hi everyone! this is a slow burn, multi-chap Barson fic that kicks off at the end of Season 15.

i'm hoping for my account of witness protection to be as nuanced and detailed as possible, so i've closely consulted Gerald Shur (the founder of WITSEC) and Pete Earley's brilliant book WITSEC: Inside the Federal Witness Protection Program, Bill Moushey's 1996 Pulitzer-nominated series, Protected Witness, and Robert Sabbag's The Invisible Family, among other literature.

as a heads up, i've shifted the show timeline slightly and made some changes to S15 canon, the most notable being that i've delayed the introduction of Noah.

thank you in advance for reading - i hope you all enjoy this fic!

(CW: the first chapter contains some explicit sexual content, gore and violence.

The window that separated Olivia's office from the interrogation room was a one-way mirror and had always been, but Rafael nervously fidgeted with his tie and jacket as he peered through the glass, as though he was being watched too.

"Ivan Lavery, you are under arrest for sex trafficking. You have the right to remain silent…"

None of this was new to him. He'd heard detectives read their perps their rights countless times over the years; he'd stood behind the glass at many an interrogation and silently absorbed every word as he contemplated how to build his case. But today he was more distracted than usual - distracted by the way Olivia's voice dipped as she sealed Lavery's fate, how dextrously her hands moved when she pulled her handcuffs out of her pocket...

Snap out of it, Barba.

Rafael hastily shoved his hands in his pockets in a futile attempt to stamp out the burning heat that was pooling in his core, although he couldn't lie to himself for much longer. This wasn't the way he'd worked in Brooklyn, where trips to the precinct had been far more infrequent and his dealings with the detectives little more than coolly professional and impersonal. This wasn't him.

The transfer to Manhattan was all that he'd been seeking and more - so why was he squandering this dream opportunity by getting distracted by a brunette detective he saw almost every single day?

This was very dangerous.

"Surprised to see you here at this hour."

Olivia's exhausted expression instantly changed into an amused smile when she caught sight of the surprise guest in her office.

(Did she know that she was the reason he was here at this hour?)

(Did he know that himself?)

Rafael tensed as she approached him, her presence in this confined room simultaneously gratifying and stifling. They were alone and the blinds were shut; Amaro was probably headed for the locker room, Fin and Amanda were at a mandatory domestic violence seminar. And that alone sent his mind into overdrive - made him question his every movement, his every word - and filled him with an anxiety that was becoming more frequent of late.

He awkwardly stood by her desk as she collapsed into her chair, hands still stuffed in his pockets, and silently berated himself for letting himself get this agitated before they could even have a real conversation. Where the fuck was this coming from?

"The unis are going to transport him to Central Booking right now." She casually ran a hand through her unkempt, tousled hair, Rafael trying his hardest not to stare. "Twelve hours in interrogation, Barba. Twelve hours of my life with that slippery bastard that I'll never get back."

"I'll be arraigning him first thing tomorrow morning. You look exhausted, Liv. You should take a break. Go home," he added concernedly.

"Wow, you're awfully concerned," she replied with an amused smile. "You read my mind. All I want to do is head home for a long nap. I'm out of here as soon as Fin and Amanda get back."

Concern. Something he'd felt a lot more of in the last few months - especially for her.

"So… are we still on for tonight?" he blurted out.

God damn, she had a way of making him tongue-tied, and she probably didn't even know it. What kind of a follow-up question was that?

She furrowed her eyebrows in surprise. "What happened to not talking about this in the office?" she whispered sternly.

Rafael bristled and felt his face turn a beet red. "Sorry about that. Slip of the tongue."

(One very dangerous slip of the tongue, indeed.)

Thankfully, Olivia shrugged off the remark - an unintended perk of being short-staffed was an empty squad room. They'd done a good job of keeping this under wraps for the last couple of months, and they weren't going to let a small slip-up derail it all.

