"To intimate" is the sparsest of communication, the most economical mode of telling… Intimate relationships depend on quiet gestures. Conversation boils down into densely nuanced shorthand. Familiarity is a process of reduction."

(Lily Scherlis)


September 2014

Five smiles Olivia saw:

1. Mornings - his hair tousled, eyelids heavy with slumber and voice gruff; blindly reaching toward Olivia's side of the bed, the corners of his lips curling upward as he traced the curve of her cheek.

2. Across the kitchen counter, Rafael hunched over a stack of ungraded papers and frustratedly tapping his pen against the marble, until she wordlessly slid a cup of coffee in his direction and she watched some heaviness disappear from his shoulders.

3. Sitting on the same side of a secluded booth seat in a crowded bar in downtown Bethesda, so close that their thighs touched and reminded them of long nights in Forlini's; a possessive smirk and warm breath on her ear that made her knees go weak.

4. Nights: breaths falling in sync and a peaceful silence settling over them in the darkness, quiet admiration in his expression as the lure of slumber took hold of them.

5. Every single time the words "I love you" escaped her lips, and he looked at her like they were standing in the check-out line at the Bethesda Best Buy and she'd uttered them for the first time, all over again.

Five smiles Olivia didn't see:

1. Him holding the gold pen she'd bought him the weekend before he started his new job, an almost eerie replica of the monogrammed versions he'd kept in his drawer in the DA's office, and relishing how it sat heavy in his palm with the weight of her affection.

2. The seconds before her eyes fluttered open each morning, when he snuck a glimpse at her peaceful expression and felt a wave of protectiveness grip his heart.

3. When he stood in front of 30 students in the lecture hall that'd now become his second home and made an off-hand comment about the fantastic weekend he'd just spent, her carefree smile still etched in his mind.

4. Her singing along to whatever was on the radio as she prepared their morning coffee, out-of-tune enough to make his hair stand on end from behind the closed bedroom door, but also so unabashedly her that he never wanted her voice to leave his ears.

5. A soft goodnight in the dark, their legs tangled under the sheets and her body nestled against his, time slowing to a crawl as he drank in the realness of having her in his arms.


October 2014

Olivia had never quite gotten used to the idea of expressing desire: to unabashedly, unapologetically want.

It was the last thing she'd had on her mind as a child, listening to her mother's drunken tirades and frantically clearing empty vodka bottles from kitchen cupboards. Restraint was Serena's adage for Olivia, one that she repeated on end no matter whether lucid or in the depths of a drinking binge: that wanting things would only take Olivia down a deep spiral of disappointment and resentment, her mother's entire existence a runway of dashed hopes and dreams. And so Olivia kept her head down; threw herself into school, softball, and scholastic decathlons. She sat at her own table in the cafeteria and took lonely subway rides home in graffiti-covered cars every evening. She stopped sharing her plans and goals with her mother, content to partake in her victories without the risk of Serena raining on her parade as soon any of her successes made it through the front door of her apartment. She kept an even tighter lid on her emotions: no reports on how her day at school went or which friend she'd chosen to study with on the weekend.

Especially if said "friend" happened to be a boy.

Olivia quickly learned how to shrink into her seat in school to avert the gazes of the boys who whistled at her in the hallways. Sprinted away from the kind classmate in 8th grade Math who offered to walk her home from the subway station when she lived on a rough block, because God forbid Serena Benson spot her smiling at a boy after fourteen years of reminding Olivia nearly every night that she was a mistake; a stain on her life left behind by one extremely cruel and cold-blooded man.

But none of those warnings could keep Olivia from exchanging smitten glances with the sagacious, well-read writer who sat in the back row of Professor Serena Benson's Literature of the Romantic Period seminars - glances that soon turned into heated kisses in his Greenwich Village studio and clandestine evenings in The Ramble against the setting sun. Serena's watchful eye never seemed to faze Burton Lowe; in fact, it emboldened him even more. There was no question that he wanted Olivia, and oh, she desperately wanted him back; she craved the affection and protection of someone who could take her far away from the drunken tirades she endured every night. She'd denied herself even the most fleeting of glances and stamped out any traces of attraction she'd ever felt - why force herself to wait any longer when Serena didn't suspect a thing anyway? Olivia could have the best of both worlds: she could finally retreat into the touch of the first person she thought she truly desired, away from Serena's harsh and punishing gaze.

Then, one day, she couldn't.

Burton had knocked her off her feet with that emerald ring (his grandmother's, apparently) and an extravagant bouquet full of exotic flowers she didn't recognise. His declarations of love were even more musical to her ears than they usually were at Bethesda Terrace that fall afternoon, imbued with the tender sensitivity of a writer and spoken like she was the only one he'd ever wanted. She rode that high all day long and straight back home, where she'd made the near-fatal mistake of letting her mother know the reason for her exuberance.

The rest of the evening felt like a blur, but the memories still came back to her in flashes: glass shards scattering all around her when that broken bottle cut through the air and slammed against the spot on the wall she'd leaned on seconds ago. She saw her mother rising unsteadily to her feet with Olivia's angry red handprint marking her cheek and fresh crimson blood streaking her already wine-stained blouse - another stain left behind by a daughter who'd just confirmed how much of a mistake she was. Olivia took off into the night and ran, fuelled by her burning desire for the first and only man she'd ever truly wanted and burning rage for the woman who'd tried to cruelly extinguish those flames.

Then she'd stopped cold on a deserted street corner twelve blocks from her apartment, and all she could think of was her mother lying in a pool of her own blood, those glass shards pressed into her skin and draining the life from her veins.

And with that, the last embers of Olivia's desire disappeared into the night.

Maybe Serena had been right all along. Olivia wanting something for herself - especially a man - would bring nothing but ruin. The least she could do was keep her distance; keep her head down.

Olivia started stoking those embers again only in her college dorm three years later, hundreds of miles from Serena's New York apartment, as she locked lips with the first of the many men she'd lie skin-to-skin with. Men she'd exchange shy gazes with from across the room and wait to approach her first, because she'd never fully washed the ash from that first inferno of desire from her skin. She let them kiss her first; let their hands roam over her back and slip under her T-shirt before daring to bring hers to undo their belts. Waited for an unmistakable sign that they wanted her before letting her heart stir for them.

She'd finally found freedom from Serena's oppressive gaze, but guilt still had its way of crawling back into her life. At first, Olivia thought she'd finally shed most of the guilt and pain that Burton Lowe had left behind, and pulled herself out of the gigantic pit she'd buried herself in that only time she'd dared to charge at her mother. Being wanted was always intoxicating, especially when even her own mother didn't want her in the house, but unashamedly wanting something for herself came with a newness that still terrified her. Olivia had hesitated for weeks when applying for a position at the police academy, before finally being reminded by her roommate that she didn't need Serena's permission to carve out a career path. She threw herself into her new job but never dared table the issue of rising through the ranks - the NYPD was enough of a boys' club as it was, and she could still hear Serena's voice cautioning her that showing too much ambition in a place like that was only going to trip her up down the road.

To make things even worse, joining SVU hadn't made her already trying love life any easier, but at least blaming her job was a convenient cover for the nagging insecurity and shame that never quite left her. She and Brian Cassidy had danced around their mutual attraction for months because she'd kept such a tight lid on it until he'd finally leaned in for a kiss at Maloney's one night and Olivia had at long last allowed herself to kiss him back. But even that had quickly turned into regret and hurt when she'd backpedalled and ejected herself from his apartment the next morning. She'd then put the nail in the coffin with David Haden after spending far too long denying that it was something more than a casual fling, and even the most passionate and suave man she'd ever been with didn't have enough fuel in his tank to fan the flames of that relationship.

It was my fault, Olivia admonished herself time and time again, but a small part of her held out the hope that she'd finally leave that residual guilt behind and learn that she could want things for herself - things that she coveted wholeheartedly, unabashedly, unapologetically.

And so she steeled herself and waited.

Behind closed doors, Olivia had certainly gotten better at expressing her want over time. It'd all started when Elliot disappeared from the NYPD virtually overnight and his seat finally opened up, inviting her to start rising the ranks after years in limbo. She was the senior detective on the squad now, with two eager rookies under her belt, and suddenly, taking on that responsibility wasn't as burdensome as she'd envisioned it to be. Perhaps the part of her that ached to make a mark in SVU that wasn't just "Detective, 1st Grade" had finally awoken - better late than never, right? And that newfound confidence; the realisation that she could hold the fort in the absence of her larger-than-life former partner, seemed to translate to everything else in her life.

The second time Brian Cassidy waltzed back into her life under the most chaotic and complicated of circumstances, she'd stood beside his hospital bed and pressed her lips to his first, forgetting for just a minute that half the NYPD was on the other side of the wall. When they retreated into the darkened bedroom of her apartment weeks later, she'd finally found it in herself to shed her inhibitions and let steaming hot desire seep into her kisses and touch. Heck, she'd even dared to hold his hand in public, sometimes even within a two-block radius from where they worked, much to her own surprise. They were small steps, especially in the eyes of her long-married friends and colleagues, but they were steps nonetheless, especially after the rocky year she'd had.

Then Rafael Barba waltzed into her life and those small steps became leaps. She knew from the way her heart started to race when they exchanged glances from across the room that something had to be brewing between them, even if only a transactional arrangement. She was attracted to him, of course; she wouldn't have gone home from Forlini's with him if she wasn't. But the more she opened her bed to him, the more he tugged at her heartstrings, and the less she could find it in herself to turn away and run.

And now that they were permanently no longer Sergeant Benson and ADA Barba, those leaps became stratospheric. It was much easier now that they worked completely different jobs - when most of their weekends comprised the errands they ran, afternoons at the coffee shop or lazy mornings at home, she had no prying eyes to fear because the stars had created the perfect opportunity for her (even if they'd directed her to abandon her old life in New York first). But the feelings that'd blossomed in her over the last few months were far from mere feelings of convenience enabled by the new circumstances they'd been catapulted into - they were so much more than that.

