A door slammed shut with such ferocity that it sent a shiver through the glass panes, capturing the attention of the entire office. Heads turned in unison to witness the furious brunette storming away, a trail of curses hanging in the air behind her like a menacing cloud.
Their encounters always concluded in this explosive fashion. It had become a well-accepted norm in the office: when they had a meeting, it was wise to steer clear of the brewing storm between them. They were like two opposing forces, destined to collide, and when they did, sparks flew.
The brunette ran a hand through her disheveled hair, her hazel eyes ablaze with anger as her boots pounded heavily on the tiled floor. She navigated her way through the office with determination, her path unhindered by the coworkers who wisely moved aside to give her space.
Usually, she prided herself on maintaining a veneer of calm and composure. But in his presence, all reason seemed to vanish into thin air, leaving her with a singular desire – to throttle him.
She muttered apologies as she brushed past her colleagues, her mind singularly focused on reaching her best friend's office before she exploded.
After a brief pause at the reception desk, where she managed to offer a curt nod of acknowledgment in her rage-fueled state, she flung open the door to a much smaller office than the one she had just left. She rushed toward the desk at its center, barely sparing a glance at the woman sitting behind it, surrounded by an overwhelming mound of paperwork.
"He is a supercilious, condescending..." The blonde woman's fingers, which had been tapping away on a laptop keyboard, abruptly halted in response to the fiery interruption.
"What on earth?" Her expression shifted from concentration to surprise as she looked up, clearly caught off guard.
Samantha might have begun with a more conventional greeting. A simple, 'Hi, Emma! How are you today?' would have sufficed. However, after enduring an excruciatingly long meeting with Rafael Barba, common courtesy was not only forgotten but replaced with an urgent need to vent.
And vent she would, with a fiery tirade that seemed ready to burst from her at any moment.
Samantha collapsed into a chair with a heavy sigh of exasperation. Her friend, Emma, regarded her with a worried expression. "Sam, are you alright?"
"No. No, I'm not," She replied sharply, her frustration evident in her tone. "Because he is a patronizing, pretentious, arrogant, pompous... feel free to stop me anytime if there is somewhere you need to be."
Emma leaned back, her expression morphing from concern to bemusement as she listened to Samantha's tirade. However, the lawyer's demeanor shifted suddenly. Her hands clenched tightly together, her body tensing, as if sensing something Samantha had missed in her venting.
But Sam was too engrossed in her cathartic release to notice the shift in Emma's body language. The words flowed with fervor, punctuated by heated gestures and exasperated pauses.
Emma's eyes flickered toward the office door behind Sam, and it was at that moment that realization hit her like a freight train. Her heart sank as she swallowed hard, a whisper of resignation and embarrassment escaping her lips. "He's behind me, isn't he?"
"He most certainly is," came the cold response, dripping with disdain. Rafael Barba, the man in question, had arrived, and there was no mistaking the frost in his voice.
He can't actually be upset at her for this though. They've never seen eye to eye and ever since the start, they have yet to be in the same room for more than a minute, without either an argument breaking out or one of them making snide comments at the other.
Defiance surged within Samantha, and she squared her shoulders. "I wasn't talking about you," she retorted, her cheeks aflame with both anger and embarrassment. She was determined to brazen her way through this situation, despite the heat in her cheeks. "I was, in fact, talking about another self-important sycophant."
Rafael rolled his eyes, a familiar gesture that he seemed to reserve solely for her. She wondered if she should feel honored.
Determined not to back down, Samantha pushed herself up from her chair, attempting to meet his gaze head-on and glare him into submission. It was a glare she'd honed over the years of being a mother, but it seemed ineffective against him. He stared back with a look that had likely made many a criminal squirm.
She wouldn't be one of them.
Not in front of him.
She was acutely aware of the fact that he was nearly as tall as her late brother, Michael, a reminder that stung deeply. The last thing she needed was a reminder of her brother right now. "I was most certainly not talking about you," she reiterated, though her conviction wavered.
Why did she even care what he thought of her opinion of him?
He responded, his words cutting with the sharpness of frosty wind. "Good, then I won't have to waste my breath calling your honor into question by insinuating that you are one of those women who like to spend their oh-so-precious time gossiping away at the workplace. Instead of actually working."
As he stepped into the office, Samantha's fingers twitched, a sign of the restraint she was exerting upon herself. Her impulse was to give him a piece of her mind, but she knew that would only escalate matters further.
"Good, because I would have to ask you to step outside so we can settle this if you called into question anything of mine." Her voice remained composed, even as her hand reached for her jacket. She caught his raised eyebrow and shrugged nonchalantly. "What? I might be a psychiatrist, but it's the twenty-first century. I can defend my own honor."
The roll of his eyes was practically audible, a gesture she had grown accustomed to. She shot Emma a grin, attempting to mask the embarrassment that still lingered beneath her bravado. "I'll see you later, Em."
She turned to leave, but found Rafael Barba, the very object of her earlier rant, blocking the exit, arms folded and an air of haughtiness about him.
He needed to be skewered and roasted slowly. Painfully.
"You are quite possibly the most irri—" she began, her tone carefully controlled and snide, but she stopped herself. A sense of grace, instilled by her mother's upbringing, overcame her. Her grand exit was now thoroughly ruined.
