a date with Trevor Langan?"
"Just once, years ago," Olivia admitted with a tinge of embarrassment. It was a date so cringe-worthy it'd been burned into her memory, and she was shocked that she could still look Trevor in the eye when they crossed paths at work.
"You have to be kidding me."
Rafael's unexpectedly strong reaction made her bristle, although she couldn't quite put a finger on why. "To be fair, it was a long time-"
"No, I don't mean it that way," he chuckled, his cheeks promptly turning a beet red and the tension immediately dissipating. "… Because I did too, once. Just after we graduated and moved back to the city."
"You have to be kidding me," she laughed incredulously. "You and Trevor couldn't be more different. There isn't a planet on which I could see that working out."
"I snuck out of his apartment in the middle of the night and didn't call him back for days because I couldn't fall asleep on his Muppets sheets… or with a row of Kermits staring at me from the shelf on the wall."
"I'm pretty sure he still has them," Olivia chortled as she resisted the urge to look in Trevor's direction. "The bedsheets and Kermits."
"No way."
"Oh, he does. I think we both dodged a bullet there."
He heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Anyway, I don't think things would ever have worked out between Trevor and me, especially with our height difference."
"Thank goodness I'm as tall as you, then."
"Don't remind me," Rafael reprimanded, although it was proving impossible for him to hide his smile. "Think Trevor's going to pass out if you go over and say hi?"
"Very funny, Raf; he thinks we're dead."
The latter statement came out so matter-of-factly that Rafael was caught off-guard by the absurdity of it all. He thinks we're dead; yet there they were, sitting less than fifty feet away from a person they both had an unusual connection to, in a new city, six months after they'd spotted his tall figure in the video feeds of their staged funerals.
Olivia's once-panicked expression had long been replaced by amusement at this point, and when their eyes met again they found themselves reduced to a fit of laughter - one that consumed them so much that their wine went untouched and they paid no heed to the way the face of the man at the table by the window turned pale at the sight. It was also one that consumed Rafael so much that he finally found it in him to put a pause to the ongoing war in his mind and allow himself to be distracted by her: her laugh, her eyes, her voice.
They stumbled into the cool night air two hours later with his hand on the small of her back, no screeching of tires against the asphalt or gunshots echoing through the air, and mirthful conversation giving way to a contented, peaceful silence. She leaned into him for warmth and support as they waited for their Uber, and Rafael took her in his arms and pressed his forehead to hers, the combination of Cabernet on her warm breath and their closeness doubly intoxicating.
The corners of her lips curled into a smile, and Rafael felt the air leave his lungs and the three words return to the tip of his tongue, but he engulfed them with a soft kiss to her lips, his contented sigh the closest he came to words - because what good would words do on a night like this? He'd looked at her in that dress, a spitting image of the night that'd gotten derailed, and finally kissed her in exactly the way he'd envisioned six months ago.
They'd gone through hell since then, but they were also here, right where they needed and wanted to be. Did it matter that they'd taken a few detours along the way? There was no expiration date for his love for Olivia Benson; Olivia Davis; his Olivia.
Those three words could wait. He was more than content living in the moment for just a little while longer, especially when her head came to rest on his shoulder and he felt the earth move under his feet.
My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.
(Your Laughter)
"Sorry again about the extra stop."
"You don't have to keep apologising, you know," Rafael assured Olivia as he pulled into the Best Buy parking lot, although her apologetic grimace had been etched into her expression all morning. "We're early, anyway," he added with a quick glance at his watch.
"I don't think I'll be more than ten minutes. I just need to grab the charger, and I'll meet you back here," she clarified when he backed into an empty lot.
"It's fine," he said for probably the third time since they'd left her apartment ten minutes ago. "I'll come with you."
"You don't have to do that."
"I'm serious, Liv - it's fine," he smiled back, effectively putting an end to Olivia's protests. "I'm not going to collapse from hunger before we get to brunch."
If Olivia had asked to make an unexpected stop en-route to one of their offices a year ago, he probably would've rolled his eyes and angrily questioned its necessity; maybe even offered to pay for his own Uber straight to 1 Hogan Place instead of accepting a free ride in her squad car. But there was no reason for annoyance now when the only things on their agenda for the day were brunch and a leisurely afternoon at the coffee shop. Sure, he could have chosen to stay in the car and continue thumbing through the anthology of poetry he'd decided on a whim to re-read over the past week, but something was compelling him to move from his seat, and so he found himself trailing her through the store in search of the Apple products.
