XVI:

"Oh no, not that one," Amanda said, pursing her lips together and making a sour face like she'd just eaten a lemon. "When did you buy that? Like 2001? It screams 'I'm old and outdated'."

"Gee, thanks for noticing that I am old and outdated, Rollins," Olivia sighed, throwing the dove grey slip dress onto the discard pile – not that she hadn't meant to donate it or throw it away in the first place when she'd been packing to move, but it was a Vera Wang and she'd spent good money on it back in the day and she felt bad not holding onto it. "I don't know why we don't just go buy something new. I can lift the black card and just –"

"Your boy toy has a black card?" Amanda said, her eyebrows perking up with interest. "That must come in handy…"

"Yeah, for grocery shopping and things like fixing the water heater," Liv muttered dismissively. She dug out a black silk gown that would work in a pinch… but it was two sizes too small now that she'd not really entirely lost the baby weight from Eva and she felt her emotions begin to well up, choking her with a mix of anger and sadness that she couldn't quite quell. "Damn it."

"Hey, what's the matter? It's just a dress –"

"It's not just a fucking dress, Rollins," Liv snapped. "We're going undercover and I have to look just so or it's not going to be convincing and –"

"Right, but it's really just a dress," Rollins said. "I mean, you're overthinking it way too much – my UC formal is this shade of pink I would never wear in real life, just so I never think about reaching for it in my closet."

"I know how UC work works," Olivia snapped. "I've been doing it since I was a rookie."

"Okay, okay," Amanda said, raising her hands in surrender. "What about that one?" she said, pointing. "It's –"

Liv pulled the dress out of the closet and looked it up and down, frowning. "I bought this to wear on my birthday," she said quietly. "We were supposed to go to Far and Away and then dancing."

"Wow," Amanda said. "How did y'all manage to get reservations at Far and Away? They're booked out like a year in advance."

Liv looked over at her and smiled just a little. "He has his ways," she murmured. "But we caught that case and I never got to leave."

"That sucks shit," Amanda replied. "However… that gown is perfect. Wear it." She smirked and leaned in closer. "And then come home and show your man a good time after." She paused, then said, "He has good taste, by the way – this place is amazing."

"It's not all his taste," Olivia commented softly.

"I assume someone made the afghan on the bed?"

"Abuelita," Liv replied automatically. "Amanda –"

"Look, it's not my place, but… you don't talk about him at all. Like, there's an impenetrable wall between your work life and your home life and –"

"Because work is work and home is home."

"You don't even have pictures of yourselves up around here: don't you think that's strange? If you didn't have his clothes taking up most of the closet and all his stuff right here on the nightstand, I would think you lived alone," Amanda challenged.

Liv threw the slinky gold dress onto the bed and sighed heavily. "We… we used to take photos. For us, for… for Mami and Abuelita and – and Eva."

Amanda closed her eyes, ran her hand over her face. "Jesus… your baby," she said very quietly. "Liv, I didn't even think – fuck, I'm so sorry –"

"No, it's… it's okay," Liv tried to assure her, but her words were thick and hollow at the same time. "We had three miscarriages and then when we lost Eva, it just… it's so hard to go back to being happy like you were in those photos, you know? Sometimes, I think it's never going to happen. And then sometimes, I'm snuggled up to him and I'm just so happy to be here with him that I think everything might be okay. And I don't know. I just… I don't know."

"Yeah, I don't think anybody does," Amanda said softly. "Is… is he doing okay? After losing the baby and all, I mean?"

Olivia laughed mirthlessly. "He pretends he is; he never really wanted to have kids. Was absolutely terrified of them for the longest time… and then I wore him down and he was just starting to get to a point where he was ready to be a father and –" She took a deep breath. "I think he took it harder than I did, if that's possible."

"It's definitely possible," Amanda assured her gently. "But he's a good guy? He takes good care of you?"

"He's the best," Liv whispered. "I don't deserve him: every day I wake up and wonder when he's going to realize he's made the biggest mistake of his life and leave me."

"Y'know what? He pulls that shit, I'll track his ass down myself and shoot him," Amanda promised. "I don't give a shit whether or not you and I get along, you deserve someone to have your back."

"Fin already has that covered," Liv said with a tiny smile.

There was noise from the front entry of the apartment. "Hey, are you still here?" Rafael called out.

