Part 2 of chapter 2! Much longer than I was expecting, but voila!

/

Tomorrow comes and goes.

It's Thursday. Liv calls in sick, today and tomorrow – because she needs a day off; because she's embracing Dr. Lindstrom's notion that the world can survive without her; because she hasn't spent the day with Noah in too long and it doesn't make her feel guilty so much as sad. Liv invites Lucy to stay and come to the park with them. "I'll still pay you for the whole day, regardless of how long you stay," Liv tells (not asks).

Lucy smiles, knows better than to argue and nods. "I'd love to come to the park."

"Good!" Liv responds, "Want some coffee?"

\

Barba sits in the office and signs his name on approximately one thousand pieces of paper. Then he takes notes for his upcoming grand jury. When that's finished, he writes up an answer tree for the defense's witness in an open-and-closed rape case that, against everybody's best advice, is going to trial. He feels like the next time he looks up, the sun is going down and it's after 6. For the billionth time, he looks at his phone and finds that he's got 12 new unread emails, 3 missed calls (1 from Rollins, 1 from an unknown number, and 1 from his mother), a text from his office assistant…

We'll talk tomorrow.

Technically, it's still tomorrow. Barba takes a breath and opens his notebook. Why does this bother you so much? He rolls the question over and over in his head.

Because he wants her to respect him?

Because he respects her?

Because he should have known better?

Because he knows her?

You drive my son crazy, his mother said, when they met for the first time.

You drive my son crazy.

(Whether or not he realizes it.)

/

Saturday, Liv is making lunch for herself and Noah. Lucy is coming by to watch Noah for a little while so Liv can go run a couple of errands.

"Noah!" she calls and he toddles over, staring up at her, "Are you ready to eat, baby?"

"Pasta, mama!" he squeals.

"Okay, go sit down, I'll bring you your pasta!"

Noah practically skips and goes to the small yellow seat Liv has set up at a small table for him. When he's sitting, she puts his plate in front of him and he claps excitedly. "Thank you, mama!" he says earnestly, just as there's a knock at the door.

She laughs, "You're welcome," as she turns to let Lucy in. She's surprised when the person behind the door is not her baby sitter, but instead, "Barba."

"Can we talk?"

It surprises her, really, because they haven't spoken since Wednesday night. Then again, she shouldn't be so surprised because she didn't reach out to him when she said she would and she feels badly for that. He's standing in front of her now and she can't quite explain or put words to why that makes her stomach flutter, even though she's still mad, "I can't really, Lucy is coming any minute and I have to run out for a little while—"

(She is mad at him, isn't she?)

"Please, Liv?"

She doesn't prevent her eyes from rolling, "Not Lieutenant?" she asks, finding her voice louder than she wants. She peers over at Noah who is happily putting some of the pasta in his mouth and rubbing some on his table. She knows better than to argue: "I have to go do a couple of things. We can meet later. I'll text you an address."

He turns to leave, feeling relieved, as Lucy walks up. "Who's that?" Lucy asks, her voice coy.

\

Olivia contemplates not sending the text and going home, but that's not her, not really, so she ducks into the first bar she runs across and sends a text to Barba: I'll be here for the next 15 minutes. Better run, Counselor.

/

When he gets there (with a meager 30 seconds to spare, she doesn't mind telling him), he can't help himself, so he says, "We could have just talked on Thursday."

She sips her wine, makes what she's dubbed now her Mommy Face, and says nothing.

The bar tender comes up and Barba says, "Glenlivet, neat, thank you," before turning back to Liv. "Listen, I—"

"You don't have to do this, you know," she cuts him off, not for the first time.

"If you'd let me get out a full sentence, then maybe I could—"

"Barba— Rafael. I'm not sure what you want me to say. You asked me to lie on the stand—"

"I didn't ask you to lie, I was just saying—"

"—the whole thing was a train wreck. I'm not just angry with you—"

Mira! You are angry with me! he thinks and nearly says, before realizing that's not quite as triumphant a discovery as his brain is leading him to believe in this moment.

"— I'm angry with the whole situation. Those women were sexually assaulted because they were Muslim. How do we protect people from that kind of hatred?" Here, she rubs her face and takes another sip of wine.

"Olivia," he breaks in finally and his voice is gentle because he feels like maybe they've found their footing again and maybe they can come to some resolution, "we protect them the way we always do. The way you always do. By telling the truth."

"That's not what you said when—"

He laughs, but it's not because it's funny, it's because he's so frustrated he could scream, "I didn't ask you to lie!" he very nearly yells. He's so loud, in fact, that the bar tender passes them again, looks at them both, and asks if everything is okay. "Yes, we're fine," they say at the same time.

Rafael swallows some scotch, "Olivia, I am begging you, don't hold this against me forever. I wasn't trying to get you to lie. I wasn't trying to convince you to do something you were uncomfortable with. I was trying to offer you a different perspective," she starts to look away and he finds himself grabbing her hand before he realizes it, which brings her gaze back to him, "I'm sorry that you misinterpreted what I said—"

"This could go on the record as the world's worst apology," she cuts him off again. She, gently, pulls her hand away and drinks what's left of her wine before she grabs her purse and stands, "I'll see you Monday, okay?"

"Liv, wait," he starts, but she's throwing down a 20 and turns back to him. What he finds so irritating, he realizes, is she won't argue with him, she's not the woman who drives him crazy in this moment, and he doesn't know how to fix it. "I'm sorry!" he blurts out. "I'm sorry I said shitty things in your office, I'm sorry that I made you think I wanted you to lie for the sake of my case, I'm sorry that this case wasn't as clean and tidy as it should have been. I don't— I don't want you to be angry with me and something feels like it's just getting bigger and bigger between us and I don't know how to make it right."

She pauses and stares at him. He's not someone who apologizes often. "Why is this bothering you so much?"

He's surprised to find his heart sinking, "It doesn't bother you?"

She answers with, "I just need time," which he notes isn't an answer and it feels like all of the air deflated from his lungs, a swift punch to the gut in the form of this realization: it's not just that she's his best friend or that she drives him all kinds of crazy. It's not she's the person he calls when he needs to talk or just when he needs to listen.

He loves her.

And that's why this bothers him so much.

"I'll see you Monday, okay?"

"Sure, yeah," he agrees, "See you Monday."

And just like that, she's gone.