Her footsteps were fast and purposeful, as though silently continuing to make up for the inconvenience she'd caused, and it was only when he gently took his hand in hers on the escalator that he could feel her relax a little - although it was his turn for his pulse to accelerate when she didn't let go.
Why did this feel like his high school prom all over again, when he'd finally mustered the courage to ask Lauren Sullivan to be his date and nearly passed out when she took his hand and led him to the dance floor? Of course, he was no stranger to physical touches, especially when they were the very foundation of why he and Olivia were standing side-by-side in this Best Buy in the first place. But the quiet confidence with which she held onto him, in full view of the strangers passing them in the aisles, felt profoundly different from wrapping his arms around her waist in his kitchen or her leaning into him on the couch. Neither was it anything like the quick caresses during Uber rides to his apartment from the precinct or even the occasional kiss they snuck on the sidewalk before they retreated into the privacy of Olivia's building lobby. No, this wasn't one of the flashes of torrid desire that used to come over them after they'd had one scotch too many.
That touch felt new; charged with possibility. It was wordless, but spoke volumes; also one that he could only imagine in his previous life, when the mere thought of filing disclosure paperwork was enough to derail a relationship or two (he'd certainly heard the Olivia and David Haden rumours back in the day). An ADA and detective walking hand in hand down a New York City sidewalk? He'd never hear the end of it if someone they worked with spotted them, but this wasn't New York, and they weren't an ADA and detective any longer. Nothing was stopping her from reaching for his hand, and neither was there a reason for him to pull away.
"It should be somewhere here…" she muttered as they stared down a veritable wall of chargers and cables three minutes later.
"Take your time."
Rafael knew that helping her look for the correct charger was going to speed up their detour by at least a minute, but that was the last thing on his mind, because Olivia was too god damn distracting for him to focus on the racks of white boxes in front of him. Perhaps it was the way she still hadn't let go of his hand, even as she scanned the racks for the exact charger she'd looked up on the Best Buy website in the car. That, or the lightness of the new perfume he'd grown to love - or that she was wearing a dress that she'd asked for his advice on at Ann Taylor all those months ago, that brought out the disarming sincerity and warmth in her brown eyes. Two years knowing her, yet she still commanded such power over him.
And just like that, the same war he'd battled in that D.C. restaurant two weekends ago stirred back to life.
This was probably the most unromantic place they'd been to all week - maybe even all month. The obnoxiously loud and cheesy 80s music that he couldn't make out clearly over the cacophony of chatter from the families in the next aisle, aggressive promoters and riot of light and music from the display TV sets a few feet away made an especially aggravating combination. How was it that half this suburb had descended upon the store this early on a Saturday morning? But he was helpless against the resolve that suddenly washed over him, urging him to finally let the three words escape his lips, and he had absolutely no clue why.
No, he immediately reproached himself.
No, he couldn't tell her he loved her while they were squeezing past the crowds gathered to snap up a discounted laptop or TV set, or battling the ambient racket, because something of that gravity couldn't just slip out of his mouth in such an unglamorous locale. It was the epitome of recklessness, and he was better than that. She deserved better than that.
But, a small voice in his head cut through the fog, why was he still waiting? Why fixate on a textbook perfect moment when he had all he wanted right now, in the middle of the Bethesda Best Buy? What reason did he have to keep obsessing over how he was going to say those words to her, when he could speak them into existence right now and finally come clean with the truth about his feelings for her, as she deserved?
Suddenly, he didn't have to think anymore.
This was easily the most unromantic place they'd been to all week, but never had his feelings been clearer.
They were in line for the checkout counter, his arm draped around her waist and lips pressed to her temple as she rummaged through her purse for her Visa, the background music blaring so loudly that she missed his sharp inhale of breath, but she absolutely didn't miss the four words that escaped his lips a second later.
"I love you, Liv."
Rafael's heart pounded furiously in his chest as emotion rippled through her eyes hearing those words: shock, surprise, scepticism. Disbelief - at first questioning if she'd heard them correctly, then questioning if he meant them. He didn't speak for what felt like slow hours, his every emotion hanging on Olivia's response, and he wondered if he'd made a mistake saying them here - or saying them at all. Surely he knew better than to catch her off guard like this; to take that leap knowing how fiercely she guarded her heart, in a suburban Best Buy, of all places, and-
Rafael's racing train of thought was halted by a decisive, fierce kiss that was like lightning to his core.
Olivia didn't speak either; she didn't have to. She pulled away and the doubt in her eyes had evaporated, replaced by a tenderness that made his knees go weak.
"Next in line, please!"