Sometime between the last time they'd had sex in his Park Avenue apartment and the first time they'd made love in the final embers of a Bethesda sunset, it hit Olivia just how badly she wanted Rafael.

Olivia's desire had long moved past the heat-in-her-core, flushed-skin, kind of longing of nights in New York. She wanted Rafael to engulf her lips with his and memorise every curve on her body just as much as she needed him to really see her - all of her. She wanted to lay herself bare for him like he did for her; to carve out a piece of her heart for him to see just how much his love had flowered in her. Olivia wanted him. And with each passing day, one realisation became clearer: she needed him.

It should have terrified her. Unshackling herself from a lifetime of guilt and shame, uncoupling herself from the weights of restraint around her ankles to admit that she needed Rafael Barba so badly. But it didn't; not one bit - and that only made her even more sure that the man she'd once thought was little more than a pompous Harvard-educated ADA was worth laying herself bare for.

There was little stopping her from doing that in privacy: soft kisses to his lips each morning as she whispered to him to stay in bed for a few minutes longer or late nights shamelessly begging him to fuck me harder until they collapsed in the sheets skin-to-skin. She'd become more reckless than she'd ever imagined herself being, but that danger was too damn intoxicating to resist. Sitting dangerously close to him in a restaurant when they managed to snag a booth seat. Hands brushing when they left the bar in subtle anticipation of the events to come. Soft kisses to his jaw and cheek in the Uber back to one of their apartments, tipsy on both alcohol and his touch. But she wanted even more than those private displays of affection - and tonight, she had her chance.

They were sitting side-by-side in a bar in downtown Bethesda with four of Rafael's colleagues from the community college, marking the end of their months of privacy, and Olivia hadn't regressed to the painful, awkward shyness that'd once consumed her when she had to be within two feet of someone she loved in public. In fact, she realised as she took a slow sip of her Cabernet, that there was nothing more she wanted than to be close to him. She wanted to finally wear her love for him and proclaim that he was hers.

The evening had started a couple of hours ago with dinner in a nearby bistro, just the two of them at the end of a long day, all soft smiles and quiet laughter over comfort food and pie (his choice of dessert). The waiter had brought them their entrees and Olivia had decided on impulse to get up from her bench across from him and slide next to him, because why not? They'd been apart for days now, kept apart by work, and her lips and body craved his touch. Rafael was all too glad to oblige, especially before she met his colleagues for the first time and would inevitably have to play it cool again. She'd dated co-workers before, unlike him; he was sure that she'd honed the art of keeping a careful distance, and that those old habits would die hard.

So it was strange to Rafael that Olivia had barely taken her hands off him from the moment they'd strolled into the bar arm-in-arm. Strange in the best possible way, of course, but still strange. Greetings were exchanged, polite introductions were made, and Olivia's newfound gregariousness didn't go unnoticed. He rested his hand on the small of her back, emboldened by her ebullient smile and the hand that was resting on his thigh. She leaned into him naturally as they made conversation and nursed their drinks, so close that he could feel her voice and laughter ripple through him. In typical Olivia fashion, there was nothing remotely lewd about her shows of affection (once an SVU detective, always an SVU detective), but the very fact that her affection was on full, unbridled display made Rafael's heart race and blood rush in more ways than one.

In fact, Rafael realised when one of his colleagues remarked that he and Olivia made such a sweet couple, Olivia was proud to be seen with him; to be with him, just as much as he'd always longed to be with her. And he'd been getting wordless confirmation all night long, from the hushed intimacy they'd shared over dinner to the loving kiss she'd pressed to his cheek when he brought over her usual drink order in the bar. This was the charming, magnetic Olivia he'd fallen for all those years ago, but this brand new shade of confidence made his heart stir, especially because she'd come out of her shell like this for him.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" he whispered to her halfway into the night, when they finally caught a quiet moment. The rest of the group had gone to the bar to order another round of drinks and snacks, and for a moment it was as though Rafael and Olivia were back in their corner in Forlini's, sharing an intimate moment they'd pretend never happened when they got back to work the next day. The only - but significant - difference was that they no longer had to pretend.

"I'm feeling great…" she smiled genuinely, her hand still resting on his thigh. "… but I'm ready to head home when you are."

Rafael frowned concernedly. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no, not at all," she assured him, and he felt his racing heart slow until she leaned in so close that he could feel her breath on his ear as she dipped her voice an octave. "Only that there's something else that I want to do when we get home."

He didn't need to clarify what she meant, because the hand that was resting on his thigh was inching closer to his crotch. Dangerously close. And especially by Olivia's standards, recklessly close.

(He regretted wearing this pair of chinos.)

(He also had a feeling that she'd chosen this pair of skinny jeans on purpose.)

She continued without missing a beat, completely drunk on the way she was getting under his skin. "I'll have to throw out my panties when I get home."

"Mmmm?" Rafael feigned ignorance, but anyone would have seen right through his facade of nonchalance and how fast his composure was slipping away from him. Thank God his colleagues were engrossed in conversation as they waited for their drinks at the bar and not looking in his direction, because it was taking all his willpower not to press his lips to her neck and give her a taste of exactly what she was doing to him…

The casual way Olivia sipped her wine was almost infuriating. "I've ruined this pair."

Yup, it was very infuriating indeed.

Rafael almost cursed out loud, only to bite his tongue when he noticed his colleagues return from the bar with their drinks; his cheeks flushed involuntarily, and certainly not just from the scotch. "Liv…" he managed between gritted teeth, avoiding direct eye contact with her in an attempt to shield himself from the sudden intensity in her gaze - which quickly became futile when she teasingly ran her palm across his zipper. Fuck, just a brief touch was that intoxicating.

He didn't know what had gotten into Olivia tonight, but God damn it, he loved this side to her. And judging from the mischievous smirk that was dancing across her face, so was she.

Rafael's colleagues returned to the table seconds later and Olivia leaned back in her seat with a satisfied smile as he did his best to compose himself enough to continue the conversation, although her hand resting on his thigh, once again chaste and socially acceptable, only reminded him of that brief but lingering exchange. He was thoroughly enjoying talking to his colleagues, of course, but how much could he really concentrate when she'd given him a very tantalising preview of what the rest of the night had in store for them?

If the sweat that dotted his collar wasn't enough of an indication, the lustful way their lips connected in the Uber home, like fire and ice, certainly made their mutual desire abundantly clear to both of them. And that was how they ended up skin-to-skin in bed minutes after stepping through the front door, Rafael dipping a hand into her soaked panties and reprimanding her with a teasing look at the mess you've made, Olivia that finally detonated the tension that'd been building all evening long. He took her to the edge again and again until his name sputtered from her lips; they both collapsed onto the mass of tangled sheets under them, skin sweat-dampened and flushed from exhaustion.

"Shit, Liv…" Rafael stumbled over his words, all coherent thought fleeing him. Olivia's gentle kisses to his ribs were his only sign that she hadn't yet fallen asleep in his arms, her outpourings of affection ceaseless and ardent although they both were completely spent. "Shit… that was worth the wait."

He'd never been reduced to this state before - so incoherent, so jumbled, so ineloquent - not even with her. His limbs were numb, his body shaking from the residual adrenaline coursing through him; yet the warmth and realness of Olivia's touch and laughter went straight to his head, a beacon of light cutting through the fog.

"Someone was impatient, I see." He could hear her triumphant smirk.

"And someone was being a tease all night." A wave of heat rippled through his body once more recalling the devilish way her hand had wandered over his belt buckle in the bar - god, the things she could do to him. Olivia's bell-like laughter echoed through the room and radiated right through him, a flash of warm comfort on a cold evening, and she moved to nuzzle against Rafael's shoulder, forehead grazing his stubble, which made his breath catch again.

She'd opened herself to him in flashes and small glimpses since the first time they'd slept together, but the last barrier had finally been demolished when they'd fallen back into bed two months ago. He was seeing more of Olivia than he ever had since the day they'd met: her softness, her vulnerability, her need for him. She trusted him, and Rafael knew better than anyone that it was sacred.

"You never were like this in Forlini's," he remarked after their breaths slowed in sync and the air in the room settled into a languid, peaceful silence. His touch was tinged with nostalgia; he ran his fingers through her hair and over her back, retracing the route they'd taken the first time he'd undressed her.

"Aren't you glad that we don't have Jack and Dodds to worry about now?" she chuckled, although the sentiment behind that statement was genuine. Could she ever go back to a universe where she had to disclose who she was seeing to her boss, especially after tonight?

Rafael sank into the mattress with a contented sigh and brushed her wispy fringe from her forehead, which was always a welcome reminder that they'd left that surveillance behind. "Oh, definitely - especially if you're going to keep wearing me out like this."

Olivia dragged her lips a hair's breadth away from his ear, her warm breath teasing him. "I'm taking that as an invitation, then."

"Olivia…" he warned, his pulse accelerating in anticipation. "You know, I wouldn't have been mad if you'd done this in Forlini's."

"We did get close a couple of times." Her mind instantly flooded with memories of late nights side-by-side in their favourite booth seat (or if they were feeling especially brazen, the bar), hands wandering under the table as they shared a laugh and drink. For just a moment her heart ached thinking of the memories she'd so abruptly left behind in New York, only to burrow even more tightly in Rafael's embrace; it was the only tether to Olivia Benson that she needed, and thankfully, still had.

He rubbed her shoulder reassuringly, as though the same train of thought was barrelling through his own head. "Very close. Especially the first time."

"Yeah, we did, didn't we?" Olivia remained cocooned in his embrace, but he could feel her wistful smile against his chest.

