TITLE: Touch-and-Go
GENRE: Character study, drama, friendship, romance
CHARACTERS: Rafael Barba, Olivia Benson, Fin Tutuola
PAIRING: Gen, Barba/OC
RATING: T
SPOILERS: none
WORDS: 1,400
SUMMARY: Six times Rafael Barba gets touched.

Throat, expensive leather, rough pull

The suspenders provided safety as much as a fashion statement. He liked having control. Neat parting and briefcase in order. His cases always prepared to the maximum in meticulous detail. It was the way he liked it.

He also liked maintaining the appearance of being in complete control. An antidote to the way his life was destined to go as the child of immigrants somewhere in the Bronx. Now he liked showcasing his control and every bit of status it had gotten him.

As an A.D.A., control was his line of business as well. As was breaking free from it at the right times and creating surprising effects that sway juries, convince judges, or have defendants lose their own control in order to win cases.

"You call that being dominant?" he wanted to know and his voice grew more demanding. "Show me. Show me!"

He looked around the courtroom while the defendant pulled ever so lightly. The faces that watched him during this admittedly unusual cross-examination conveyed some horror, so he knew he was on the right track. He just needed to give away a little more control.

"Show me, pull it. Pull it! Pull it! Tell me how you like it!"

He felt the belt tightening. Just a little more.

"Show me how you like it, Mr. Cain, come on! PULL IT, PULL IT!"

And so the defendant did. The air in Barba's lungs was trapped momentarily with no way of getting new oxygen in. But it was the way he had wanted it. The way he wanted to lose control.

It won him the case, some admiring comments, and some heads shaken in disbelief.

He put the expensive leather belt back on in the men's room after it was all over. Fingers still shaking slightly. It felt like regaining his control. He washed his hands and looked in the mirror.

There was a man who knew what he wanted.

Palm, cool fingertips, warm love

He knew the tough kind of love from his father and the often demanding one from his mother, so whenever he experienced the soft and warm one from his abuela, he melted into it. There were no conditions, no questions asked, no doubts about his worthiness.

"You'll lead an interesting life, Rafi."

He looked down at where her finger was tracing the arched line of his right palm. He wasn't a kid who easily believed in the esoteric or supernatural, but he was a boy of faith and he had faith in her.

"Interesting how?"

She continued looking and reading. "You are destined to do great things. Achieve what you can only dream of now. Help people with how smart and generous you are."

"Will you help me achieve it, abuelita?"

"Oh cariño, you don't need my help, you have it in your own hands. See?" She showed him the line on his palm again and then gently closed his hand.

He thought about this particular moment in time often. When he got accepted into Harvard, when he passed the bar, when he won his first case on behalf of a grateful victim, who cried into his new suit just moments after the verdict had been spoken.

He might have had it in his own hands, but there are things you can only do because others believe in you.

Cheek, rough hand, surprising sparks

Somebody had once asked him if he played for both teams, and he had simply answered that he was awful at Little League. He didn't feel the need to explain himself.

The comment, however, made him think back to the first time a man had touched him with desire. Boston, 1992, the aftermath of a college football match they both had followed from the stands.

In the barely lit parking lot behind his car, Jasper cupped Rafael's cheek and looked him in the eye. His hand was rougher than any of the girls' hands that had touched him before, but it was a welcoming sensation that only increased his desire. His pupils must have given it away.

"It's okay to feel that way," Jasper assured him.

"I know."

They kissed while others partied, and he learned that he liked his own team as much as the away one.

Abdomen, bloody cloth, intense pressure

The gunshots pierced through the air and it felt like they had pierced his eardrums as well.

"Is everybody okay?" he heard Liv shout in panic, but it was so subdued, it felt like it was happening in another dimension. His ears must have really been affected. He imagined never hearing music again and the thought made him sad somehow.

"The shooter is on the run!" Fin announced loudly while scanning the room for how bad this all was.

Barba tried to sit up, but it felt impossible to do so. He automatically fell back into a position somewhere between lying and sitting, crawled over to a nearby wall and tried again. This time with a little more success, so he ended up awkwardly slouched against the wall, wondering why all of this felt so incredibly hard.

He saw blood on the floor in front of him. This was bad. Somebody must have gotten hurt even more seriously. A ruptured eardrum was nothing. Easily fixed, forgotten in a couple of months.

"Oh, Rafael," he heard Liv's voice all of a sudden as she was towering over him. "Somebody call a bus!" she yelled with desperation. Then she crouched down and her presence felt so wonderful and needed. She had always been good with those that needed reassurance. Today it was him.

"I'm okay," he said, fighting for air, trying to smile. "Just some trouble hearing."

"Oh, damn," she cried out and pushed his jacket out of the way. "Barba's been shot. We need a bus NOW!"

He found it hard to follow her words and train of thought. "I'm okay," he just repeated and felt faint all of a sudden. "I'm okay, just a little tired."

"Rafa, stay with me, don't you dare closing your eyes!"

She made him lie down and he turned his head a little to look at all the blood on the floor again. It dawned on him that it was his own blood. There was probably nothing wrong with his ears, but everything wrong with the area of his stomach that Liv inspected with shock and horror.

"Give me something to put pressure on with. ANYTHING!" she shouted at Fin and he dutifully complied.

Barba felt the firm pressure on his abdomen, the blood pulsing, the fear of Liv losing yet another one.

"Stay with me, for god's sake!"

"I will," he answered.

Shoulder, well-meaning hand, harsh truth

The scotch felt rough in his throat the way he liked it. The flirt had been good—much to his liking as well. It wasn't their first date, not his first invitation to this bar, but it was the first time after he had gone home with her following their last encounter.

"Why are we still meeting in a bar?" she wanted to know with an intrigued smile.

He smiled back mischievously. "It's a nice bar."

She nodded, but he could sense her putting the right words together in her head. He liked her—smart coupled with fierce, so that's how he already knew her words would be something to remember.

"You always have your guard up," she said eventually. No further explanation, just that.

"People's exhibit number 175," he replied and gestured around himself, "this bar. Feels a little safer than my apartment, right?"

"I guess that's your line of thinking." She got up and put her hand on his shoulder, where the fabric of his dress shirt and waistcoat shielded him from her direct touch on his skin. "You need to let people see you, Rafael. And I don't mean in court or in an interview on the courthouse stairs afterwards. Open your heart, even if it will hurt you. It'll be worth it, I promise."

"You'll get beneath the guard if you stick around," he told her with an intense look and maybe a little pleading.

She didn't stick around, but that was okay. He felt her touch on his shoulder for a long time.

Lips, her forehead, the end

First different shades of gray, then colors. A wonderful realization on this day that still seemed very gray in the end.

"I've got to move on."

His lips on her forehead, tears in their eyes, her hand holding his and him letting go.

Withdrawn. Nothing further.

THE END