They jumped when the young woman standing behind them in line loudly cleared her throat and gestured at the end of the row of cashiers where an irate staff member was waving at them, and their first reaction was to burst into a fit of laughter - one that continued all through their walk back to the car and drive to Founding Farmers.
Was this what walking on air felt like? Rafael certainly felt that way when Olivia reached for his hand and rested her head on his shoulder while waiting to be seated for brunch, his agonising dilemma now a thing of the past. It was one thing to know that he loved Olivia Benson, but another to say those three words out loud to her, and it hardly mattered that they'd escaped his lips at a Best Buy, because her exhilarated smile had already been burned into his memory.
At first I did not see you: I did not know
that you were walking with me,
until your roots
pierced my chest,
joined the threads of my blood,
spoke through my mouth,
flourished with me.
Thus was your inadvertent presence,
invisible leaf or branch,
and suddenly my heart
was filled with fruits and sounds.
You occupied the house
that darkly awaited you
and then you lit the lamps.
(Epithalamium)
TO-DO LIST:
Replace broken mug
Collect new sweater from Nordstrom
Buy a new scarf and jeans
Finish project report by Wednesday morning
Make revisions to proposal by Thursday afternoon
Buy new phone charger
That was one thing crossed off her growing to-do list, Olivia thought as she stared at the blinking cursor on her phone screen. It was tempting to admonish herself for a thoroughly unproductive Saturday spent lounging around at the coffee shop with Rafael instead of removing her laptop from its bag or going about one of her many outstanding errands, but truthfully, she'd been far too distracted to accomplish anything else that day, and she hated herself for that.
Rafael had propped himself up on two pillows next to her, one hand holding open his anthology of poetry and the other tracing random patterns on her upper arm while he pored over the words on the page. He looked relaxed; in fact, he felt relaxed, Olivia realised when she rested against his side and his hand instinctively moved to play with her hair. He'd been visibly relaxed all through brunch and all afternoon, and Olivia had caught sight of an almost imperceptible, but nonetheless telling, smile glued to his face all day. She'd felt his jubilation in his touch when he'd squeezed her hand while waiting in line for coffee, and even his voice sounded more melodious than it already did. Rafael had been uncharacteristically jovial all day, to the extent that even his signature sarcastic quips and dry humour had taken a backseat.
Neither had to say it for the reason to be obvious. He'd been this way since he'd uttered those three earth-shattering words to her in the Best Buy check-out line. Olivia wanted nothing more than to radiate that same joy, but her smiles in his direction never quite reached her eyes, and she knew exactly the reason why.
Love Poetry: An Anthology. The words emblazoned on the worn cover of Rafael's paperback only served as a glaring reminder of what she hadn't said to him that day, as with the translation of Pablo Neruda's Sonnet 17 that he'd come to linger on, whether intentionally or not. It doesn't mean anything, she told herself - he'd been thumbing through his paperback for three days now, and definitely hadn't whipped it out just tonight. Surely English majors like Rafael treated poetry as an academic exercise: if Serena had taken those all poems on motherhood she taught to her grad students more seriously back in the day, she certainly wouldn't have been the mother she'd been to Olivia. Still, watching Rafael read out of the corner of her eye was more unnerving than it'd ever been.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride...
It doesn't mean anything, Olivia repeated to herself as she snuck another glance at the page, but she felt herself tense unconsciously. Why couldn't she shake the feeling that it was a message directed at her?
The initial high from their Best Buy detour had lasted a couple of hours. She happily rode it over brunch, where they ate their weight in comfort food and traded light-hearted college anecdotes (including her short-lived stint in a sorority), and throughout the short drive to the coffee shop, where they promptly ordered two cups and parked themselves at their usual corner table that Alison had kindly reserved for them to spend the rest of the afternoon. But it didn't take long for Olivia to crash from the high of Rafael's spontaneous confession and a new feeling to roll in: guilt.
There had been nothing technically wrong with her reaction to his admission. One might have even said it was the epitome of romantic, the way she was able to block out the chaos in the brightly-lit store and press her lips to his so unreservedly, as though it was second nature. Kissing him was second nature to her by this point, especially after nearly a year of staring down into his emerald eyes when she lay skin-to-skin with him.
There had been nothing technically wrong with her reaction, she'd unsuccessfully tried to convince herself all day long. Rafael deserved more than just second nature, and she knew it. She was holding something back. She'd kissed Rafael to drown out the war that'd started brewing in her mind.