"Yeah, back here," Liv replied.

Rafael came through to the bedroom and put his hands on his hips. "I was sent to check on you two; there was concern that you were taking too long –"

"Rollins had a dress just ready and waiting," Liv said with a sigh, "but my closet is more complicated."

"Not that complicated – you found that," he said, gesturing at the gold dress on the top of the pile.

Amanda cleared her throat. "Um… not to be ignorant or anything –"

"Well, if your clothes took up less room in our closet –" Liv huffed.

Rafael smirked. "Oh, don't make excuses –"

Amanda's jaw dropped. "Oh. Oh. Oh fuck."

"Is there a problem, Detective?" Rafael inquired, quirking an eyebrow.

"You two are –"

"Together?" Liv supplied. "Yes."

"Together," he scoffed. "She says that like we haven't been married for years."

"Married?" Amanda squeaked. "You're married? No – you're not. You can't be. You'd've said something. You'd have rings –"

"Like these?" Olivia said, pulling her chain out of her blouse and showing off her engagement ring and wedding band. "Rafa has one, too, but he can't really hide it on himself at work, so it lives in his pocket square every day."

"Jesus," Amanda breathed. "Holy… crap. Who else knows? On the squad, I mean."

"Detective Tutuola," Rafael said. "He was at our wedding at Liv's insistence. And Captain Cragen. Amaro, because he was suspicious… and now, you."

"Munch doesn't know?" Amanda questioned.

"No," Liv replied. "Munch doesn't know."

"You hope Munch doesn't know," Rafael countered. "Either way; you two need to get back to the station to be briefed before you go in and I'm fairly certain I'm just in the way now."

"Barba?" Amanda said.

"Yeah?"

"Out of curiosity… how long exactly have you two been together?"

"Five years," he said with a smug little smile on his lips.

Her eyes widened and she made a little strangled noise. "That's… four years and three hundred fifty-seven days longer than my longest relationship," Amanda commented.

"Be patient," Liv advised, coming out from behind her dressing screen and smiling at the stunned look on Rafael's face as he took in her appearance in the gold dress. "The right partner is worth the wait, Rollins. Always." She lifted her hands up and spun around gracefully. "Will I do?"

"I wish you didn't have to go," Rafael all but whined.

Liv lowered her arms and smiled at him. "Yeah, but if everything goes according to plan, I should be home at a decent enough hour that you can help me out of this get-up and…"

"Oh, guys, that's a mental image I did not need," Rollins groaned. "I'm never going to get that out of my head."

Rafael laughed and crossed his arms defensively over his chest. "Yes, well… you are in our home, in our bedroom, Detective Rollins…"

"Rafa, play nice," Liv said. "She only just found out –"

"Mi amor, wear the strappy heels you didn't unpack because you thought you wanted to donate them," he advised, gesturing at the closet. "I might have unpacked that box for you and put everything away because it was driving me crazy."

"Neat freak," she accused. "Amanda, go ahead and change – Rafael was just leaving, weren't you?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'll be waiting in the living room to drive you two back to the precinct," he grumbled. "You can't drive in heels."

While Rollins grabbed her bags and disappeared into the bathroom to change, Olivia sidled up to her husband and petted his lapels lovingly. "Just so you know," she said softly, "I would much rather be getting ready to go out for a night on the town with you than a night undercover at a glamorous sex party with Amanda Rollins, wired for sound and video."

He chuckled and reached up to still her hands. "Just so you know, I convinced Cragen to let me ride along in the van," Rafael said. "So if anything goes wrong –"

She exhaled and nodded, swallowing hard. "I love you," Liv murmured. "So much. Do you even know how much?"

"I think I have an idea," he teased gently. "Better get those shoes on, Liv. You look amazing – that gown is spectacular… but only because you're wearing it."

"Rafael Barba, you are shameless," she murmured.

"Only when it comes to you."

"Are you still not talking to me?" he asked, offering Olivia a glass of wine.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Rafael," she shot back.