Rafael squeezed his eyes shut as the memories of that first night, still as vivid as they were months ago, flashed through his head. That was the very first night that Olivia showed him that she wanted him, and he'd practically burned the heat of that first time into his memory. He'd never seen that side to Olivia, and he'd thought he'd finally unlocked all there was to her, but she kept surprising him again and again - just like she had tonight. How could something feel like such an ephemeral fantasy, yet so real in his arms? Mere months ago he'd almost resigned himself to the fact that he and Olivia would be little more than colleagues, or friends with a thousand unanswered questions between them, but here she was - here they were - skin to skin, with so much love for this woman in his chest that he could just about explode when he looked in her direction.

"How much do you actually remember about the first night?" Rafael asked cheekily, although he couldn't lie to himself - he was curious about her answer.

"Quite a lot of it, actually."

"Like?"

"Like how we had no less than three glasses of scotch each, Counselor," she laughed. "I'm surprised you didn't just stay the night at my place."

He scoffed. "I'm sure you wouldn't have let the ADA stay the night, Sergeant Benson."

"Well…" she dragged out her words coyly, averting eye contact for just long enough for the implications of her statement to change, "...you never asked."

Recognition flickered through his eyes. "And if I had asked…?" he asked expectantly, equal parts looking forward to and terrified of her response.

"This was before I learned that you like to steal the covers… so I would've let you stay," she retorted with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, although the gravity of that comment wasn't lost on either of them.

"Really?" His heart pounded furiously in his ears. She would've let him stay?

(Had he missed something that'd been right in front of him all along?)

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and let his question hang in the air, which was now charged with expectant energy so unlike the one that'd cloaked them just ten minutes ago. There was something about the darkness, her nakedness, his nakedness, and the stillness of the room: combined they made her feel especially transparent and vulnerable. Her mind was in two places at once, oscillating wildly between the restless heat of the past and peaceful stillness of the room. She thirsted for the way his ravenous hands roamed her skin as she slipped out of her clothes for the first time in front of him months ago, mingled with a profound calm wash over her from the way that Rafael held her so protectively and soothingly right now. She'd had both from Rafael; bared her soul and deepest desires to him. He'd seen all of her - including the parts that she once thought she'd never unearth for any man.

There was no one else she could envision jumping in so recklessly for, and no one else she trusted so implicitly that she had nothing to fear. And over the last few months, she'd jumped right in, heart first, again and again. She'd always wanted Rafael. It'd taken months for the smoke from the initial flame to clear, but now, lying in the dark in his arms and inhaling every inch of his warm skin and woody cologne, she'd never been more sure of her answer.

"Really."

(Of course she'd known then.)

(She'd always known, somewhere at the back of her mind, that they were destined for something much more than just Detective Benson and ADA Barba.)

The room was silent, but both their minds were racing - Olivia's from the rush of finally unearthing that secret for both him and herself, Rafael's from his disbelief. He'd once talked himself into accepting that he'd blown any chance of something more with Olivia; now he was letting her admission wash over him and rewrite those scotch-soaked New York memories.

"Yeah, I'd have let you stay," she broke the silence again, this time more confidently, and watched another wave of disbelief ripple through his expression.

This wasn't just about letting him stay the night, and they both knew it. He'd never think of that first night in the same way again - and neither would she.

"Liv…" Rafael started, but words eluded him once more. What even could he say that would do justice to the magnitude of emotion racing through his head? Realising that something he'd once wanted so badly had been right in front of him the whole time? He'd hurt her profoundly, made her suffer through the cataclysmic fight they'd had just a couple of months ago, and then suffered through his own waves of guilt for wounding Olivia like that; now the pain was even more visceral, knowing that her feelings for him already ran so deeply. But that was in the past, and he had something much better to do than dig it up again.

Rafael found her lips with his and pressed a soft kiss to them, all his affection pouring into that caress. Maybe he'd continue to feel his nagging guilt stab at him from time to time, but he could make it up to her; he had the assurance of time. He had her - the Olivia whose lips were now locked with his, wordlessly assuring him that what they had had already survived that trial, and whatever else came ahead. The seeds of their love had been planted in them long ago, long before either of them had become conscious of them; what else did they have to worry about when those roots were so deeply carved?

They didn't exchange a word for a long time, and didn't even bother to untangle their clothes from the mass of sheets. Olivia felt her eyes flutter shut when she rested her head on Rafael's shoulder, completely physically and emotionally spent by this point, but there was unmistakable safety in his warm skin and protective touch. She'd waited so long to feel like this in anyone's arms, but more importantly, to feel like this knowing that it was what she, and only she, desired.

Olivia had absolutely nothing to lose from wanting him, needing him, loving him. She could fall asleep in his arms right now, secure in the knowledge that he'd be right there the next morning and for many more after that. She finally could stop running from herself.

"Oh, and just so we're clear…" Rafael chimed in almost indiscernibly when they both were on the brink of slumber, his voice tinged with exhaustion but still cuttingly clear in the silence of the room. "You steal the covers from me."

"I do not," she fired back indignantly, although it was difficult for her to suppress the soft giggle that escaped her throat and made him smile.

"You do." He made an exaggerated show of tugging the sheets over him and slid to the edge of his side of the bed, leaving two feet of space between them that desperately needed to be filled.

"Hey," Olivia whined from the sudden loss of contact. "It's cold."

"Guess you'll just have to come closer to my side then." He pushed back the covers just enough to expose a tantalising sliver of bare chest to her, and he knew from the way her eyebrows furrowed that it'd worked.

"If this is a ploy to make me the big spoon…"

"I know you like being the big spoon."

She rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. "Only because tomorrow is a special day."

(Truthfully, she'd happily concede any day.)

Olivia complied with this request without further hesitance and slid over to his side of the bed to ensconce him in her embrace, amused by his neediness, but the sigh of satisfaction he let out when he felt her soft skin against his made her completely forget about the light-hearted banter they'd just exchanged. He sank into her so instinctively that she couldn't help but sigh contentedly herself, slumber quickly overtaking her as she felt his heartbeat slow against her chest.

Maybe this was what they could have had the very first night they'd found themselves in bed together - but better late than never, right? She had him now, and that realisation was just as intoxicating as it was the very first time she turned her head and took in the sight of Rafael, so peaceful and unguarded, lying next to her. It was even more intoxicating to know that they could have that first night over and over again, each new one adding a new hue to those memories of New York nights and long Bethesda evenings.

"Love you," he whispered sleepily, yet somehow it was the clearest it'd sounded all day. "Love you, Olivia Benson."

She didn't flinch at all hearing that name, especially from the only person in this town who held the key - the key to all of her.

"Love you too, Rafael Barba." The corners of her lips curled into a knowing smile.

He didn't flinch at all hearing that name, either.

After all, it only felt right, knowing that the best part of their lives as Benson and Barba had followed them here. Except that now, the wall that being Sergeant Benson and ADA Barba had erected between them had fallen at last - and with that collapse came new light.


Rafael had never quite gotten used to the idea of having a roommate: letting someone into space that he'd carefully carved out for himself.

Being an only child meant that he had a room of his own growing up, even if said room was a shoebox. Unfortunately, those boundaries often became eroded in the squalor of that South Bronx apartment that his family simply couldn't afford to leave; not when the space wasn't nearly big enough to contain the wrath of the senior Barba. Rafael would come home to his tiny space turned upside down, his books strewn all over the ground and clothes ripped from their hangers in the small closet in his father's search for non-existent "contraband" - cigarettes or alcohol or even drugs that Rafael, a straight-A student, had long sworn he would never touch. Or he'd find his journals open to the pages where he'd scrawled his most painful emotions and know he'd face some kind of interrogation at the dinner table within the next hour (he'd learned from that day that his journals needed a new home in his locker at school, where no angry father could touch them). Sure, he could run a few blocks down the street to his abuelita's apartment, where she kept the spare room tidy and ready for him to stay the night whenever he wanted, but he still knew better than to leave his journals lying around there; at the end of the day, he was still a guest there, and all he could do was look forward to a time when he truly had space of his own.

Later on, he'd made it to Harvard and quickly resigned himself to the reality of roommates, some more irksome than others: his freshman year roommates were far too busy making names for themselves in student government and Model UN to care much about Rafael, much to his relief, but sophomore year devolved into sleepless nights wondering when the dorm parties and late-night laughter (conversations that he had never been invited to partake in) would cease. He'd moved into a single room in a suite as an upperclassman, which gave him some, but not enough, respite - was it ever possible for him to feel truly at home in a suite where he was clearly the poorest person there? The only New Yorker at Harvard who didn't grow up on the Upper East Side with a chauffeur and exclusive prep school education? There was only so far his academic achievements could take him before he was reminded that "belonging" at Harvard was just as much about how much money was in his bank account as it was his long list of scholastic and non-scholastic titles. Rafael finally had space of his own and roommates with enough respect to keep to their sides of the room, but home - space that he could truly call his own - still felt like a distant reality.

As a broke law school student, he'd shared an apartment with Rita, who made a fantastic friend but less-than-fantastic roommate (how did one person consume so much take-out?). He'd never trade the late-night conversations and study sessions over coffee and doughnuts, but he still yearned for the time when he could walk around the apartment without an extra pair of eyes around more than half of the time. Only when he moved back to New York and got his first job at the Brooklyn DA's office did he finally have a studio apartment to call his own - and thus began a professional life where he happily paid his rent in full every month in exchange for a space that was truly his. No risk of anyone rummaging through his things; no interruptions in the middle of the night when he burnt the midnight oil poring over trial prep and case files. He chose when to let people into his space: the occasional gathering or maintenance worker, and then could close his door and not worry about having company for months on end.

He'd dated his fair share of partners over the years, of course, and briefly entertained the possibility of permanently freeing up half the space in his bed for someone else, but never ended up reaching that stage with any of them. Perhaps there'd always been a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that his personal space - a rare treasure in a life so marked by headline-dominating trials and public scrutiny - was sacrosanct and couldn't be given up for just anyone.