Why hadn't she found it in her to say those words back to him? She resisted the urge to chew on her lower lip (Rafael would see through that in an instant and ask if she was alright, which she would not be able to cope with) as she mulled over the question, still clutching her phone in her hand but the words on the screen blurring into one murky mass. Brian Cassidy had never been one for "I love yous"; well, not until the day they broke up, at least, she recalled, swallowing a dry chuckle. And over time, she'd successfully convinced herself that she wasn't one for "I love yous" either - not when it'd been far easier to default to glasses of wine on the couch on slow, languid evenings and soft kisses goodnight to speak those words for her. Acts of service, quality time, physical touch… she'd taken the Love Languages quiz enough times during team-building camps over the years, so why castigate herself for being so uncomfortable around three words, when there were a million ways to convey just as much?
With Brian, she thought she'd say those words to him at least once. She'd lived with him; considered having his children, for God's sake. What else did she - they - have to do to shatter the invisible wall between them? But the opportunity never came - at least not until the day they were tearfully parting on that sidewalk opposite the entrance to the High Line, but by then, the chance for those words to really mean something or salvage their relationship had long passed.
Perhaps a part of her had accepted that this was the way things would always be. It was too easy for her to get burned by yet another man walking out the door (Elliot, David, Brian…), and the three words were far too intimate. Had a lifetime of relationships crashing and burning hardened her heart enough that baring her soul to her partners had become unthinkable? Had she inadvertently closed herself off from the possibility of uttering "I love you" to someone? Those three words, so enormous in their simplicity, simply felt too dangerous to touch.
"You okay?"
Olivia looked up at Rafael's concerned expression, his eyes shifting between her and the unfinished to-do list on her phone screen. "I'm fine," she replied in the most upbeat tone she could muster, and moved to rest her head on his chest on instinct, perhaps in an attempt to demonstrate that she was finer than she actually felt.
He wasn't entirely convinced by her response - after all, he knew her too well to ignore the flashes of self-doubt that she'd tried to bury since the afternoon. But he also knew her well enough to deduce that now wasn't the time to pursue a wholly truthful answer to his question, and dipped his head to press a quick kiss to her forehead before returning to his book.
I love you like this because I don't know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
Rafael loved her. Recalling the adoring yet authoritative way he'd said those words to her that morning, as though he'd never been surer of himself, sent a shiver down her spine.
Rafael loved her. Two years of exchanging looks everywhere from the courtroom to her bedroom, yet he still smiled at her like he was transfixed for the very first time.
Rafael loved her. She'd played many roles in her life; in her relationships. Daughter, detective, caretaker, guardian… but with Rafael she was just human. He looked at her and saw Olivia, plain and simple, with no labels or responsibilities behind her name. He saw her.
Olivia had been to hell and back with him. She'd been stripped down to her most vulnerable; her rawest, with Rafael. And she had allowed him to see her this way - he saw all of her, blemishes and brokenness and all. What other walls between them did they have left to shatter? There was just one.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tossed her phone onto the comforter, instead focussing on the steady beat of his heart against her ear and how far she and Rafael had come in the last few months. They clearly wanted to be in each other's company; they wanted each other, plain and simple. This was a real relationship, and not just one of convenience or torrid physical desire. It was real love.
They'd settled down in this suburb and were building brand new lives in Bethesda that seemed wholly incomplete without the other. God, their new reality truly defied imagination: if she were still a detective and he an ADA, they'd be in for one awkward meeting with Jack McCoy and 1PP if anyone found out that she was cosying up to Rafael on a Saturday night. But that parallel reality didn't exist: there were no disclosure memos, unexpected sightings, or jobs to worry about. This was reality now: Olivia and Rafael, her head resting on his chest, his hand in her hair and scent all over her skin.
The light was switched off and covers pulled over them, but the last thing Olivia had on her mind was sleep. The day had taken so much from her: her back ached from the hard wooden bench she'd sat on all afternoon, and her mind raced at a million miles an hour, fuelled by the onslaught of guilt that now plagued her. But she was alive to everything Rafael was: his five o'clock shadow outlining his jaw, quiet hum of a Frank Sinatra song they'd been listening to on the way home a few hours ago, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he absorbed the poetry he pored over, his body this close to hers as he reached over in the dark to envelop her in his embrace.
After their cataclysmic fight, they'd never again fallen back into bed with the same heat they once had. Getting burned again was a risk they still couldn't take, and so she'd become content with the soft kisses she fell asleep to instead of the fiery ones he'd once engulfed her lips with. Yet it didn't stop her from feeling helpless to the heat that came over her as she rested against his chest and inhaled the scent of his skin. When had her body ever lied to her? How could she continue to deny everything that her senses were screaming at her?