He huffed and set the glass on the counter. "I thought we were adult enough to leave work at work, but I guess that isn't the case –"

"Greta Hansen was 12 when she was raped and impregnated by her father; she was forced to bring the child to term and give birth to it. When her mother then forced her to begin to raise the baby, she drowned it in the bath. She's a child and a victim: the DA's office should be going after the father rather than prosecuting that poor girl for murder –"

"Jesus H. Christ, Olivia, don't you think that I don't fucking know that?" he hissed, slamming his hand down on the countertop. "Do you think I don't care? That I don't look at that kid and feel sick to my stomach for what I'm doing? But the fact remains that, victim or not, she killed someone: a living, breathing baby who looked to her for support and shelter and comfort. Was it a mercy? God only knows, living in that house. Maybe it was. But I can't charge the father if you don't find me incontrovertible evidence of his abuse and sexual proclivities that will hold up in court. You have to give me something to work with, Liv."

Liv grabbed the wine and took a long swallow, letting it roll over her tongue and down her throat before she said, "I just keep thinking that… it could have been me. My mother could have been that girl, overwhelmed and so angry and scared and she could have just – ended me like that."

"Any mother in a position of post-partum depression could do that," he argued. "It's brain chemistry, not victimology, Olivia. The circumstances are –"

"She hated me," she said very quietly. "I mean, I guess it's more that she loved me… and she hated that she loved me, so she hated me in equal measure. And she drank because of her rape and she drank because of the memories and the trauma and she drank because she had to deal with me all the time – a living, breathing reminder of it all. Fuck, Raf, I wouldn't have blamed her for having a back alley abortion or killing me as a baby. Who would?"

"I would," he said, putting his hand over hers. "Because she would have deprived me of your love and that would be as heinous a crime as murder, Liv."

"I'm not saying that what Greta did was right," she murmured. "And I know she can't possibly have a clear conscience after doing it. But I understand why she did, and I feel only pity that a child had to make such an impossible choice."

"That we have to stand in our kitchen at 9:30 at night with leftover lasagna and wine after arresting a literal child for murder arguing whether or not incest and child rape should be admissible evidence toward her defense just shows what a fucked up life we have together," he commented, lifting his fork in the air and sighing. "Are you still pissed at me?"

"I wasn't pissed at you," Liv sighed, pushing her food around her plate. "I just don't think it's a black and white issue. It isn't just murder: and she shouldn't be the only one we're going after."

"You're right and there are no moral absolutes in this case," he agreed. "I love you – you know that, right? I'm not angry with you, either. I'm tired and I'm frustrated and I hate the motherfucker that did that to that poor kid… but I'm not pissed at you, Liv."

"It's fine," she assured him.

"I'm sorry your mother –"

"She would've hated you," Liv said, chuckling. "Too smart for your own good, too well-dressed, quick-witted…"

"And I dislike her enough for the both of us already," he pointed out, "because she hurt you."

"So… I had a boyfriend when I was really young," she said. "I was sixteen, he was twenty-one: one of her students. He asked me to marry him and I said yes, and we were going to run away and elope just to get away from her. But she found out and… that's how I got that big scar you're always asking about but I've never told you how I got it. She broke a wine bottle and – fuck, Rafa, I don't know. Maybe it was my own fault?"

"How could it be your fault? You were a child."

"I was a mouthy teenager who thought she knew what she was doing," Liv said. "I didn't know shit. I didn't know what love was until you swept me off my feet."

"I didn't so much sweep you off your feet as I wore you down with caffeine and food," he teased softly. "But what she did was not all right. Not at all. What that man did to you was not all right: it was statutory rape if you two had sex, and as a sex crimes detective, you know that. I'm sorry to be the Debbie Downer in all of this, but –"

"No, you're right," she said softly. "Maybe she understood that in a way – the drunken sleazy mother kind of a way."

"Psychotic mother," he corrected. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "We'll be filing charges in the morning and arraigning in the afternoon. I don't expect you to sit in."

"Oh, I'll be there."

"Liv, I –"

"Rafael, we're two completely different individuals: we're not going to always agree," she said. "It's all right. I'm not going anywhere. Where would I go? I just moved in and gave up my apartment, for cryin' out loud. I'm married to my best friend who I'm contractually obligated to squabble with till I'm 85: this is just a preview, old man. I can keep going, if you want, or we can finish dinner, stop talking about work, and go sit in the tub and cuddle before bed."

"Does the cuddling option come with an option for you being the big spoon tonight?" he inquired.

She smiled a little and took another sip of wine. "Yeah."

"Deal."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Barba."

"Not so hard as all that, Mrs. Barba," he replied, taking another bite of lasagna.

TBC...