After a few deep breaths, she tried again, relishing the fact that her snide tone seemed impossible to shake. "ADA Barba, I'm sure it has escaped your notice, but skinny as I may be, I still can't get through the door with your fat ass quite literally standing in the way."
A snort escaped Emma but was quickly muffled by a cough when Rafael's gaze turned toward her. Samantha's smile widened. She wondered how the formidable ADA would appear with his meticulously styled hair in disarray and his usual air of authority replaced by discomfiture.
But she berated herself for even entertaining such thoughts about him. He was old enough to be her... well, thankfully, not her father, but perhaps her brother.
Vodka.
Definitely vodka.
Copious amounts.
Stat.
"Such charming manners," he retorted with a pitying smile, clearly intending to irritate her.
"Thanks, my mother is very proud." Samantha took a daring step past him and pinched his rear end on her way out.
His sharp inhale of outrage was music to her ears as she made her way out of the building. She couldn't help but dwell on the unexpected firmness she'd encountered. She decided that more than one bottle of vodka might be required to scrub that additional information from her mind.
Unfortunately, as a mother, vodka was the last thing she could have on her mind right now.
Wonderful.
Exhaustion. That's the single word that successfully makes its way from the swirling chaos of her mind to describe the day she's endured.
Following the intense clash with Rafael and the ensuing confrontation, Samantha had returned to the precinct to confer with Sergeant Olivia Benson about the ongoing case. Then, her path led her to the grocery store to stock up on essentials. Now, all she craves is the sanctuary of her home, a brief respite with her sons, and the solace of her bed, if only for a few precious hours.
As she steps into her apartment, she calls out with a blend of weariness and eagerness, "Hey, Grace! Hey boys!" Her voice carries through the space as she moves further inside, locking the door behind her with a soft click.
From around the corner, Grace, her elderly neighbor, appears, a warm smile curving her lips. "How was work today?" Grace inquires, her concern evident in her gaze.
"Exhausting as usual," Samantha admits with a weary chuckle. She glances around, her attention searching for her two energetic sons. "Where are the boys?"
Grace's hand makes a casual wave towards the ceiling as she replies, "They're up on the roof, playing. Don't worry, I made sure they finished their homework first."
Samantha offers a grateful smile in return. "Thanks." With the groceries in hand, she proceeds to unpack the items and stow them away in their designated places. The routine, the familiarity, offers a small semblance of comfort amid the whirlwind of her day.
As the bags slowly empty, she finds herself sinking into the rhythm of this simple task. The clinks of jars and the rustle of paper blend together, creating a soothing melody that temporarily eases the tension she's been carrying. It's moments like these, routine and ordinary, that anchor her amidst the challenges she faces as a criminal psychologist, a mother, and a woman who can't help but clash with the infuriating ADA Barba.
Soon enough, the groceries are neatly organized, and Samantha takes a moment to just stand still, absorbing the peace of her home. Despite the fatigue that tugs at her, a renewed sense of determination rises within her. She knows she'll recharge in the company of her sons, find solace in their laughter and playfulness on the rooftop.
With a contented sigh, Samantha finally heads toward her living room. Grace's presence next door, the laughter of her boys echoing above, and the simple act of putting things in order offer her a sense of balance she wouldn't trade for anything.
After dinner had been served and enjoyed, and her two lively boys were bathed and tucked into bed, Samantha finally found herself with a moment to breathe. The apartment, once filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter, had now settled into a tranquil hush.
With a glass of wine in hand, she settles into her workspace and flips open a folder of paperwork. Her desk is a testament to her dual roles as a criminal psychologist and a devoted mother. Papers and case files coexist with drawings and school assignments from her sons, reminders of the intricate balance she maintains in her life.
As she meticulously reviewed documents and jotted down notes, her thoughts began to wander, as they often did. Tonight, they gravitated toward Rafael Barba, the enigmatic ADA whose presence seemed to provoke both irritation and intrigue in equal measure.
She sipped her wine thoughtfully, her hazel eyes narrowing slightly as she considered him. There was no denying his intelligence and determination. The way he presented his cases in court was nothing short of masterful, even if his courtroom demeanor was often exasperating. And beneath that veneer of confidence, she had a nagging suspicion that there were depths to him she hadn't yet uncovered.
Samantha's mind drifted to their earlier encounter, the heated exchange, and the way he had blocked her exit with that infuriatingly composed expression. A wry smile played at the corners of her lips as she recalled their banter. It was a dance they seemed destined to perform, a clash of wills that neither seemed willing to yield.
As the hours ticked by and the paperwork gradually dwindled, her thoughts continued to meander back to him. It wasn't just the frustration he ignited; there was something about the challenge he presented that piqued her interest. The unspoken tension that crackled between them was a puzzle she couldn't resist trying to solve.
With each sip of wine, she found herself wondering about the man behind the ADA's façade. What drove him, what haunted him, and what secrets lay hidden beneath that sharp wit and those piercing eyes? It was a curiosity that gnawed at her, one she couldn't easily dismiss.
Lost in thought, she continued to work through the paperwork, her mind and imagination occasionally wandering back to Rafael Barba, a man who had managed to carve out a space in her thoughts despite their contentious encounters. It was a puzzle she was determined to unravel, one way or another.