Chapter Text
He supposed he'd danced around the question for as long as he could (no pun intended), so Rafael was glad when he asked after Stabler that Olivia didn't move from his grip, didn't even flinch at the question.
"He's under again," she murmured into his skin, lips close to his neck, not minding the beard. It was soft, conditioned, not dry and coarse. Of course it was; Rafael Barba would not have a prickly, itchy beard. At some point during the current set of songs being played they'd abandoned any semblance of traditional ballroom etiquette and were now holding each other close, Rafael leading them to the gentle swoon of music. "Ayanna said he checked in a few weeks ago and he was okay."
"And you?" he asked, turning them gently, pulling back to look at her. "Are you okay?"
"I'm..." Confused, was what she wanted to say as she met his gaze.
She felt the tremor in her stomach again for the second time that night, feelings fluttering about in her belly like butterflies in a garden. Feelings since he'd bought her drinks, danced with her, held her close as he'd moved them to soft jazz melodies and she'd followed his lead, happily burrowing herself into his shoulder or his neck. Feelings that Olivia thought had been put to bed, put to rest long ago. But here she was, the night resembling nights like she’d had a few years ago when Rafael had joined her and Noah for spaghetti dinners and they'd spent evenings together talking about cases or current events or nothing at all, him drinking a scotch and her a glass of wine, simply enjoying each other’s company. Those had been comfortable days then, comforting nights, a time where she thought maybe they had something, that maybe there could be something between them, one day, if they could get past the conflict of their jobs. And then Rafael had made a decision - a decent decision, because he was a decent man - and those thoughts had vanished on the back of his camel coat as he'd walked away from her on a chilly, gray February afternoon.
"Liv?" Rafael's eyes were so warm, his voice was so tender. She swallowed, blinked, shook her head as she grinned at her own internal silliness.
"I'm alright," she finally answered. Olivia had opened herself a little more to Elliot over the last... well, how much could she open herself to someone she'd only seen a handful of times in the last ten months, and sporadically at most in the past two-and-a-half years? And even she had to admit that there was a kind of peace in Elliot during those times that she hadn't thought she'd ever see. It was attractive. Elliot was attractive and she was attracted to him, she could admit that much, at least. The specter of 'what if' had hung over her for over two decades now, and there had been times in the past three years that she'd warred with herself, wondering why she couldn't have just taken Rollins' advice: book a room for them both and spend a night together.
But now, standing in this ballroom dressed to the nines with a jazz band in the background, the lights low and the drinks flowing as easily as the attendees filing in and out of the room, with Rafael in a tux, holding her and dancing with her and looking at her like that, well.
It was confusing.
"Far be it from me to tell you how you feel," Rafael eyed her, his choice of words not lost on her; it was one of the last things she'd said to him when they'd met at Forlini's for one final drink in what they’d deemed their bar, "but you don't seem alright."
Instead of acknowledging him, instead of admitting to him that he still knew her too well, she stepped back into him and hid her face against the side of his, grateful when he let her without pressing her for answers or asking anymore questions. Olivia was having a good time. She hadn't expected to enjoy the night, but she was, and that was largely because of Rafael, and that they'd spent the evening together. It felt like old times, and she was a sucker for nostalgia. She'd missed Rafael, missed them so much and now here he was, and they were taking steps towards getting back on the same path, the same page, together again. She felt... whole, here, in this moment with him. Steady.
Normal.
Elliot had been right; normal scared the shit out of her.
"Before you left," Olivia murmured low in his ear, unsure she was going to ask until the first three words were out of her mouth. She felt him tense a little at the start of her question; she couldn't blame him, so she let her hand rest on the nape of his neck hoping that it soothed him. "Before you left, was there... did you think there was something, or - or the possibility of something?"
Rafael stopped, pulled back enough so that he could see her face, her eyes. They were so close together her eyes almost crossed as she studied him in return.
"The possibility of something...?" He let the question hang, and damn him, but he was going to make her say it. She took a breath, steeled herself.
"With us?" she finished.
His smile was almost sad as he lifted a hand, tucking her hair behind her ear, now crimped from the sweat of dancing and the heat of the room. Olivia just barely resisted tilting her lips to catch the tender skin of the side of his hand.
"I thought so," he murmured, settling his hand at her waist again and drawing her closer once more. "I'd hoped," he amended. "I was a mess towards the end there. You and Noah were one of the few bright spots in my life. And then I did what I did and it all shattered. I had to leave, fix myself, get better. I… thought we were moving back towards that again before Wheatley happened."
Before Stabler came back.