"Raincheck, then…?" he asked tentatively, and grabbed his briefcase in preparation for a quick exit.

"Hey, I never said that. If you're good, I'm good," she smiled.

His bruised ego now healed, he relaxed instantly. "Great. My place, 9?"

"Sounds good," she winked.

Her knowing smile - and his anticipation of what was to come - made his breath catch. "Sounds good," he echoed.

So much for not getting distracted, but he was too deep in to rescue himself now.

By the time he was halfway across the empty squad room, she was bent over her laptop, typing furiously at some paperwork and completely unfazed by that conversation, while he struggled to calm his racing mind. When had he become the more emotional one of them both?

He'd told himself countless times that this had to stop - that he had to back away from this if he still wanted to do his job, this being the distraction that was Olivia Benson. Sense had a way of fleeing him when he laid eyes on her, and he had a feeling that this wasn't going to get any easier.

But as he snuck a final glance at her and swore for a split-second that she was smiling back at him, maybe, just maybe, he actually liked it.

Lavery's been busted by Special Victims in Manhattan. Arraignment tomorrow.

Details?

ADA Rafael Barba. 9 am.

He's a troublesome one. We need to stay on top of this. You know what to do.

Understood.

"Fuck, Rafael."

Olivia's strained voice was thick with pleasure and her skin both rose-petal soft and searing hot under him. He engulfed her guttural moans with a passionate kiss, pulling away a second later because god damn it - he couldn't take his eyes off her. Her skin was almost luminescent even in the shaded darkness of the room; the way his name rolled off her tongue, so raspy and choked with longing, sent a shiver down his spine.

God damn it - she was beautiful.

"Just like that - fuck," she exclaimed, her hips bucking erratically against his core with every thrust.

There wasn't time to think - to think about how god damn lucky he was, to run over how exactly he'd landed in bed with Olivia Benson, of all people. Her head collapsed back into his pillow as he tightened his grip on her shoulders and let his scorching desire permeate his every move; his hands roamed her skin and tenderly brushed against her erect nipples, eliciting a soft whimper that rang clear in his ears even amidst the frenzied slaps of sweat-dampened flesh.

God damn it - only she commanded such power over him.

The tortured groan she let out when he planted his lips to her neck - the sweet spot he'd come to memorise - sent him right to the precipice of release. Olivia's dark brown eyes bore into his soul feverishly, her silent confirmation that she was close - so fucking close - and that was his last lucid thought as he thrust into her one final time and a tidal wave of pleasure consumed them both.

Her final cry of ecstasy felt like it was a million miles away as he collapsed on top of her, sweat beading their foreheads and breathing laboured. He made no move to reach for the lamp on his nightstand, instead allowing himself to luxuriate in the intimacy of this moment - the gentle rise and fall of her chest, their bare legs tangled in the sheets.

It was a peace he'd come to savour, sometimes more than the actual sex - when a tranquility that they'd never felt in the squad room or 1 Hogan Place settled over them, and their usual heated exchanges and energetic banter melted into quiet, restful sighs.

"That was great, Barba," she drawled as she absent-mindedly searched for his hand, her voice still heavy with arousal.

And just like that, something snapped in him, and the hard-earned tranquility disappeared in a flash.

Olivia knew that something was on his mind when all she was met with was silence, his eyes still shut as though he was deep in thought and expression now inscrutable. She concernedly nudged his upper arm with her palm - this wasn't quite the post-coital Barba she'd come to know. Had that round really tired him into complete silence? Yet the few inches that now carefully separated them felt deliberate; almost cold, and the air in the room suddenly felt thick with a tension she didn't quite know how to begin smoothing over.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

She was visibly startled when he folded his arms over his chest and straightened, his body language now stiff; even hostile.

Don't say it, don't say it, he yelled at himself, but sense always had a way of fleeing him when he was with her.

"You only ever call me Rafael when we're having sex."

