He's adrift, alone. He comes home to a quiet apartment of books and scotch and very few photo frames. What has he to memorialise, to display? There's a photo of his abeula and mami, an old frame face-down with the smiles of three young boys, and one final image of a younger Rafi with graduation cap on and arm slung around his little sister. They are all he has ever had.
And he thinks about Alex, about the small number of people he would ever stick his neck out for and who would return the favour; he can count them on one hand.
His phone buzzes and as he glances to the screen he realises belatedly that they're not really all he has, not anymore.
The bar is loud and warm and his earlier concerns for being underdressed are dismissed. Finn intercepts him en route to the table with a warm hand clapped on his shoulder and a scotch thrust into his. They try to steer clear of talking shop and no one calls him Counsellor once, and it feels easy, like this could be where he belongs. Many refills later and the whole bar has lost all volume control, the music is throbbing and the squad is laughing as they scoot closer to be heard. He finds his arm thrown carelessly behind Liv, long fingers curling around the ends of her hair. Finn's recalling one of Munch's more spectacular conspiracy theories and he can feel the jumping of her ribs as she bellows with laughter. There are warning bells that would typically be going off in his head, extraction plans he would be implementing to leave the situation, but tonight he just smiles at the group and sips his scotch.
He is struck by just how much he likes these people. Amanda's thick accent and Carisi's constant need for reassurance, Finn's perceptive eyes sparkling with a smile; he realises with a start that he wouldn't trade them for anything. He knows there are gaps in the table, ghosts crowding around them – memories of Cragen and Munch and Amaro, all the detectives he never met and all the DA's that came before him – but he imagines they'd smile at the ragdoll team trying to catch a break. It's been a long time since he belonged anywhere but he's beginning to see that there's a spot in this team, in this family, that they have opened up to him. He can be theirs, if they can be his. And it's not about the favours they can call upon or the times they can argue against him, it's about having someone to call late at night when the case is too heavy to bear alone, about shouting coffees and knowing instinctively that someone has your back.
They're parting ways with bright smiles and carefree waves and promises of tomorrow. Liv looks at her watch before stepping closer to him, and he hates the little skip in his heartbeat, hates the instinct to close that distance. Her hand is on his chest and he's certain she can feel the heavy thud against his ribs as she bends her head and places a firm kiss on his cheek. He's frozen, mouth intuitively curling into a smile as he looks at her with a question in his eyes. "Happy birthday Rafael."
There's a soft laugh that breaks through the loaded air between them as he asks in a hushed tone, "How did you know?"
"I'm a trained detective."
He walks her home, shoulders bumping, secure in the knowledge that Amanda has her own two escorts to get her safely home. It shouldn't be the case, he knows, they're tough, but after the past year he's glad to know no one is alone on the streets tonight.
And when he gets back to his own apartment and falls into the couch with a small smile he thinks that maybe it's time he buys a new photo-frame.