"I meant what I said, Liv," Rafael rested his forehead against hers. "I didn't say it clearly. I obfuscated a little, used it as justification for your loyalty to Stabler as opposed to being straightforward with you about how I feel for you, but I love you unconditionally, Olivia. That doesn't change. No matter what you decide."
Of course Rafael would have the strength, the courage to lay his feelings on the table. She supposed after what he'd been through the last six years that he was tired of playing games. They weren't in their twenties or thirties anymore. They couldn't date around and have one-night stands and figure out if they liked someone or if they wanted a future with them. They didn't have time for complications or fear or uncertainty, not anymore.
"I love you too, Rafael," she sighed, leaning against him, shoving down the lump in her throat. "I just don't know right now-"
"That's okay," he whispered, stopping his swaying of their bodies and just holding her tightly for a few seconds before continuing. "I didn't say that to you back then to put any pressure on you and I'm not saying it now to force you into a decision. I'm saying it so that... maybe it gives you what you need to make the best choice for you.
"I'm not going to tell you that it won't hurt to see you with him," Rafael continued. "I'm not even going to pretend that it wouldn't. But you, out of everyone I've known, deserve happiness, Olivia. You deserve for someone to love you the way you need them to, and if you decide that person is Elliot Stabler, then I will respect that. And I will still love you."
Olivia slid her arms around his neck, hiding her face again, knowing she was going to have to fix her makeup. Dammit, but her mascara wasn't waterproof. She didn't think she needed that particular protection tonight. Serves her right for not being prepared. She sighed against his shoulder. "I shouldn't have given you the cold shoulder the way I did."
"Your shoulders are beautiful," he joked, trying to lighten the mood. "I'll take them however you want to give them to me, hot or cold."
It worked. She laughed into his coat in spite of the moment but shook her head and untucked herself from his neck. "Simon died of an overdose and I thought he'd done it to himself. Turns out he was murdered. He'd bailed on a lunch date with me and Noah and I called and left him a voicemail letting him have it, and he never listened to it because he was probably already dead at that point." Olivia pursed her lips, knowing regret was etched in her brow, in her eyes. "I spent a long time thinking he had listened to that message, that me telling him to leave us alone was the last thing he'd ever heard me say to him."
"It's not the same thing," Rafael reasoned, "and I'm right here."
"Still," she shrugged, distracting herself for a moment with the hairs at the nape of his neck, her fingers playing with the tendrils they found there, "I didn't even think about that when I cut you off. I didn't learn. And if anything had happened to you while we weren't talking - I'm sorry, Rafael."
He must've been able to tell it was all weighing heavily on her because he didn't placate or patronize her. He just moved her hair out of her face again and grazed a thumb against the apple of her cheek, giving her a long, warm look.
"Apology accepted."
*
It was past eleven by the time Olivia had gotten the all clear from McGrath that she could take off. She'd barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes at him as he walked away.
"Not your favorite person I take it?" Rafael asked. Olivia shook her head and rolled her shoulders, stretching her left leg out and wincing a little at the stiffness in her hip. She'd been on her feet for too long, it seemed. Rafael noticed because of course he did. He'd clocked it earlier in the night and he saw it again now.
"Just an old injury," she supplied, still not wanting to get into Ohio and being shot and Elliot losing an officer and everything in between. "I'll tell you later," she promised when she saw the look on Rafael's face.
She found Fin and Phoebe and broke the news to her second in command that he was free to go. She almost thought Fin was going to drop to his knees in thanks, and she couldn't blame him. If he hadn't had Phoebe with him she knew he'd have spent the entirety of the night at the bar, miserably counting down the minutes until someone shuffled him lose from the penguin suit event and stuffed his ass in a cab to take him home.
"Looks like you had a good evening," Fin said to her as Rafael had gone to get his coat, and hers along with it after she'd given him her check ticket. Olivia only shrugged and offered a smile.
"It was as good as it could be, I guess.”
"Yeah, right," Fin snickered. "So, you two are good?"
"We're... getting there."
"Looked to me like you're past getting there." Fin studied her. If they were at work, his expression would fit nicely in interrogation.
"I don't know, Fin," Olivia answered his unasked question. "It's... complicated."
"Didn't look so complicated on that dance floor."
"Fin, come on, leave her alone," Phoebe slipped up behind him, tucking her arm into his.
"I'm not sayin' anything-"
"Food," Phoebe broke in, "food, home, and then bed."
The last word got Fin's attention. "In that order?"
"You'll never find out if we don't leave."
Olivia laughed as Fin said goodbye and allowed Phoebe to hustle him out of the ballroom. They both passed by Rafael who was coming back with her coat, already wearing his own, and said their goodbyes and 'nice to see yous'.