His warmth radiated right through her as she squeezed her eyes shut, and one thing became clear: she wanted him. But that desire wasn't the same fiery, torrid heat that'd first washed over her that winter night stumbling out of Forlini's. She wanted - no, needed - more.
"Liv?"
Olivia froze when Rafael's voice punctured the silence.
"You're so tense. Are you okay?" He reached for the switch and turned the lamp back on, revealing a concerned expression conveying that a cursory I'm fine wasn't going to satisfy him this time. God, he knew her too well; he knew, just from holding her in a darkened room, that something was weighing on her mind and on the precipice of spilling out.
"We need to talk about what happened at Best Buy today," she blurted out before she could catch herself.
Fuck, she was already off to a brilliant start. But the last thing she could think of was a more eloquent way to broach the subject, especially when there was something else even more pressing at hand.
Doubt immediately flashed through Rafael's eyes, and Olivia winced realising that it was doubt that she'd put there. A part of her knew that he wasn't expecting her to say those words back to him immediately - he absolutely wasn't the kind to push her, especially on matters of the heart, and it wasn't as though Olivia hadn't already given him ample evidence that her feelings for him ran just as deep. Surely that had to count for something?
At the same time, however, another part of her knew that not hearing them back left room for apprehension, and those signs were written all over his expression. He sighed quietly, albeit it was one of resignation and not annoyance, and Olivia felt his steady grip on her hands tremble ever-so-slightly despite the calm facade he maintained.
"Liv, you don't have to say anything you're not comfortable saying. It's fine."
His weary smile suggested that he'd already anticipated this exact scenario unfolding, and that shattered Olivia's heart.
She could take his assurance at face value, but that felt unspeakably cruel to him. He'd probably agonised over this for days - weeks, even - only for her to hold back. And she didn't even have a convincing explanation for why she was still holding back, especially when she could just about burst with how deeply she felt for him.
It was finally time for those words to unshackle themselves.
"No, Raf, I…"
Her voice trailed off, and for a second she could feel her resolve slipping, but she had to fight it. No, she couldn't leave him hanging again; and so she looked him squarely in the eye, took a deep breath, and-
"I love you."
The words came out unsteadily; the lump in her throat felt so oppressive and consuming that she feared it'd consumed her voice whole. It still didn't feel like enough - in fact, it felt like nowhere close to enough, judging from the way his hands twitched nervously in hers, the same way they always did when he was anxious or on edge.
But she had the power to remedy that.
"I love you, Rafael," she repeated, this time more bravely, as confidence seeped back into her, and she was absolutely sure that she'd made the right choice.
Olivia could see the wheels in his head turn as the enormity of what she'd just said settled around them. Disbelief, at first, as he questioned if he'd heard her correctly, and then another ripple of doubt, as though he was about to offer another you don't have to say anything you're not comfortable saying - but she tightened her grip on his hands, desperate to prove, somehow, the truthfulness behind every word.
"Liv, I…"
This time, it was his turn to press his lips to hers, relief and jubilation pouring into his touch, and Olivia felt her oppressive burden leave her shoulders immediately, never to return. He didn't need to complete that sentence; no words could possibly substitute the quiet euphoria that consumed them both as she pulled him closer and felt his hand in her hair.
Their kisses were soft and slow at first, each one deliberate and tender. Rafael swept Olivia's hair from her forehead and let his hands unhurriedly roam her back, savouring the way their legs tangled and foreheads brushed. His lips wandered over her jaw and neck, still honeyed and indulgent, as though they had all the time in the world - and maybe they did. This wasn't New York, where every night they spent together felt like a race against an invisible timer ticking towards the next workday or the inevitable end of their dalliance; they could finally give up that fight.
Olivia was the first to slip a hand under his T-shirt, her fingers dancing across his warm skin with no obvious objective. His hands traced her arms, waist, hips, thighs, still languid and unrushed, but she could feel the last traces of slumber flee him and his body come alive to every touch - his breaths quickening next to her ear, heart accelerating in his chest, his cock hardening under the thin fabric of his shorts. And so her fingers wandered in the direction of his waistband, tugging on it until the garment slipped down his legs; he unbuttoned her blouse, fingers already trembling with desire, until both their clothes landed in a soft heap at the foot of the bed and they lay skin-to-skin.
They didn't move or exchange a word for a few long minutes, too intoxicated by their closeness after almost three months of carefully dancing around the desire that now simmered in the air. Rafael's eyes raked over Olivia's naked figure, her skin luminescent and the sweetness of her mouth lingering on his tongue; he clutched her even closer to his chest as if he were regaining earth and life, a fire he once thought extinguished roaring back into gold. God, how had he ever found it in himself to let her go; to watch her close his front door with unshed tears brimming in her eyes?