His tone was gently teasing, some parts sarcastic - but the dry, bitter chuckle that escaped his throat was more than enough to make it apparent that there was real displeasure underlying that deceptively straightforward statement.

Olivia's palms suddenly felt clammy. Was this one of his usual sarcastic quips? Where was this coming from? What even was she supposed to say to that?

"Well, you've always been Barba to me," she offered.

It technically was true. Over a year into his posting at the Manhattan DA's office and why she still called him by his last name, she didn't know. It was all Barba - we need a warrant, Barba - do we have a shot at nailing this guy?, his first name like forbidden fruit only the throes of passion elicited enough courage to ripen.

Perhaps it was a defence mechanism - her way of keeping a careful distance from the fiery, almost menacing passion of the ADA who'd literally gotten choked out with a belt in open court during his first case with Manhattan SVU. Perhaps it was her way of hiding how he'd come to make her skin flush slightly every time they locked eyes; quelling the heat that'd begun to pool in her belly when he passed her in the squad room.

And maybe, just maybe, it was her last line of defence against the guilt that'd accumulated when she'd occasionally glanced at a sleeping Brian Cassidy next to her, wondering what it'd be like to have Rafael Barba in her bed instead.

Now she knew the answer to that question. She'd broken up with Brian a few months ago and now was learning the curves of Rafael's body - the piercing green eyes that only intensified when her bare skin was pressed against his, the way his fingers traced her collarbone as they kissed… The walls between them were finally falling, piece by piece, and yet that habit refused to budge. He'd slipped into calling her "Liv" so effortlessly that she could barely remember the first time he did it - so why was she still holding back?

You've always been Barba to me.

It was a manifestly inadequate explanation, and they both knew it.

Olivia sank into the mattress underneath her, feeling it ripple where their bodies lay. It hadn't been a one-time fling, like they'd both expected. It hadn't blossomed into a relationship. They'd backed themselves into this liminal space, and she didn't know what the hell they were.

"Sorry, Rafael," she said apologetically, her tongue consciously lingering on the 3 syllables of his name, which suddenly felt unfamiliar and foreign. "Old habits die hard." Except that it'd been two months and this old habit had yet to kick the bucket - and the words for a real explanation eluded her.

Rafael's expression softened ever-so-slightly, but he didn't move to close the rest of the distance between them. "It's fine, Liv. It's just a small matter," he shrugged.

It was a small matter, right? Nothing more than a petty concern over semantics? Why did he care how she addressed him now when this had always been the way they were with each other?

He climbed out of bed without waiting for her response and made his way to the bathroom, switching his lamp on along the way. As light flooded the bedroom, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a now red-faced Olivia with fingers nervously laced, deep in thought, and a pang of guilt burned at the back of his throat.

This definitely wasn't just a small matter, but it didn't stop him from his attempts to continue fooling himself otherwise.

The used condom promptly went into his trash can and he furiously scrubbed his hands - punishment for letting his irrationality get the better of him. Why did I say that? he admonished himself as he lathered the soap between his palms. Wasn't this what he'd always wanted since he first laid eyes on her in the courtroom over a year ago - being able to kiss her with all the vigour and passion he could muster? Realising that scenes from the deepest recesses of his imagination were playing out in real life; finally learning the feeling of her lips pressed to his? Seeing a side to her so uninhibited, so wild?

Was that a side to her she'd once saved for Brian Cassidy?

That sobering thought brought him back to reality with a thunderous crash.

There was nothing technically wrong or debaucherous about this. This had all begun innocuously - she was drinking away the last of her sorrows at Forlini's a few weeks after her untimely split with Brian; he was unwinding after a terribly long day in court that involved a harsh rebuke from Judge Catano. Three drinks, a rash decision and an Uber call later, their tongues were duelling in the hallway of her apartment and clothes were frantically being tossed to the floor - and that one-time fling had ended up becoming biweekly. No one was cheating; they weren't technically involved and hence had nothing to disclose to their bosses. They'd done nothing wrong.