Rafael's apprehension about letting someone new into the most private of his spaces didn't stop when he'd invited Olivia in almost a year ago. She'd been to his apartment before for the occasional case file or late-night meeting when they didn't want to make the trek to his office downtown, but obviously had never ventured beyond the well-lit safety of his living room. And suddenly she was standing in the middle of his bedroom that winter night and her blouse was on his hardwood floor and Rafael almost stopped himself mid-kiss when he realised that she was the first person he'd let into the secrecy of his bedroom in years.

Those visits became more frequent and she'd left a couple of tiny marks in that Park Avenue 1-bedroom apartment - once she'd left an earring behind (that he'd slipped into her palm after a meeting in his office the next day); another time she'd spilled a drop of wine on a throw pillow that reminded him of her each time he picked it up. His doorman came to recognise her and waved her inside with a smile each time, a privilege he rarely extended to anyone entering this high-security building. Olivia wasn't just anyone, Rafael realised, and he was coming around to the idea of having a roommate, especially when she was the roommate in question.

She didn't always sleep over. Neither did he typically linger at her apartment for more than a couple of nights at a time. Work had its way of keeping them apart, including his new job (!) that was proving to be deceptively emotionally draining. Apparently, arguing with Buchanan in front of a judge and jury and trying to entertain 50 bored young people in a lecture hall weren't so different, after all. However, the signs were becoming more obvious by the day: the increasing number of clothes they'd lost to the other's closet, both their favourite snacks in each other's pantries or the occasional pen or phone charger they left on the other's coffee table with no sense of urgency to retrieve them. She was leaving little pieces of herself all over his apartment, and he'd opened the door (figuratively, as he'd given her his spare key) to let her in.

Heck, he'd happily given up half the space on his bed, especially when that half was warmed by a person he'd never once thought he'd wake up next to. The weather had taken a chilly turn of late, but instead of emerging from under the covers to adjust the temperature, there was a distinct and welcome warmth emanating from the other side of his bed.

"Rise and shine, handsome," she chirped when she felt him stir next to her, and he instinctively sought her warm touch and voice.

"You flatter me, mi amor," he mumbled, his eyes squeezing back shut in the harsh morning light streaming through the window.

(If his eyes had been open, he would have noticed the way her face lit up when he called her that.)

Olivia moved to nestle herself against his bare chest, feeling his muscles ripple and body stir back to life with her touch. "Still worn out after last night, old man?"

"Excuse me - you're older than me," he pouted, as he ran his hand across her back and felt the familiar fabric of his T-shirt ripple under his fingers. "And you stole my shirt."

"You kept stealing the covers," she ribbed him. "I was cold."

"Nothing stopping you from stealing them back," he retorted, although she didn't miss how he immediately moved to pull the covers over her to compensate for her discomfort.

"You're lucky I love you too much to do that."

"I'm very lucky," Rafael remarked as he planted a soft kiss on her temple.

Olivia knew from the way his tone changed that this wasn't just banter, and their laughter quickly gave way to a contemplative, restful silence. God, he was lucky, he sighed contentedly. He could stare into those sun-lit brown eyes for hours; spend days inhaling her scent, exploring every last inch of her body, retracing the routes his hands took over her soft skin. He was immeasurably lucky just to have her, and he'd be damned if he didn't allow himself to just indulge in the sensation of having her against him.

Birthdays had always been chaotic days for him. If he wasn't working his way through a case, he was celebrating with his colleagues at a nearby bar or gathering with his extended family in one of their Bronx apartments. Today, however, there was no karaoke in the background as he sipped a glass of top-shelf Macallan or a birthday song in three-part harmony from his cousins, and most noticeably,, no sign of his abuelita or mami who were probably cutting a cake in his honour as they wondered where in the country he'd been exiled to. Instead, it was just him and Olivia in the silence of the room, and he couldn't help the wave of emotion that overcame him suddenly.

Olivia moved even closer to him as though she'd read his train of thought, and Rafael thought he could feel tears prick his eyes from how overwhelming it felt - the feeling that he'd lost a part of himself that he'd taken for granted for so long, yet also that things couldn't feel more right than what they had right now. She swept his tousled hair from his forehead and rested against his shoulder, silently basking in their affection for what felt like slow hours. There were no ringing phones or open laptops to jolt them from their nest; Olivia had taken the day off and Rafael wasn't rostered for any Friday classes, leaving them to simmer in the morning light and each other's company. New York was filled with markers of time - sirens, garbage trucks, the rumbles of rush hour subway trains under the pavement - but here time was endless and infinite as the sun peeked from behind the trees and warmed them from the inside out.

"Breakfast? Coffee should be ready by now," Olivia offered when she heard the familiar beeps from the machine outside. She must've snuck out of bed before he'd woken up to brew a fresh pot, he theorised (they'd obviously forgotten to set a timer last night when there were other pressing needs to attend to), and her thoughtfulness made his heart stir. But the comfort he got from cosying up with her far outweighed the joys of a fresh cup of coffee, even for him, and so he sank even deeper into the covers, taking her with him.

"No, don't… the bed is cold without you."

The coffee was promptly forgotten about in light of Rafael's protests, and Olivia found it difficult to stifle her amused laughter hearing the childish desperation in his voice - a side to him that was so incompatible with the stern, sarcastic public persona she'd spent the last few months peeling back. He'd been showing this pleading, unguarded side to her much more of late, and it only endeared him to her even more because she knew exactly what it meant: that he trusted her.

"Imagine how I felt last night when you stole the covers."

"At least you look hot wearing my clothes."

His tone was joking, lightly flirtatious; yet his touch betrayed the seriousness of his intentions. The hand that was resting on her shoulder slowly wandered lower and lower until he reached her bare hipbone and she swore she could make out an almost inaudible gasp when he found no trace of the ruined panties she'd ripped off the night before. Suddenly, every single caress of her skin was charged with electricity.

Her brown eyes glinted with mischief as her lips grazed the top of his ear. "Not very subtle of you."

"Speak for yourself, Olivia," he taunted, daring - inviting - her to show them exactly what she wanted from him, blood rushing to his cock and body alive to every touch of hers. His hand had wandered to the curve of her thigh, dangerously close to exactly where she needed it to be, and Olivia resisted the urge to grab his wrist and plunge his fingers into her wetness. She could play around with him for a minute, fan the flames for a little longer; she wanted to work him into an absolute frenzy first.

"Feliz cumpleaños, Rafael," she purred, dragging her lips down the side of his cheek and hovering over the exact spot on his neck she knew would send him over the edge, but denying him the satisfaction.

His breath caught taking in the provocative way she dragged out every syllable of his name. "You're sexy when you speak Spanish, hermosa."

"Gracias, guapo," she smirked at his directness, and his pupils instantly darkened with arousal. Fuck, she'd already reduced him to incoherence, and they'd barely started.

"You don't know what you do to me," he uttered between gritted teeth, his voice already choked with desire.

"Well, I think I have an idea." Olivia moved from her position without warning and climbed on top of him, suddenly conscious of the fact that he was completely naked and his half-hard cock stirring to life a hair's breadth from her wetness.

"Mmm?" Rafael struggled to form an intelligible sentence, but he was too far gone to care. He could feel the slick that'd pooled on her inner thighs, her weight on him so satisfying that he couldn't help but arch his hips in invitation, cock straining against her core. He reached up to caress her breasts through the thin cotton of the T-shirt she'd stolen, eliciting a low whine from the back of her throat and stoking the fire under her skin when his finger circled an erect nipple.

"Want your shirt back?" She leaned down until her lips were brushing his invitingly, guiding his hands towards the hem of the T-shirt, to which he grasped it immediately in desperate search of more of her skin against his. His "yes" was immediately engulfed by the guttural moan that escaped his throat when she swirled her hips against him, and he ripped the fabric off her and unceremoniously tossed it to the ground.

Rafael pulled her against his chest, so thirsty for every inch of her that his gaze had physical weight, emerald eyes boring into her and drinking in every kiss; every curve. The intentionality in her stare and voice could've knocked him out right there - and for a moment it was that first night all over again, when Olivia was on top of him and kissing his neck and whispering how much she wanted him, and Rafael had been completely consumed by how much he needed to give her everything she wanted and more. I love you, she whispered tenderly as she paused between kisses to meet his gaze with hers, and he was completely gone for her - he still wanted to give her everything she wanted and more.

God, he loved this woman so much; loved her battle-weary, sleep-drenched, head-strong. She could sulk around the house in loose sweatpants or kiss him on the neck in a crowded bar and all he could feel was comfort pouring through the warm familiarity of her touch and deep brown eyes. She felt completely right in his arms, in his bed, in his life.

There was an empty space in his bed, and the perfect person to fill it.

Maybe someday, in the not-too-distant future, he'd ask her to fill that space permanently. Was he finally ready for that leap? He'd have to mull over this for a few weeks; probably months, more; a not-too-distant future he'd have to spend contemplating how he was going to make this work, let alone actually asking her. Rafael had spent his entire adult life running away from those questions, and it dawned upon him that he was going to have to confront them soon.

But in the present, as Olivia lowered herself onto his cock and a tidal wave of pleasure overtook him, the answers suddenly felt clearer.


November 2014

What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet…

Rafael had many names for Olivia.

Benson was the first name he'd called her, all strict professionalism and formality. He was the newcomer in a borough he'd once thought was far too imposing to ever reach; she was treading carefully with SVU's revolving door of ADAs. Polite handshakes, thoughtful nods and incisive comments about the case at hand were all Detective Benson and ADA Barba exchanged, alongside the occasional barb. It didn't take a trained detective to realise quickly that Barba was here to stay and Olivia was going to hear Benson escape his lips for much longer than just a few short months. And surprisingly, that was a change that Olivia welcomed - even if she did roll her eyes at him ever so often.