"Fin seemed to be in a hurry," he remarked as he held Olivia's coat out to her to slip her arms into the sleeves. She waved it off, though.
"Phoebe may have given him some motivation to hasten their exit," Olivia grinned, folding her coat over her arm. "I uh, I actually got a room for the night. I didn't know long I was going to be here and Martha encouraged me to have a night to myself, so." She shrugged, hugging her clutch to herself, not knowing where to go from there.
“And yet you brought a coat?”
“Didn’t know if we’d get to leave early enough that we could go grab something to eat.”
"The hotel restaurant is still open," Rafael tossed out, offhandedly, a little nervous but a lot of hope in his eyes. "I think I still owe you a dinner."
She wasn't ready to say good night yet, so she accepted his offer.
*
Time off of her feet and a good, if overly priced pasta dish had Olivia catching a second wind. The wine was sweet, the food was delicious, and the company was excellent, if she did say so herself. Rafael Barba sitting across from her, hair slightly fluffed from product and sweat, black bow tie undone and draped over his shoulders wasn't a bad thing to look at either.
"I've missed this," she said before she could stop herself. The delighted shine in Rafael's eyes told her he'd missed her too, missed this - late nights eating and drinking and spending time together. It had been their thing, once upon a time, when their lives were less complicated (relatively speaking); she was a cop, charged with investigating heinous crimes, and he was a prosecutor, charged with indicting those criminals and making sure a guilty verdict stuck. They had to work together seamlessly to get the job done, and they had with an ease Olivia hadn’t felt since Casey had left her post at the DA’s office. Rafael had been her partner, as much as Elliot had been.
In some ways, more so.
"I am not opposed to making this a regular occurrence," Rafael offered.
She hummed, sounding amenable. "Maybe a little earlier in the evening, though. I'm old. I need my beauty sleep."
"Nonsense," Rafael sipped at the two fingers of scotch he'd ordered.
"Well, if haggard, pale, and wrinkly is your thing, I won't argue with you." Olivia stuffed some more penne in her mouth. The pasta was really good. Maybe it wasn't so overpriced after all.
"You are none of those things," he assured her, "and you know it."
They ate in silence, until Barba asked as casually as he could manage about her leg and how she'd hurt it. Olivia felt her stomach tighten uncomfortably and set her fork down, reaching for near empty wine glass. She'd need to switch to water afterwards; her lips were becoming numb and her fingers, arms, toes were just over the edge of what she would consider a pleasant tingling under her skin.
"I was in Ohio earlier this year, springtime, working a case that SVU and OC got pulled in on, and a guy walked into the diner we were all eating at. He had a gun." She flashed a quick smile at him. "Here I was thinking I'd be able to retire in a few years without my name being added to the list of cops shot in the line, but here we are."
"Liv..." Rafael looked sick, though he was doing a pretty good job of controlling it and Olivia immediately wished she hadn't told him. She couldn’t bear to see that look in his eyes, that look that she’d seen and had given more times than she cared to admit in her career, the expression that one wore when they realized just how close they’d been to losing someone or something they loved dearly.
"I got hit in the hip,” Olivia smiled softly at him, trying to alleviate the panicked look Rafael gave her; she half expected him to leave his seat and come to her to examine her himself. “All muscle damage, nothing permanent. Didn't even need any surgery." She reached a hand across the table to cover his with some comfort, which was now clenched in a fist. "If I sit or stand too long, or I'm on my feet for too long, it can get sore or stiff, but that's gotten much better over the past few months. I'm fine, Rafael. I promise."
He nodded but didn't let go of her hand. She was glad for that, honestly; she missed his touch, even with the dubious expression he was now leveling her way. "Some random person walks into a diner while a gaggle of cops just happen to be eating there?"
There was no point in trying to get past the analytics his mind was working on her very short, yet entirely revealing explanation; even after midnight, Rafael Barba was sharp as a tack. "We - Stabler and I - were put on a hit list, a revenge for hire type deal on the dark web that we became aware of once we started investigating."
"Wait." Rafael narrowed his eyes. "Last spring. The NYPD lost a detective around that time."
"Jamie Whelan," Olivia nodded, feeling a pang of loss for a detective so young, and so promising. "Our perp shot him in the neck. He uh… he knew he wasn't going to make it, so he sent the medic that responded to him to tend to the perp, who was also hurt. In the end, he... we got him to a hospital, and..." Olivia trailed off and took a breath, not sure she wanted to continue the story, especially considering her audience.
"And?"
"And..." Olivia took a breath, fixed her gaze on the man in front of her. "And Detective Whelan was very clear about his final wishes."