And there were many logical explanations for this explosion of desire - the tension between him and Olivia that became so thick that they could cut it with a knife as her and Brian's relationship reached its last legs, his almost non-existent memories of the last time he'd taken someone home, Olivia's need for release as she nursed her broken heart (she'd known Brian since 1998, after all)...

But logic was far from enough to quell the wave of doubt that Rafael now felt powerless to suppress. He stared listlessly at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes hollow and ghostly, wondering what Olivia was doing behind his closed bathroom door. Was she hastily getting dressed for a quick exit - or God forbid, had she seized the opportunity to slip out of his apartment before he came back? Maybe she was wondering how to end things right now, especially after they'd both felt how the single sentence he'd uttered had deflated the mood in the room in an instant.

You only ever call me Rafael when we're having sex. Ten deceptively simple words.

The worst thing about it was that they both knew it was true. He was long past Detective, and later Sergeant, Benson. "Liv" was the name that escaped his lips regardless of whether they were in the middle of the squad room or the throes of ecstasy - yet all he continued to hear from her was the clinical professionalism of "Barba", identical to the week they'd first met. And he knew that he couldn't expect anything else - she was fresh from a break-up, and he'd signed up for this willingly. This was nothing but quenching their torrid physical desire; the convergence of convenience and mutual physical attraction.

But the way his heart stirred in her presence made it clearer and clearer that he wanted something more - something that she couldn't give. In fact, there was a word for what he was to her: rebound.

So why couldn't he bring himself to kill this false hope and stop things before they got even messier?

Why was he so concerned about something as stupid as the names they called each other?

Did he want to come clean with his feelings and create a wedge between them so big that they'd never be able to come back from this?

The deeper they fell into this, the more he felt his options narrow.

Rafael's hands were red and raw by the time he dried them on the towel on the door. He opened the door a crack and instinctively heaved a sigh of relief when he realised that Olivia was still lying on his bed, still undressed and still staring listlessly into the ceiling. He didn't want her to leave, even if sense was screaming at him otherwise. Rafael steadied his shaking legs and pushed the door.

His breath caught when Olivia whipped her head around and their eyes met. Shit, he was distracted by her. He always was.

He promptly turned his attention to the pile of clothes strewn on his parquet floor. Fuck, he definitely was going to need to get the buttons of his shirt re-sewn after…

"Rafael?"

Olivia's crystal-clear voice cut through the silence of the room. The way she said his name - lilting, affectionate, commanding all at once - gave him goosebumps.

"Mmmm?" He nervously kept his eyes peeled to the floor in search of his missing button - one that'd probably flown off because of how vigorously they'd tugged at it that evening - but he was alive to her every word.

"I was wondering if you'd want to get dinner sometime soon."

Rafael froze. Had he heard that right? Was Olivia Benson asking him to dinner?

That sentence echoed in his ears and he anxiously picked it apart, searching for hints of doubt or jest or anything to suggest that this wasn't the question he wanted it to be. But he didn't have to second-guess himself, because he knew her, and he knew that tone. She wanted to have dinner with him.

The doubt that'd raced through his mind in the bathroom suddenly felt like a foreign entity, washed down the drain with the suds. A burst of courage filled him as he got up and looked her directly in the eye. "Is this a date?"

"If you're fine calling it one… then it's a date."

A shy smile formed on her face, and Rafael instinctively followed suit. The shirt in his hand fell to the floor once more as he made his way back to his side of the bed, his concern over the missing button all but vanished.

Maybe this was going to be more than just a rebound.

He liked being distracted by her. A lot.

We have eyes on ADA Barba.

Good. Keep it that way. Especially if Lavery's thinking of making a deal.

Noted. There's another person of interest we ought to keep our eye on.

Who?

Sergeant Olivia Benson of the Special Victims Unit - the one who arrested Lavery. She entered Barba's building an hour ago; two nights ago he was at hers. Late nights. They look very cosy.