Liv was the warmth and familiarity of New York; her anchor and constant. The first time he'd called her that, she'd just returned from her extended leave of absence after the saga with William Lewis, and all she could think about was how that effortless shift made her feel human again. He wasn't asking Detective Benson how she was doing after the worst summer of her life; he was asking Liv, his friend. The trial was eventually closed and she'd pieced her life back together over the months, but Liv stuck and never once left, following them both from New York to suburban Washington DC. It was a nickname countless people in her life had adopted, but somehow Liv belonged to him and only him; it steadied her when everything else in her life became unmoored, reminding her that Olivia Benson and Olivia Davis were one and the same person.

Mi amor took her by surprise one morning, when he'd slipped out of bed before leaving for an 8.30am class and his casual see you later, mi amor lingered for far longer than the kiss he'd planted on her forehead. The possessiveness of that pet name warmed her from the inside out - mi amor, my love. Rafael's love. He could knock her off her feet with a casual hermosa or carino, too, with the way his voice changed when he broke into Spanish, the passion of his mother tongue flowing through him and radiating through her.

Sweetheart, babe, honey… from anyone else they'd make her teeth rot, but from Rafael they made her skin tingle. She was certain he'd meant it as a joke the first time, when he'd sarcastically remarked that you're taking an awfully long time to decide what to eat, sweetheart in an affected Southern drawl over pancakes and fried chicken at Silver Diner. But whenever she collapsed in bed after a particularly hectic day at work, sometimes on the brink of tears, and he'd drop whatever he was doing to crawl into bed with her and take her in his arms, quietly assuring her that it's going to be alright, honey and rubbing her back until she fully uncoiled and they both fell asleep.

Olivia existed in two universes, the first the warm, but slightly detached politeness of "so glad you've finally gotten to meet Olivia" and the delighted "oh, this is the Olivia you've talked so much about" they always received in response. She'd become used to Rafael introducing her as Detective Olivia Benson in all kinds of professional contexts a lifetime ago, but Olivia - just Olivia - was distinctly personal. Always polite, but also always unmistakably proud, whether in his voice or the affectionate way he squeezed her hand when he proclaimed that she was his.

Then there was Olivia behind closed doors - supplication escaping his lips in the shaded darkness of the bedroom; the taunting challenge of Olivia, I need you to fuck me now when she lay on top of him. Olivia was a command that made her heart pound with anticipation, and other times his cry of surrender to the power she had over him. Three syllables he'd teasingly drag out; three syllables she'd heard countless times in her life, but only in this way from Rafael, a hidden language of their own that made every last wall between them collapse.

And when the room settled into silence and their heartbeats slowed in sync, he'd send her into slumber with I love you, Olivia, gentle and tender and unapologetic and whole - the Olivia he loved as Detective Benson, Liv, mi amor, sweetheart all in one.


December 2014

Write about a place that represents something important to you.

Rafael's red pen hovered just a hair's breadth from the stack of crisp white sheets fresh out of the printer, still warm to the touch and an almost welcome respite from the blustery wind on the other side of his office window. Save paper, he'd been reminded repeatedly in the department-wide email newsletters that arrived in his inbox each week. Grade students' work electronically. But just like his affinity with his stack of legal pads in his previous life, Rafael wasn't the kind to give up pen and paper that easily, and so he reached for a sip of the coffee he'd brewed with his French press (Olivia's birthday gift being put to good use), uncapped his pen, and started reading.

A few days ago he'd stood in front of his class of twenty eager 20-somethings and scrawled down that essay prompt on the massive whiteboard, feeling like himself in the 16th Precinct for just a split-second. He'd spun a story about his "home office" back in Chicago - an intricately carved oak desk that bore the scars of many a late-night glass of scotch and pen ink stains from his signature gold pen, next to a window that afforded surprisingly breathtaking views of the city below him. He'd embellished that tale, of course, and conveniently masked the lacklustre heating or squeaky hinges on the door that never seemed to fall into place, but only one mental image had filled his head at that moment. Rafael was back in his office at 1 Hogan Place, the weight of expectations and ADAs past and present looming over him as he hunched over his Macbook, Olivia sitting opposite him with her nose deep in a case file.

(He hadn't yet told her the extent of his feelings for her - certainly not back then, when every attempt to open his mouth never felt right, and often abjectly wrong. But those late nights at 1 Hogan Place, which only much later became late nights in the secrecy of one of their apartments, were the closest he'd ever come.)

Rafael looked up from the paper he was grading and took stock of the room around him: a typical community college office (that is, provided he even knew what a "typical" instructor's office looked like), with fluorescent lighting hanging above him and a simple plastic desk not unlike the ones in the 16th Precinct, his coffee machine and stacks of papers resting in a corner. An empty chair opposite him for the occasional office hours visit and sometimes, even Olivia, when she found the time for the hour-long drive from her office in downtown D.C. to surprise him at work. It wasn't 1 Hogan Place by any measure; in fact, he still struggled to grade papers under the harsh fluorescent lights and often resorted to taking work home with him despite Olivia's protests. However, he ran a finger across the corner of the wooden photo frame where he kept a picture of himself and Olivia standing under the Washington Monument, taken by a kind English tourist who they'd helped take a photo while passing by, and smiled to himself. Next to it lay a calendar that reminded him the essay grind was finally coming to an end after a manic semester of questioning if he was cut out to be a community college writing instructor, and he heaved a quiet sigh of relief knowing that he'd made it.

Was he cut out for this job? The first month had been absolute hell for him: after months of enjoying a solitary lifestyle (and Olivia's company), he was staring down five classes of 18 to 25-year-olds that he suddenly felt incredibly responsible for, not unlike the way he looked at the jury and viewing gallery at 60 Centre Street and realised the outcome of the trial rested on his shoulders. No cameras or reporters were waiting for him outside the building this time, but they'd been replaced by the looming threat of very public poor Rate My Professor reviews that he refused to read, despite Olivia's assurance that they were perfectly reasonable and even complimentary.

Was he cut out for this job? Maybe he was even enjoying it, now that he'd finally found his footing. Who would have guessed that Rafael Marquez could produce a top-notch PowerPoint slide deck or actually get a group of young people interested in writing essays about their lives? And all that, without the late nights that'd slowly chipped away at his soul in New York, or the crushing weight that crippled him for days when he lost an important trial. All he had to do now was make sure the next class wasn't an abject disaster, and even then, the encouraging feedback he'd received from the other instructors and even some of his students assured him that he was doing a perfectly fine job of teaching these young people how to write.

Best of all, he could tell Olivia that 7pm worked for dinner and meet her in downtown D.C. or Bethesda in good time, without the last-minute rush to get his outfit and things in order before calling an Uber. Had he finally earned his personal life back after giving almost all of it to the People of New York City twenty years ago? If this was what true work-life balance felt like, he wasn't sure if he could ever go back to the life he'd once led.

A gentle knock on the door roused Rafael from his reverie, and he didn't even have to look up to know who it was.

Her beaming face in the doorway confirmed his suspicion. "Hey, it's me."

"Mi amor, you're very early."

(He loved seeing the way her face lit up - even now - whenever he called her that.)

Olivia settled into the empty chair opposite him and kicked off her pumps to sit cross-legged, and just like that, the office felt a little more complete. She grabbed one of the papers from the stack he'd just completed and read the header aloud. "Write about a place that represents something important to you. Interesting topic."

"This stack's not bad. Quite a few A essays in the mix."

"Spoken like a true teacher." She noticed how quickly the stack he was holding was dwindling. "You seem to be getting through the papers much faster today," Olivia remarked as she thumbed through the papers he'd already emblazoned with his signature cursive (albeit tidied up for the students' eyes). "Beats looking through case files, I'm sure."

"You say this to me almost every time you come by the office, Liv," Rafael chuckled softly, his fingers ghosting the top of her hand. "Definitely easier on the brain than case files, though."

A part of him did miss thinking like a lawyer. Being an ADA made him feel sharp and astute; it certainly kept him on his toes. In contrast, this new position called for a very different kind of brain work. How was it so difficult to think of constructive feedback for every single student on short notice? However, he certainly didn't miss the mental anguish he'd silently endure burning the midnight oil in 1 Hogan Place, where even his pen felt heavy with the weight of his perpetual stress. Now his office felt lighter; he was less self-conscious in this space, less afraid of public scrutiny. And that change made a world of difference. Sure, he wasn't contemplating how to nail serial rapists or vindicate survivors from this seat, but he was doing good work nonetheless, and maybe he even preferred this to interviews outside the courthouse and seeing himself in the New York Times.

(Actually, he was increasingly sure he preferred it now.)

Rafael looked up from his stack to sneak a glance at Olivia, who clearly was as comfortable as he was: she was contentedly admiring the photos of them he kept on his desk, her posture carefree and relaxed at the end of the work week (and the promise of a weekend without the looming threat of a last-minute call to a crime scene) or the stiff formality of meetings in 1 Hogan Place. It was Friday; the last Friday of the semester! He'd planned to stay here to get his work done before dinner, but something had stirred in him the instant she'd walked through the door.

"Hey, how about we head out and grab dinner now?"

Olivia was visibly surprised - although not unpleasantly so. "It's not even 6pm. What happened to Rafael the workaholic?" she joked.

Rafael put down his red pen with a soft thud and sat up in his seat, his attention now deliberately and completely diverted away from his papers. "Well, I can be easily convinced."

(Her presence alone was more than enough to convince him - even more so than it'd been a year ago when he found himself stealing glances at her instead of his legal pad during those dreadfully long meetings in the precinct.)

"Well, I guess that's our sign to head out," she smiled as she got up from her seat to help him pack up the stacks on his desk. "Good timing, because I had an idea for dinner."

His stomach growled - perfect timing. "Do tell."

"How about we drive into D.C. tonight? You can treat yourself to some steak."

"Treat myself and you, you mean," he laughed, although he knew very well that he'd happily put his Visa down in a couple of hours. They'd really only enjoyed one date in New York - a date that also ended in gunfire and them lying bloodied on a sidewalk in Chelsea - now he was jumping at every chance he could to continue where they'd left off. "I honestly don't think we can get a table, but I'm still up for trying."