He felt a pang of stabbing guilt shoot up his gullet recalling that night, but drank Olivia in and felt her melt into his blood - Olivia with whom his hands never tired and kisses never rested; Olivia who lay lip-to-lip with him like they'd lost nothing in those long three months; Olivia who could make his heart of stone flower even in the dead of winter. Rafael luxuriated in her rose-petal soft skin, silken to his touch, behind it guerrilla iron that fought for him; for them. He needed her light; so drawn was he to it that he'd pulled himself out of the shadows for her.
A part of him would never understand how he could leave her that callously, but this he knew unquestioningly: there was no going back to the clinical, transactional way they'd first fallen into bed. He could never turn his back on her again.
"You don't know how beautiful you are, Olivia."
Her first instinct was to avert his gaze, her skin flushing a shy pink under him. Perhaps it was the reverence in his tone, or perhaps the unadulterated adoration in his emerald eyes that made her shiver unconsciously - it was as though his gaze had physical weight, so pure and unwavering in its sincerity. There was nowhere to hide from his affection, and no excuses she could conjure to close herself off from his love - his love for her lived in his body and burned brightly in his eyes.
Olivia. Even his words were alive with his love - her name rolled off his lips like a prayer, reverent and entranced.
How did she deserve someone like him?
"Really, you are." Rafael's index finger traced the curve of her breast and lightly ghosted over one of her scars with a tenderness that made Olivia want to burst.
It had always been easier to ignore the scars altogether or let the throes of ecstasy wipe them from both their minds. Brian had been an expert at the former, his own body also bearing scars too painful to talk about, and she and Rafael had never dared venture beyond the latter, too consumed by the heat that blazed between them each time they'd fallen into bed together. Maybe that was for the best, she'd always reasoned with herself - colleagues who slept together after one drunken night at Forlini's didn't talk about this. Rafael hadn't signed up for this. She could wait to unearth a topic she'd buried out of sheer fear; maybe even keep it buried indefinitely.
But, she realised with an almost blinding clarity as Rafael's lips pressed against that scar, tenderness and care pouring into that caress, she wasn't afraid anymore.
She'd laid skin-to-skin with him countless times, and never had she felt so naked under him, every insecurity and emotion laid bare and radiating through them both in the soft glow of the room. He saw all of her - scars, pain, hurt, fear - and yet, with him she was never broken. He'd seen her at her most vulnerable, yet still looked at her as though she'd given him everything he wanted for a lifetime.
Fuck, her eyes were misting.
"Shh - I've got you."
He pulled her close until their foreheads were resting, just holding her until her eyes fluttered shut and breaths slowed in the safety of his embrace. Olivia buried her head in his shoulder and ensconced herself in his arms, instinctively seeking his comfort. Against his bare chest, the intense woodiness of his Terre D'Hermes was far more intoxicating than it'd ever been, his skin so warm and soft against hers that she felt another ripple of desire bloom in her body, growing and swelling when he captured her mouth in his once more. Heat seeped into those soft kisses and poured into her lips; she throbbed as though rain and seeds were falling within her, responsive to even the smallest of his brushes against her skin.
Rafael knew her body better than anyone she'd ever shared a bed with. He knew exactly where she needed to be touched; he'd memorised the sweet spot on her neck where he always pressed his lips when she was on the precipice of release, and traced every curve with care. They'd slept together so many times that sometimes it'd felt like a routine, sometimes even mechanical, but tonight there was a newness to his touch that wasn't just the product of months without feeling her skin on his. Like rain in an Indian summer, all their pent-up longing was finally finding release, and God, did it feel long overdue - she'd become thoroughly impatient for his hands and mouth on her.
Olivia slipped a hand between their bodies and palmed his cock, already hard and throbbing against her leg, eliciting a tortured gasp from his throat - only for a shockwave of pleasure to course through her as he dipped his head to take a nipple in his mouth, his tongue circling the engorged peak with an almost insatiable fever while he fondled the other with his index finger. She was so, so sensitive to his touch; he was intoxicated by the way her hips bucked against his with every caress, greedy for as much of his skin as possible. Every whimper that escaped her parted lips was her wordless encouragement, and even his aching cock, straining wantonly in Olivia's grip, couldn't distract him from how badly he ached to satisfy her; to satiate her with pleasure so rapturous that it consumed her.
"I need you, Rafael," she whispered against his lips, voice soft but raspy with desire. "Please."
God, he loved the way she said his name.