Interesting. Keep tabs on both of them.

Should we move in now? Shake things up a little?

No. When we move in, we'll hit them once, and hard. Await further instructions.

Roger that.

"I wasn't quite expecting this." Amanda nervously dabbed at her nose with the sleeve as the bloodbath ahead of them came into view.

Blood hardly fazed Fin - especially not this late in his career with the NYPD - but the sight that lay before him and Amanda was particularly heinous. Especially when it also happened to the congealing blood of the man who'd just promised Barba and Olivia information on a global sex trafficking ring in exchange for a cushy deal.

Melinda Warner greeted him with a quick, polite wave. "Ivan Lavery's been dead for a couple of hours. Slashed in the neck and bled out almost immediately. This killer was precise. Experienced."

"Where's Liv?" Fin glanced around the cramped cell - between the COs, Melinda and the detectives, there weren't many blood-free spots on the floor to stand, and the putrid odour combined with the usual prison grime was starting to make him nauseous.

Amanda glanced at her phone. "I called her, but it went straight to voicemail. Figured she had big plans for her night off."

Straight to voicemail? That was unusual for Olivia - surely her plans had to be significant enough that they warranted her turning her phone off completely. "Barba's probably going to want to know about this too."

"I tried calling him too, but I couldn't get him either," Amanda shrugged. "And Carmen said he left the office quite a few hours ago."

"Liv and Barba not picking up? Weird. But we have no time to lose. We need to figure out what happened here."

"I guess that's our motive." Amanda gestured at the wall directly adjacent to the bed, where a huge, intimidating "SNITCH" was scrawled in crimson. "Liv and Barba were here just yesterday afternoon about the deal, weren't they?"

"Clearly, protective custody didn't protect him enough," Fin muttered as he drank in the rest of the gruesome scene. Torn mattress, soaked pillow, a gigantic puddle of blood inches away from Melinda's work boots… "Any weapon?"

"They're searching the rest of the prisoners for the weapon, but nothing yet. Whoever did this still got to him in protective custody - and according to Mr Grumpy over there," she gestured at a surly-looking guard in the doorway, "the assailant was so quick that none of the guards on duty even had as much of an inkling that something was going down."

"Liv and Barba were supposed to meet again with him tomorrow. It looks like whoever did this wanted to get Lavery out of the way before he could do that…"

Fin crouched down in one of the few clean spots he could find and prodded at the torn mattress, the white fabric now in tattered, copper-coloured ruins, and cursed audibly when he caught a glimpse of what was wedged between the frame and mattress.

"What did you find?" Amanda's eyes darted to the two white cards in his gloved hand and her eyes shot open.

She would recognise them anywhere - the business cards of Olivia Benson and Rafael Barba, their names threateningly underlined in more crimson. "Why would Lavery keep these on him? Practically screams that he's planning to snitch,"

"Unless they aren't his," Fin theorised with a concerned frown. "They're right here, Rollins. Clear as day, easy for us to find…"

"You're saying that… whoever did this wants us to know that they're on to Liv and Barba too?"

"We can't rule out that possibility. Not when Lavery was this brutally - and quietly - taken out."

"And with them not answering their phones…"

"We need to call Threat Assessment right now," he declared firmly.

"I'm on it." She whipped out her phone and frantically dialled 1PP, while Fin worriedly clutched the cards like they were a bomb about to explode. Could these be little more than distractions from the case at hand? Was he overthinking things?

But what if he wasn't? What if some grand plan had already been set in motion and they did nothing to thwart it? That thought terrified him far more.

"We're going to need to work with TARU to try to locate both of them while we finish up here. Can you give Amaro a call and see if he knows anything?"

Fin hurriedly fumbled in his pockets for his cell phone, only to realise that Amaro was already calling him. Shit, he cursed audibly - Amaro calling him on his evening off? Hopefully, it wasn't anything worse than the scene they had before them...