"Which is why I called in and made a reservation at Capitol Grille a few days ago," she winked.

Rafael suddenly was even more motivated to pack up his things - she'd clearly been plotting this for some time. "You're the best."

(He meant it. Every single time.)

He turned off the light and his office plunged into darkness, officially bringing his first semester as an instructor to a close. Those ungraded papers could wait; he'd find time for them later, because Olivia deserved his attention first. The evening wind was blustery and made their eyes sting as they walked to his car carrying those stacks of ungraded papers, but Olivia felt nothing but warmth next to him as she climbed into the shotgun seat and turned up the radio.

Welcome back to 80s Hour! Get your mullets and cassette players out, because we'll be playing the greatest hits of the decade all evening!

"Eye of the Tiger. Called it," he declared when the familiar introduction started playing. "This station needs to shuffle its playlist."

"Hey, it's a good song."

"Not when you miss half the notes when you sing."

He'd gotten much less snarky since they'd moved here, but she missed the occasional cheeky barb he sent her way, this one being no exception. "I know you like my singing."

"You sing beautifully, mi amor," he retaliated sarcastically, although they both knew how much he not-so-secretly enjoyed Olivia's unapologetically off-tune crooning.

He'd learnt over the months that Olivia singing meant one thing: that she was relaxed. Rafael had seen disturbingly little of that side to her until a few months ago when she'd finally broken the ice two drinks in at Forlini's and never quite put her walls back up after that. He knew better than anyone how much the last few years at SVU had taken out of her, sometimes so much that her exhaustion seemed to weigh her down physically. But he also knew better than anyone how drastically things had changed for the better since they'd moved here: he saw it in the way her shoulders lost their exhausted slump and laughter became unshackled. She could love her new job without having to throw herself in the line of fire for it; she'd stopped jumping whenever her cell phone rang and started truly relaxing into his arms on the weekends, unbothered by work. She cracked corny jokes, sang out of tune, and traded jabs and banter with him that almost always ended with a kiss (or in bed, for that matter).

But the best part, Rafael realised, was seeing Olivia smile without an ounce of fear or insecurity behind those brown eyes. They were long past the point of treading so carefully that every move felt like it could conceal a landmine of emotion. She'd relaxed into him; into them, so much so that she felt like she'd known him a lifetime, looked at him like he was everything she wanted. And hyperbolic as it seemed, maybe it was true.

The music still piping through the speakers, he paused at a red light and wordlessly reached over to take her hand in his with a gentle squeeze. If this were New York, he'd probably be doing this on a bench in Central Park or while strolling along the Hudson after a long day at work, but now it was just them in his sedan cruising along the streets of Bethesda and taking in the last embers of daylight.

He was more relaxed too. Between songs and idle banter about whatever lazy jokes the DJs traded, he'd never felt more carefree, and Olivia could feel it all over him: in his contented smile, in his touch. The last few months had chipped away at the hardened cynicism in his expression and blunted the cutting snark in his voice - not that Olivia didn't appreciate his biting sarcasm, but the chip on his shoulder he'd always worn now seemed to weigh him down much less. His footsteps were lighter; his emerald eyes sparkled with life. He was unquestioningly the same Rafael, but the D.C. air had added new colour to him.

Write about a place that represents something important to you.

60 Centre Street would always be the place they'd first met, a memory that could never be tarnished or demolished by WITSEC. The 16th Precinct would always be the place he'd been taken by her, his office at 1 Hogan Place the room where he'd spent long evenings sneaking glances at her over his paperwork. Forlini's was where they'd stoked the fire; Olivia's apartment was where it'd gone ablaze. He'd once imagined a New York where he and Olivia would leave traces of themselves wherever they went - they'd etch themselves into new favourite restaurants, stroll under neon lights, make a home in a walk-up building with no in-unit washing machine but a charm that was distinctly theirs.

They didn't have that anymore, but Bethesda, Maryland would always be the place where she first loved him; the place where the seeds planted in her all those months ago would finally see the light and flower. Perhaps they'd never look up and see the twinkling Empire State Building in the distance or admire the Brooklyn Bridge from the window of the B train. But Rafael looked between the D.C. streets outside the window and Olivia singing along without a care in the world, and it hit him that perhaps he didn't need to make those memories in New York - not anymore.

Maybe he'd never stop wondering what could've been if he and Olivia had stayed in Manhattan and remained the SVU sergeant and ADA; if that fateful night in Chelsea had been erased from history. But being here, with her laughter and warmth and companionship on a cold December evening, made it much easier to stop wondering.


January 2015

Happy new year, guys. It isn't the same without you both around. Everyone's doing fine back here - it's all under control. Hope you're safe and warm wherever you are.

Olivia and Rafael hunched over the tiny LED screen in the safety of the empty Barnes & Noble parking lot, the locked doors and windows their only protection against the bitterly cold wind outside - and the looming danger that still filled the air whenever they retrieved the Nokia from the recesses of Olivia's bedroom closet. More than a month had passed since they'd last powered up that plastic brick and they weren't quite sure what to expect. Bad news about Catalina or God forbid, Lucia? (They'd heard that this winter was especially harsh in New York, and Catalina's Bronx walk-up was far from a good place to be during a season as brutal as this one.) Something else distinctly un-festive? After all, that was the reason they still hung on to the burner cell, their only link back to the city.

The relief that filled the car when they finally laid eyes on Fin and Rita's messages was palpable, and it took Olivia a solid minute to compose herself before she could type a reply, her fingers clumsy on the small plastic keys.

We miss you all. Stay safe and warm too - thanks for everything.

Olivia and Rafael had lost track of the number of times they'd thanked their friends, and yet it never felt like enough. How many people in the Witness Protection Programme could say that they had a lifeline like this: a lifeline that had orchestrated a miraculous return to New York for them?

(Probably none. Olivia and Rafael tried to forget the marshals' repeated warnings that contact with anyone from their past lives was strictly forbidden, but there was little they could do about the nagging guilt they carried from doing precisely that every month. It was a routine neither dared to give up.)

The message was sent, and Olivia powered down the Nokia and removed the SIM card in preparation for another month of safekeeping as Rafael stepped on the gas pedal and exited the darkened parking lot.

Everyone's doing fine back here - it's all under control.

Neither exchanged a word as they sped along under the twinkling street lamps lining Rockville Pike, but knew that the words they'd read on that tiny LED screen would sustain them for the next month - and hopefully, the new year that awaited them.

Only when Olivia had safely stored the phone in the recesses of her closet and sealed the SIM card in an envelope did they make an attempt at ushering in the new year - a take-out spread, opening the bottle of red wine she'd been saving for a special occasion, and of course, the Times Square ball drop on TV. She didn't miss the way his nose wrinkled when she landed on that channel, but neither did he utter a word of protest - and judging by the way he settled on the couch next to her, he was content watching the spectacle for probably the first time in his adult life. Once upon a time, he'd pass through Times Square on his way to a Broadway show almost every month; now, on Olivia's TV screen, it looked alien to him. Like how it would look to a tourist.

(Except that he and Olivia were now exiles and not even tourists.)

"How long did those people stand there waiting for the show to start?" Rafael asked after a long silence, gesturing at the particularly enthusiastic audience members right by the stage. "Don't they need the bathroom at some point?"

"They don't need the bathroom - they wear diapers," she explained as an incredulous expression flashed across his face. "Learned that when I was a beat cop on crowd control duty."

"So this isn't your first time watching the ball drop, after all."

"No… but if I'm being honest, this is my first time actually paying attention to the action instead of the crowd."

"You know, I never really got the appeal…" he remarked between bites of popcorn, "but it does look pretty exciting on TV."

"Trust me, it's not that great. December is tourist hell in New York. And New Year's is always the worst of it."

"When's the last time you spent New Year's like this? Not working, just staying at home and eating take-out…?"

"Honestly? I don't remember." She wasn't lying. She'd been rostered to work almost every single New Year, with Elliot and later Nick getting priority for time off to spend with family and leaving her to hold the fort. And too often the phone would ring well before the clock struck 12, meaning that she'd stood at many a gruesome crime scene while fireworks exploded over the East River in the distance.

"Come on, even I had plans every New Year's Eve - even if said plan is watching trash TV with my abuelita and mami," Rafael remarked in disbelief.

"Well, I have you to watch trash TV with now," she declared, and the stinging pain that came with remembering how far he was from Lucia and Catalina seemed to dissipate.

"Definitely beats standing in Times Square all night. I know many better ways to usher in the new year."

"Like?"

"Like this."

He leaned over to kiss her, one hand in her hair and the other affectionately cupping her cheek - and that was exactly what they were doing when the clock struck midnight and a riot of colour and sound burst from the TV. But they'd long left the couch behind by then and made themselves comfortable in her bed, wine glasses empty and the lights turned down, against a backdrop of only their breaths and the chilly wind echoing in the distance as the realisation that it was 2015 slowly sank over them. So much for paying more attention to the action on TV, but she wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

"We've been gone for eight months now," he remarked after a long silence, and even he wasn't sure what emotion to peg to that statement. Distress? Acceptance? Ambivalence?

What did he typically accomplish in eight months? Rafael had never known of timelines that existed outside of New York's relentless pace, the one he'd grown up on. Every single day, especially as an ADA, felt endless and cramped with activity - in eight months he'd probably have thumbed through countless case files, run over hundreds of witness statements and ironed his suits countless times for court appearances. He'd learnt to mark the days that passed in legal terms; the hearing schedule was his body's calendar. Then he'd been exiled here and time had dilated so suddenly that he sometimes still couldn't shake the feeling that he was being profoundly unproductive, especially on the days he didn't have to be in the office all day, instead spending long afternoons with Olivia's head on his lap and substituting case files with thumbing through a novel at his own pace. The gulf in his life was starting to get filled up with much better things, and he had the distinct feeling that he hadn't experienced the best of them yet, but he still couldn't fully convince himself that this new life was entirely better than the one he'd once had.