Rafael paused for a split second to drink in her brown eyes, now darkened with arousal, and his agreement came in the form of a searing kiss, equal parts possessive and protective, that elicited a low hum from the back of her throat.
Gone was the clammy undercurrent of anxiety that used to seize him off-guard when he turned the lights down in his Park Avenue bedroom, wondering how he'd look her in the eye at the precinct the next day while his feelings exploded, or anticipating the inevitable crash and burn of their clandestine meetings, because arrangements like these never worked out, did they? But those days were behind them, and all he could focus on now was the fact that he had her in his embrace - Olivia, whom he loved with a ferociousness and passion he'd never before allowed himself to feel. He'd let her go once; put pain in her eyes - and he could never regress to that Rafael again. He needed his love to pour into every touch.
Rafael finally tore his swollen lips from hers and sucked at the skin on the side of her neck, not caring that he was sure to leave a hickey - and judging from the way Olivia's eyes narrowed with pleasure, neither did she. His lips wandered down her body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake: her decolletage, stomach, the coin-sized scar on her hip, each kiss more reverent and adoring than the previous, a silent promise to both of them that he would never again wander down the road that'd put so much pain in her eyes and poison in their relationship. Every soft moan that escaped her parted lips was a reminder that there was still so much he wanted - no, needed - to give her, starting now.
She was quivering with need by the time he reached her thighs, her chest raggedly rising and falling, and her legs parted easily to give him access to the most intimate part of her. Her hands quickly made their way into his hair and made a futile attempt to draw him even closer to her as he pressed his lips to the soft skin of her inner thighs, hovering a hair's breadth away from her wetness. The scent and sight of her arousal made Rafael's cock twitch, but he shoved thoughts of that aside to focus only on her - her toes curling into the mattress; her sharp inhale as his hot breath teased her, which melted into a moan when his mouth finally came into contact with her glistening lips for a scorching kiss.
"Rafael…" she implored, low and tortured, as her hips bucked against his jaw in a plea for more contact, only to let out a frustrated whimper when all she received was another teasing breath on her swollen lips.
Ordinarily he'd draw this out, tease her for just a minute more; he could very well draw another desperate moan from her lips before satiating her. But he allowed his lips to fall away from her skin for just a second to steal another glance at her, her cheeks flushed pink and eyes completely shot with arousal, skin glistening in the soft glow of the room… and God, he loved the way she said his name.
He'd kept her waiting long enough - and so he finally drew his tongue against her, barely resisting a smirk when she cried out and her hips arched sharply off the mattress. His painfully erect cock twitched between his legs and ached for her touch as his tongue lapped against her; fuck, he was on the precipice of exploding, only exacerbated by three months without feeling her bare skin and drinking in her increasingly uninhibited moans. But if this was penance for the pain he'd caused her, he'd serve his sentence a thousand times over, if only to hear the way his name escaped her lips in the throes of ecstasy or feel the way her thighs quivered against the sides of his face. He could hold out for her; he had to.
Olivia tightened her grip on his hair, unceasing in her plea for more, and who was he to refuse her, when he was so drunk on her sweetness? She bit hard on her lower lip to muffle a scream when he took her swollen clit into his mouth, only to hiss loudly in pleasure when he curled a finger - and then a second - into her wetness.
"Dios, Liv," Rafael moaned against her as her arousal coated his fingers and sent another rush of blood to his throbbing cock, but he kept a relentless pace, determined to send her right to the edge before even thinking about his own share. He thrust aside thoughts of his aching jaw and cock, focusing on nothing but how Olivia's body responded to every touch, her thighs shaking against his cheeks and moans growing increasingly frenzied as he pushed her towards her climax. She was close - so damn close - and he refused to slow until he fulfilled his singular mission and completely and utterly satiated her.
He pressed his tongue to her clit for one final, lingering kiss, and that was her undoing. Olivia's head collapsed into the pillow as her orgasm washed over her, her body contorting and trembling from how overwhelming this tidal wave of pleasure was after a three-month drought. In her haze, she sensed Rafael moving from his position at the foot of the bed to lay next to her, his wanton lust and feverish touch melting back into a soothing, gentle embrace. He held her close and let her bury her head in his chest as her breaths slowed and the room came back into clarity; she was cognisant yet again of Rafael's hard cock against her thigh and his ragged breaths, his own release still impending, and that was all the impetus she needed for another wave of heat to swell in her and wash away the last of her haze.
She lifted her head to capture his lips in a long, sensual kiss and pulled his body on top of hers, one hand wrapping around his shaft to guide him into her.