"Nick?"

The cacophony of sirens and panicked screams in the background only confirmed that they were dealing with something that was spinning wildly out of control. Nick's concern was obvious in his voice. "Fin, have you been able to contact Liv?"

"I was just going to ask you that. We have a situation at Rikers. It seems like someone's out for Liv and Barba's blood. Amanda's going to have unis sent to both their apartments now."

"We don't need one at Liv's apartment."

"Huh?"

"The whole cavalry's here," he practically screamed into Fin's ear. "A bomb was planted in her mailbox and it took out the entire lobby. The whole building's being swept, but the bomb squad said there's no one in her apartment."

Holy shit, Fin thought. A bomb?

He wasn't overthinking things. There was a target on her back, and someone was striking far sooner than they'd expected. Where the hell is Olivia? And was Barba a target too?

"Shit. We need eyes on Liv and Barba now. Are you sure she's not anywhere in the building?"

"Extremely unlikely. No casualties in the explosion, all the apartments are being cleared. She's not answering any of my calls. We need to find her - now."

Fin and Amanda stared at the pool of blood beneath their feet and prayed that they wouldn't see a repeat of this crime scene - except with Olivia Benson or Rafael Barba's blood.

Lavery is gone. The NYPD just arrived to clean up.

Excellent.

Benson wasn't home to see the surprise we planted, but we have eyes on her now.

Pity. Any updates on Barba?

We're in luck - they're together right now.

Two birds with one stone. Perfect.

We're in position. Should we move in?

No better time than the present.

Things were looking up for Olivia Benson after one hellish year.

Her streak of good luck had started when Barba - no, Rafael - had become the first prosecutor in years to nail William Lewis on the entire suite of charges filed against him. No one missed the diabolical bastard when he was murdered by his cellmate a month later in a prison fight - just desserts for his cross-country reign of terror. Therapy with Dr Lindstrom was far more helpful than she'd initially expected, and she looked forward to sessions. She'd gone back to her squad room and passed the Sergeant's exam with flying colours. She was the commanding officer of the Manhattan Special Victims Unit. For the first time in a long time, things felt like they finally were going back to normal - the way that they should always have been.

The demise of her relationship with Brian had been an unwelcome obstacle in what had been looking like a glorious year ahead, but that wound now looked to be a thing of the past. Here she was in a Chelsea restaurant she'd always longed to try, wine glass almost empty and tiramisu consumed and joy creeping into every crevice of her chest - something that she'd recently learned how to feel again. She was on a date with Rafael Barba - phones off, no work, no distractions, just them.

The heated passion of the Rafael she knew in the courtroom or bedroom had all but disappeared, his verbose intensity now a quiet, steady confidence and green eyes tender and adoring. It wasn't the first time they'd shared a meal on their own - she'd replayed the slow hours they'd spent in Forlini's during the Alex Munoz case in her head too many times to count - but the simmering desire that hung heavy in the air around their candlelit table was making her heart beat out of her chest.

"I didn't expect to see you drink wine. Thought you're more of a scotch person." She gestured at the half-empty bottle of Cabernet he'd insisted they split, forgoing his usual Macallan. For her.

"There are many things you don't know about me, Liv," he smiled.

God damn, here he was, tongue-tied again - except from just how radiant she looked sitting across him, her emerald shift dress hugging every curve of her body. The potent combination of the wine and her enrapturing brown eyes was going straight to his head, but he had nothing to complain about.

"I could get used to this." Her exposed knee grazed his under the table and a wave of electricity rippled through her. "This was really nice, Rafael."

The way she said his name still sent chills down his spine every single time. He caught sight of the almost imperceptible way her eyes drifted to his lips, and heat instantly pooled in his core once again. He didn't want this night to end - and judging from the protective way she gripped his arm as they left the restaurant, they were two people of the same mind.