"Yeah," she replied. "So much has happened without us."

Her mind instantly wandered back to the 16th Precinct. Fin provided intermittent updates, but that wasn't the same as actually being in her office and staring out into her squad room; standing by the noticeboard and tracking every lead they found. Her squad room - the place she'd made her life and home for over a decade - now was virtually shut off to her, save her occasional calls to Fin and mentions of the detectives and Cragen in the news when they busted huge cases. Huge cases that she would've been the sergeant on. She'd largely made peace with her new job, even enjoyed it on most days, but a part of her would still give anything for a single week in her well-worn leather boots, treading the pavements of Manhattan in search of leads.

"Think we'll ever get to go back?" Rafael hated how stupid that question sounded when it hung in the air, knowing how implausible it seemed, but neither had to acknowledge that the topic had been weighing on their minds from the moment they'd started watching the New Year's special that night.

She mulled over her response for a while. "We technically did go back… but I know that doesn't count."

They both knew what would actually count - a day back that didn't involve sneaking into a hospital under the careful watch of their friends. Going back would mean that the streets were their own again; long dinners in the Village and strolls in Central Park and drives across the Manhattan Bridge knowing that they'd wake up to the same view tomorrow. Navigating the brutal housing market. Rats on the subway track. Alternate side parking. Things that they'd reluctantly put up with long ago but now were emblems of a city like no other.

"I still miss it," Rafael sighed sadly. New York meant seeing his mother; hugging his abuelita. Rita made sure to text the burner cell regularly with the much-needed assurance that they were healthy and well, but not a day went by without him wondering if he'd have to watch live streams of their funerals on an iPad screen with the marshals hovering behind him. New York meant family; the people who'd raised him.

She found his hand under the covers and squeezed it comfortingly. "Me too."

Serena had long passed and her father wasn't someone she wanted to speak of, but Olivia had found a family of her own, and she'd left them all without a goodbye. Fin, Nick and Brian had gotten some closure, but what about everyone else - Alex, Casey, Cragen…? The list only seemed to grow longer each time her mind wandered back to the city streets, and even her contentment with her new life didn't completely wipe out the dull ache she still felt for New York.

Olivia felt Rafael shift uncomfortably on his side of the bed and knew that Lucia and Catalina were on his mind. A round of excited cheers erupted from the apartment below theirs, but little about the new year felt celebratory to them - in fact, the raucous celebrations felt almost like salt in a wound. Eight months of being here had felt years long; what would a lifetime feel like? And she hadn't even been ripped from the people who'd raised her - Rafael had been dealt that hand. She turned to look at him and found him staring at the ceiling deep in thought, eyes glistening with unshed tears, and her chest ached in anguish, most of it for him and a small part for herself for feeling so damn helpless. There was little she could do beyond checking that burner cell and calling Fin and Rita regularly to check on how things were going, which, as precious as those were, remained a poor substitute for driving him back to the city and straight into the arms of his abuelita.

"Liv?"

His voice was uncharacteristically small and muffled in the dark, and Olivia's heart clenched.

"Yeah, Raf?"

"I'm glad you're here."

Olivia instinctively moved closer to his side of the bed, but when she pressed herself against him and her lips found his cheek, she realised that it was damp with tears - and that she couldn't stop her own from flowing.

They had every reason to be grateful for how things had turned out - a good city, the fact that they'd been relocated together despite there being no guarantee - but the agony came back in flashes and waves. Some days they'd celebrate how much better their lives were now than they'd been less than a year ago, and on others, they'd fall into melancholy going over memories that seemed to fade slightly more each time they played them back. And they were only just starting to realise that there was no formula to this; no way to pre-empt the waves of pain. All they could do was ride them through.

But even if tonight was the latter and their silent tears mingled into one, at least they didn't have to cry alone, and that was all they needed to wake up the next morning and perform the next act of their new lives, one day at a time.


"Babe, they saw our message."

"Finally. What did they say?"

Fin waved the small plastic phone in Rita's direction as she shut the bathroom door behind her and slid into bed. "Thank goodness everything is going well," she remarked as she scanned their brief message, visibly relieved.

"I told you they were going to be fine. It's Liv and Barba we're talking about."

"It's been more than 6 months now. Do you think anyone is still on their trail?" she wondered aloud.

"You never really know with these sex trafficking rings. Their reach is bigger than any of us can imagine."

"That's not very reassur-"

He instantly regretted the way he'd phrased his response - this was Rita's Hamptons lodge, not the SVU squad room. "Look - they've been there for half a year now, and they even came back to New York without anything happening to any of us. I think everything's working out."

Rita frowned concernedly, making Fin even more determined to assuage her worries. "Liv's one of the sharpest cops I've ever worked with and she's not going to lose those instincts overnight. And I'll keep my eyes and ears open too. We're all going to be fine."

He was relieved to see a smile - a tiny smile, but nonetheless a smile - appear on her face. "That's much more reassuring."

"I learn from the best." He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and let her into his embrace. "Come on, we don't have much of our vacation left."

"You could always call Cragen and take an extra day off, you know."

"Don't tempt me, Counselor. I need to be at the precinct tomorrow afternoon."

"Guess I'll have to spend the next few hours changing your mind, then."

"I'd like to see you try." His tone was taunting, but body language inviting - and so she moved into Fin's embrace and rested her head on his shoulder, although the nagging worry couldn't seem to leave her mind no matter how many kisses he peppered on her temple.

"Hey, they're going to be fine. We're going to be fine," Fin whispered, as though he'd read her mind. "I promise."

Rita squeezed her eyes shut and tried to relax into his arms. Truth be told, she didn't know what the fuck she'd signed up for when she'd learned that Rafael and Olivia were put into witness protection - in fact, she hadn't even signed up for it herself. And truthfully, she still didn't know what the fuck to think when her best friend crossed her mind and all she could imagine was him being miserable in some backwater state with his legal career brutally robbed from him. Was she ever going to stop worrying and praying that whichever insidious forces had forced them out of New York weren't going to come for them again?

But she'd have done it again in a heartbeat for her oldest friend, and for the person she was falling more deeply for each day, whose protective embrace made her feel invincible. She was happy here, and there was little reason to worry that it wasn't going to last.

All she hoped was that Rafael and Olivia were feeling the same wherever they were.


February 2015

Dear Rafael,

Thank you for your order. This receipt confirms your purchase of:

1 x LARGE Bouquet with attached card

Your order will be delivered as per your request below:

RECIPIENT: Olivia Davis

DELIVERY DATE: 7 February 2015

DELIVERY TIME: 8-8.30am

OCCASION: Birthday


Happy birthday, mi amor.

I love you, Liv. Always have, always will.

Yours,

Rafael


The flowers were everything Rafael wanted in a bouquet - a bouquet for Olivia, that is. Surprisingly, it'd been difficult for him to find something decidedly non-ostentatious; she'd never been one for pomp and circumstance and extravagance. But when he'd chanced upon this bouquet after hours of trawling through websites of florists in Bethesda and the D.C. metropolitan area, he knew instantly that it was the one - and now, it was sitting on her kitchen countertop illuminated by the Saturday morning light, waiting to be discovered in its simple, straightforward glory.

There was only one thing missing; something to whet her appetite for later. He grabbed a blank Post-It note - the same stack they used for their weekly grocery lists - and his gold pen from his pocket, and carefully stuck it to the small purple envelope the card had arrived in.

I'll save the rest for later.

-Raf

Olivia was still half asleep when he stepped back into the bedroom, exhausted from burning the midnight oil to finish a last-minute work report, but the sleepy smile that danced across her face when he pressed his lips to her forehead stayed in his mind all throughout his drive to his Saturday morning class and the rest of the afternoon.

She'd bring up his card thrice that day, the first a straightforward I love you, Raf and Looking forward to later :) that lit up his phone during his morning lecture, words that he could hear a million times from Olivia but still felt like a lightning bolt to his heart each time.

The second was a cheeky so, tell me what you had saved for later over wine and appetisers at Capitol Grille, the anticipation of the day finally finding release when she squeezed his hand under the table and found his lips with hers. But neither of them had anticipated the tears that pricked her eyes when he finally told her about the first time he'd realised he'd fallen for her on a frigid morning two winters ago, and he looked at her like she'd given him everything he ever wanted. You're the bravest person I've ever known, Liv, and her brown eyes were glistening.

The third and final time she brought it up, they were kissing furiously in her doorway and her hands were undoing his belt buckle; she dipped her voice to command him to show me what you had saved for tonight, and he'd let her fire run through his blood all night long.


Moments Rafael realised he was ready:

1. He was wiping the clean dishes, she was keeping them in his kitchen cupboard, each one finding its way to its rightful place without her having to ask.

2. He opened his bedroom closet and saw her favourite work outfit - the navy blouse and black slacks - hanging right next to his.

3. While sitting in his office on long afternoons grading a seemingly endless stack of papers he'd spend time wondering about the first thing he'd do when he got home later, and it almost always involved kissing her.

4. She'd quietly shut the door behind her before leaving for work and the hollowness of his now-empty apartment was so overbearing that he wanted nothing more than to call out her name and invite her back into bed (knowing full well that she wanted that just as much).

5. Every pot of coffee they brewed was for two; every meal they cooked was portioned into two.

And so, one bitterly cold winter evening when Rafael was camped out at Olivia's apartment for the Valentine's Day weekend in search of more than one kind of warmth, he looked at her as she typed up a report next to him on the couch and the question came out without warning.

"Move in with me?"

(Seamless, as though it was a foregone conclusion.)

Her eyes lit up. "I thought you'd never ask."

(It was a foregone conclusion.)


March 2015

To: Dean and Ellen Kincaid [ ...]

From: Rafael Marquez [ ...]

Subject: RE: Lease Renewal - April 2015

Date: 5 March 2015

Dear Dean and Ellen,

Nice to hear from both of you again. Florida sounds lovely!