He saw stars as his cock brushed against her slit, his mind and body already worked into a frenzy, but clenched his aching jaw and allowed himself to be overwhelmed by how easily he slid into her, like no time had passed since they'd last fallen into bed. Olivia pressed his chest to hers and shifted her hips so he could fill her to the hilt, both instinctively seeking the warmth and familiarity of the other's body.
They found a rhythm easily, honed by months of experience, but drank in their pleasure with brand new eyes; never had she felt so alive to the way he moved against her, heat and urgency surging into his initially gentle thrusts as he willed himself to hold out just a little longer for her. Fuck, he was so dangerously close; he could barely lay his eyes on her face, mere inches from his, lest he get swept up in her brown eyes and lose his last modicum of control. Fuck, Olivia was so beautiful - he was completely drunk on her eyes and scent and voice and soft skin, all humming with arousal and need, and basking in the fire she kindled in him…
"Look at me," she begged through shaky, laboured breaths, and gently tugged at the sides of his face to close the distance between them.
Rafael forced his eyes open with great effort and a tortured groan as she bucked her hips erratically against him, and was greeted by her dark brown eyes boring into his soul feverishly, her silent confirmation that she was close - so fucking close.
And with one final thrust, he finally let go.
Their cries of ecstasy blended into one as he collapsed on top of her, bodies still connected and sweat beading both their foreheads. They lay together for what felt like slow hours, racing hearts and laboured breaths slowing in sync, and luxuriating in the peaceful intimacy that settled over the room. Rafael languidly ran his fingers through Olivia's sweat-dampened hair and opened his arms to let her curl up against his chest; they exchanged a thousand words in contented, peaceful sighs and placid kisses.
She was safe here; he felt it in the way she relaxed in his arms and her eyes fluttered shut in the silence. She'd spent far too much of her life running towards and away from danger; he'd instinctively sought her protection when bullets flew in their direction on a New York spring night - and too often he'd watched her fall asleep with an undercurrent of worry burned into her expression. But Olivia now looked so peaceful with her eyes closed and cocooned against his chest, and he felt a wave of protectiveness rumble in his chest and grip his heart: he didn't have her keen eye for looming threats or lightning-fast reflexes, but he could protect her heart from being shattered again. He'd do anything in his power to keep her safe; for this flame to burn for much longer than just a night.
He felt Olivia smile contentedly against him when he peppered her temple with a series of soft kisses, and he wondered if it was possible to love her more than he already did - so much that all the academic and political and legal victories he'd relished in a past life felt minuscule in comparison to the quiet ecstasy of having her in his arms. Olivia, whose light he couldn't tear his eyes away from and wanted to bask in forever; whose love bloomed unceasingly in him, so profound yet uncomplicated. All love was enclosed in their love, all thirst ended in their embrace; he was hers, she was his.
"Love you, Rafael," she whispered against his chest as the lure of sleep took hold of her, although it didn't dull the penetratingly clear affection and sincerity in her voice.
That sentence echoed in the silent air around them, and a bolt of electricity coursed through him; words so simple and stark, yet poetic beyond measure.
Olivia loved him. He'd almost lost her once, but found his way back to her, because the seeds of his love had long been planted in him, sprouting quietly and drawing him back to her light.
"Love you too, Liv."
Rafael loved her. They'd been flung in the face of danger and lost almost everything, but she hadn't lost him. She'd found an embrace where she could sink her roots; she finally was safe in his love.
They would rise the next day with legs tangled and foreheads grazing, and bathe in the soft gold of the morning sun; they'd go to brunch and run their errands and drive around Bethesda with the radio blaring, secure in how inextricably intertwined their lives had become. But in this moment, lying skin-to-skin in the darkness and drifting into slumber with love lingering on their lips, their closeness was even more immense than the promise of many more of these days and nights - and there they remained where their love flowered, in their invincible, eternal spring.
Walking on the sands
I decided to leave you.
I was treading a dark clay
that trembled
and I, sinking and coming out,
decided you should come out
of me, that you were weighing me down
like a cutting stone
and I worked out your loss
step by step:
to cut off your roots,
to release you alone into the wind.
Ah in that minute,
my dear, a dream
with its terrible wings
was covering you.
You felt yourself swallowed by the clay,
and you called to me and I did not come,
you were going, motionless,
without defending yourself
until you were smothered in the quicksand.
Afterwards
my decision encountered your dream,
and from the rupture
that was breaking our hearts
we came forth clean again, naked,
loving each other
without dream, without sand,
complete and radiant,
sealed by fire.
(The Dream)