Rafael and Olivia walked into the cool spring air, still luxuriating in their jubilant high. His hand confidently roamed to the small of her back, a far cry from the cautious distance they'd always kept when walking side-by-side outside the courthouse or precinct, pretending that they didn't secretly enjoy the way their arms or hands grazed.

That pent-up longing was finally finding release.

A contented silence fell over them as they strolled towards the nearest street corner, Rafael unable to focus on anything but the subtle way she leaned into him, the silken fabric of her dress cool in his palm.

It really doesn't get better than this.

They'd taken a long time to get here, but they were here, nonetheless, and they both knew that this moment - this night - was soon going to be burned into their memories.

"So… your place, or mine?" His fingers teasingly traced the zip of her dress.

"Yours, definitely," she immediately offered. She didn't know where that impulsiveness was coming from, but she didn't care. They were officially past the point of hesitation, and the last thing she wanted to do was turn back now.

"Nice of you to consider that I need to be up for a ridiculously early meeting with Jack tomorrow. I'll appreciate the extra hour of sleep."

"I was going to say that your bed definitely is more comfortable than mine, but sure - the meeting's important too, I guess," she teased as her lips playfully brushed against his neck.

He'd spent the last few months getting distracted by her. Now she completely consumed him.

"Lead the way, Rafael."

A restless anticipation instantly flooded him. "God, I love the way you say my name," he whispered alluringly.

"You know I'm going to say it to you many more times tonight," Her voice dipped to a sensual purr, every syllable so charged with desire that it elicited a tortured gasp from him.

"You're going to kill me, Liv," he groaned, to which she shot him a devilish grin.

God damn, he had it so bad for her - that dress, her laughter, her eyes… There was a tenderness in them, hiding just behind their blazing longing, that completely undid him. It was a tenderness that told them this wasn't just some torrid affair - this was a new beginning; this was something promisingly more.

Rafael's restless anticipation melted into a tender affection as he took her in his arms and pressed his forehead to hers, the Cabernet on her warm breath going straight to his head. Their lips grazed tantalisingly. He took a deep breath, calmed his racing mind, closed his eyes, and-

Bang.

The deafening sound pierced the tranquil night air and heads whipped around in search of its source.

Bang.

Tyres screeched jarringly against the asphalt.

Bang.

All Olivia could see was a brilliant beam of light - one aimed right at them.

The next few seconds felt like slow hours.

"Get down!" Olivia screamed, the giddy exhilaration and quiet affection of a few seconds ago now a distant memory as a shot whizzed by her ear.

Gun. I need my gun. She'd done this countless times. There was no reason for her to fail now. She'd never once been shot. She was going to emerge from this unscathed. They were going to emerge from this unscathed.

But she felt only the thin fabric of her dress as she reached for her holster, and realised that she'd chosen the wrong night to leave the house unarmed.

There was no time to think. Her body took over and she dove into Rafael, knocking them both to the pavement with an unsettling crack as a searing pain exploded in her leg. Every shot - she lost count - reverberated unsettlingly in the silent air. Warm blood gushed out of her gaping wound and onto the stiff fabric of Rafael's suit and-

Rafael. Oh my God.

He lay motionless next to her, a film of blood coating the back of his jacket - was it hers or his?

Olivia lifted herself by the elbows and dragged herself towards him with a guttural groan, only for a wave of excruciating pain to rip through her. She couldn't think. She couldn't get up. She couldn't move.

She didn't know where she'd been shot, and all she felt was a white-hot agony tearing through her body and overwhelming every sense.

The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils and soaked into the silk of her dress. A tortured, gut-wrenching scream was the only thing ringing in her ears. She needed to get to Rafael - needed to make sure that he was alright; that he was alive.

His hand was just outside her reach and she desperately grabbed at it, their fingers only barely grazing before she collapsed back onto the pavement, her head spinning with pain.

Suddenly, she realised that the agonising scream was hers.

That was the last thing she remembered before everything faded to black.