I'm sorry to inform you that I will not be renewing my lease this April. I've greatly enjoyed living here, but will be moving in with my partner next month.

Thank you for opening your home to me this year; I've made many happy memories here. The paperwork is attached to this email.

Best wishes,

Rafael Marquez


To: Building Management [management ...]

From: Olivia Davis [ ...]

Subject: RE: Request for Additional Key

Date: 15 March 2015

Dear David,

Thank you for the prompt reply. I'll pick up the new set of keys from the building office tomorrow morning.

As requested in your previous email, I've completed the remaining paperwork for the additional tenant who will be moving in next month. (Rafael Marquez)

Best wishes,

Olivia Davis

Apartment 5


April 2015

Rafael had almost forgotten about the novel - worn and yellowed pages, his unruly cursive, the scraps of paper he'd fashioned into bookmarks for his favourite chapters. It certainly stood out in the row of brand new paperbacks lining the new bookshelf that Olivia insisted they assemble when he moved in with his gargantuan book collection (not even counting the titles he kept in his office), yet Rafael couldn't imagine the shelf without that thirty-year-old copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude. He had barely touched the relic since he'd returned from New York with it. Rita's parting gift to him felt almost too fragile to be touched sometimes, but his afternoon class had been postponed by the department and he'd been bored out of his mind since Olivia left for work that morning, which led him to the task he'd been putting off for weeks now despite her protests and repeated reminders.

The shelf now assembled and his books out of their cardboard boxes at long last, Rafael brewed himself a cup of coffee and settled onto her - now their - couch with the book on his lap and flipped it open to a random page, grateful that he still remembered even the most minor of plot details despite months away from it. How could he possibly forget, when this very book had left such an indelible impression on him growing up that he'd chosen Marquez as his new last name? And now he was a writing instructor, even if he was imparting the art of non-fiction instead of Marquez's magical realism, and a part of him felt he'd always known where this new life would take him, even if he'd been in the depths of despair a year ago.

I'll get take-out on the way home. What do you feel like eating tonight?

The realisation that "home" now referred to the apartment they shared still made his heart race a little each time.

Sounds good. Take your pick.

Sometimes he couldn't believe that he'd waited so long to ask Olivia about moving in together. It'd gone by far more smoothly and efficiently than any New York move ever could - paperwork, loading the boxes into his car, and driving the five minutes to her place, where he'd merely added the other half of his things to the half he'd already kept with her all this time. But he was also glad that he'd waited, because this move was something he was sure was truly by choice and not merely out of necessity or loneliness. She'd always deserved far more than that.

I'll surprise you later, then. Love you!

He found himself smiling like an idiot as he put his phone down and returned to his book, but after their disastrous start here, he knew that smiling like an idiot most definitely beat taking all this for granted. Rafael wasn't going to make that near-fatal mistake again, after nearly losing her for good one summer ago.

In fact, Olivia swore that she could make out a smile when she returned a few hours later and found him sound asleep on the couch with the book still on his chest, uncannily similar to the first morning she'd walked into his apartment after arriving in Bethesda. But in signature Rafael fashion, the smell of food was enough to rouse him from his slumber, and his smile widened catching sight of her unpacking the food boxes in the kitchen.

"Good choice of book," she called out to him. "Haven't seen it for a while."

"What time is it?" He unhurriedly rose from the couch, careful to put the book back on the coffee table before it could fall to the floor, and wrapped his arms around her waist affectionately.

Olivia smiled feeling him pressed against her, his skin inviting and welcoming after a long day. "It's 6. Some of us had to work today," she chuckled between the soft kisses he peppered all over the side of her face and neck, equal parts chaste and teasing - a welcome home that she'd never tire of.

"Wine?"

"Always. Especially today."

"What's the occasion?" Surely he hadn't forgotten something important?

"Nguyen called me when I was driving home with some news."

It'd been a while since he'd last heard that name, and he cocked an eyebrow in confusion. "What did she say?"

"You know, it's a funny coincidence that you have that book out today - Nguyen actually wanted to check in and say hi because it's been a year since we got here."

"Seriously?" He glanced incredulously at the calendar on the fridge but was quickly proven right. April 2015. It'd really been a full year since they'd stepped foot into this apartment for the first time.

"I know - I was just as surprised as you are. Which is why I thought to pick up Cava on the way."

It was only then that he noticed that the familiar-looking brown paper bag on the kitchen counter was identical to the one they'd brought back to her car that first evening. "You remembered."

"Of course," Olivia smiled, and he felt his insides warm from the memory.

She'd ordered them the same salads they'd eaten that night, but that was one of the only things about the meal that remained. A year ago they'd eaten in stony, fearful silence while balancing the boxes on their laps in the front seats; now they were cross-legged on their couch and she was leaning into him, uncoiled and comfortable after a long day, and the evening sun wasn't the only thing in the room that was glowing. One whole year, and so much had changed, but almost certainly for the better.

Rafael turned the TV on but neither bothered to change the channel from CNN, the day's news serving as little more than background noise to Olivia's recap of her work day and the clinking of their glasses of wine. He suddenly recalled how much CNN they'd watched when they were confined in the WITSEC facility by the marshals and how uncomfortable they'd been contemplating the foreignness of their new lives, but now that they'd left the punishing schedules of their old jobs, this part of their day now felt routine. What he would have given to sit down for a couple of hours in front of his TV in his old apartment for purposes other than keeping up with the media circus around his cases…

In other regional news, two men have been charged with running a prostitution ring…

He froze instantly - and it didn't take him long to realise that Olivia's attention had also been diverted to the screen. This wasn't even something that pertained to their current lives or even their current neighbourhood, but old habits died hard, and the fact that both of them had stopped eating to turn their attention to a sex crime report was a clear sign that they hadn't fully put their SVU days behind them.

Olivia reached for the remote on his lap to change the channel, knowing that she could still get their leisurely evening back on track, only for him to interrupt her train of thought.

"Do you think the sex trafficking ring knows we're alive?" Rafael interjected seriously, Nguyen's news still weighing on his mind. He didn't know if Olivia even had an answer to that question. It was one of the topics that they rarely brought up, not out of unwillingness but due to a lack of necessity. What reason did they have to replay that night over and over again?

She paused for a long time before answering. In her spare time she occasionally kept up with New York crime news, but there wasn't much she could confirm without insider information, which even Fin didn't have much of. "They're definitely still active. I wouldn't put it past them to assume that we're in witness protection, but…"

Olivia partially regretted the way she'd opened that sentence when she caught sight of the anxiety that'd flooded his expression. "... But?"

"But it doesn't mean they can track us down, and that's what really matters. Even Fin and Rita don't know where we are."

The floodgates had been opened, and he couldn't bring himself to turn back now. "Do you think they'll come for us again? What would you do if they did?"

"I don't think we'd have a choice beyond telling the marshals." Olivia made a mental note to write down their phone numbers and keep them in a safe place in case they ever needed them. "They'd know how to handle a situation like that." She was now a civilian without easy access to a gun or practice range - and she knew that cop instincts weren't going to cut it if their assailants showed up at their doorstep.

"Even if that means we'll get relocated to another city?" The thought of uprooting themselves again made them both shudder. They'd certainly struck the jackpot with Bethesda; what if the next city turned out to be in the middle of nowhere in a state that neither of them had even stepped foot into before?

"We wouldn't have any other option, really." She chewed on her lower lip as the harrowing mental image flooded her mind, but forced herself to look on the bright side for his sake if not her own. "But at least a whole year's gone by without anything happening. I'm grateful."

She was entirely right, and he heaved a quiet sigh of relief. "Me too."

"It's strange, isn't it? We once were so important to them that they actually tried to have us killed," she added.

"You know, I'm glad that chapter of my life is over now." He'd been threatened by countless perps in the course of his legal career - even if there was one case that could still crawl out of the woodwork and track him here, at least the rest of the perps he'd put away would've been taken care of when news of his "death" had made the rounds.

A well-dressed and eloquent prosecutor not too unlike the Rafael Barba of a year ago graced the TV screen to give a short interview on the prostitution case on the steps of a courthouse somewhere in Virginia, and Olivia couldn't help but recall the first time she'd seen Rafael do just that outside 60 Centre Street, looking sharp in his suit and tongue venomous with condemnation for the perp they'd just put away. Now he was cross-legged next to her in sweatpants and a faded T-shirt, all curves and soft edges and she almost couldn't believe that they were the same person. Yet when she looked hard enough, she could still see the shadow of Rafael Barba in Rafael Marquez, now a more quietly confident and contented version.

"I thought you would've missed standing in front of the cameras outside the courthouse." His suit collection had been largely relegated to the back of their closet, but now he didn't have to put on his armour to ooze the confidence he had at 60 Centre Street.

(Anyway, he looked much better with his clothes off, she smirked.)

"I did. Until I met you," he reminisced.

"On take-your-daughters-to-work day?"

A mischievous smirk danced across her face, and Rafael cringed at the memory but secretly treasured the fact that she'd remembered even after all this time. "I take full responsibility for that line."

"That was shockingly bad. Especially for you."

"Not bad enough that you didn't want to take me home with you," he retorted, his hand resting on top of hers.

She laced her fingers with his. "Now… that was a wise decision."

"Best one I've ever made."

"Best one we've ever made."

Her confident smile made his knees go weak.

There was so much more that Rafael could have said. He could've taken another stroll down memory lane; replayed memories of the first time he'd realised he'd fallen for her. But instead, he chose to rest his head on Olivia's shoulder and hold her close as the twinkling sunset bathed the room in gold, because he didn't need to do or say anything else. Things couldn't get better than this, could they?


I have an update on Benson and Barba.

Finally. Took you long enough.

They're alive and probably in witness protection.

Proof?

Surveillance footage from Bellevue. Spotted with Amaro and Tutuola. They visited the city back in August.

That was eight months ago! That's all you have?

Still, it's proof that they're alive. We'll keep looking.

Get hunting.