*
Sometimes Rafael could kick himself for needing to know everything.
Here he was with Olivia, having a nice meal after spending a wonderful evening together, something that up until a few hours ago he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to do with her again. He had wished, begged, prayed over the last year and a half that he would be blessed with just one opportunity to be graced with her presence, and suddenly his annoyingly insistent, inquisitive mind had latched onto a story like a dog with a bone and refused to let it go because he knew there was more to the tale. It was bad enough hearing that Olivia had been shot on the job - that had actually made his blood run cold and not since his own trial and the prospect of prison being in his future had his stomach knotted up so painfully - but to inadvertently bring up a line of duty death which was clearly still fresh for her, well. It wasn't how he wanted to end their night.
"I'm sorry, Liv," he sighed, covering her hand, still on his, with his other hand. "I shouldn't've pushed. I didn't realize you knew him."
"I've known a lot of officers who've died," she reminded him, and he knew they were both thinking of Mike Dodds in that moment. "It's alright. Anyways, it was harder on Ayanna, on Stabler. Detective Whelan was on their taskforce. They knew him far better than I did."
Rafael nodded, removed his top hand, but left his other hand still caught underneath hers to grip her own fingers tightly, and moved them onto happier topics, like Noah - "He loves dancing, likes jazz the most but he's good at ballet, too," - and that he and his mother were on speaking terms again, something for which after having an abysmal relationship with his garbage father and losing his grandmother a few years ago Rafael was enormously grateful for.
It was nearing one in the morning when their server arrived at their table announcing last call. Both Rafael and Olivia begged off; too much alcohol and good food mixed with the late hour made ordering a nightcap - well, not a bad idea, but not the brightest one, either. Rafael insisted on paying the tab, had his credit card out to give to the server before the kid walked away.
"You don't even know how much it is, Rafael," Olivia leaned across the table to him, but he ignored her. Eating had been his idea, so had the restaurant, and he wasn't a stranger to the Waldorf's prices. He hid the ticket from her eyes when the server came back with the book, hastily scrawling his signature on the receipt before handing it back to the kid and standing up when he walked away. Rafael held out a hand to Olivia.
"Walk you to the elevator?"
He was gratified that she let him help her up, and pretended not to notice her trying to stretch her leg again discreetly once she was on two feet in return. They ambled slowly out of the restaurant into the grand lobby of the hotel and strolled lazily towards the elevator bay. Rafael was tired, but in a good way, the kind that promised rest and a refreshing morning the next day. It was so different from the bone-weary exhaustion he experienced night after night while working at the DA's office. If nothing else, not being a prosecutor any longer afforded him a good night's sleep most of the time.
Yet one more point of contention in deciding whether or not he was going to accept McCoy's offer.
Once they were both in front of the golden, brass lined doors of the elevators, Rafael squeezed Olivia's hand. "Here's your stop."
"So it is," Olivia laughed, looking down at the pristine, white marbled floor, her eyes catching their still joined hands. She took a breath, chanced a glance back up at him before asking in a mostly steady, if quiet, voice:
"Do you want to come up?"
Did he ever. Rafael breathed through his nose, smiled at her, and stepped up close, keeping her hand in his, his thumb traveling the skin of her knuckles. It was as close as they'd ever been to the possibility of more, after years of opportunities, of flirting, of arguments, and the manic emotions that came with the cases they used to solve and try, together. And if he stepped in that elevator with her, rode it up to her floor, followed her into her room, and closed the door behind them, he knew what would end up happening. So did she.
"I've been waiting for longer than you know for you to ask me that, Liv.” Rafael breathed quietly into the space between them. He heard her swallow, watched her lovely throat push down nervousness and anticipation and want and everything he knew she was feeling because he was feeling all of it, too.
"But?" Her voice didn’t crack, but Rafael could tell she knew what was coming.
He wouldn't insult her by telling her they'd both been drinking for a large portion of the evening. For one, they both had a ridiculous alcohol tolerance borne from nights spent in his office or hers or at Forlini's talking about work over scotch and wine, but also, they knew what sober looked like on each other, and they knew what drunk off the ass looked like, and what everything else in between. Rafael knew the wine may have given her some liquid courage, but it wasn't her BAC level asking him to stay the night; it was the way he'd held her close while they'd danced, and the music guiding their movements. It was the way they'd fit so seamlessly back together, the way they'd talked and laughed and ducked their heads low through the night to whisper as if they were sharing a secret. It was nostalgia, old times, and all the regrets they both had, he knew, of neither making a move on each other when they'd had the chance, knowing now that any advance he or she had made wouldn't have been rejected by the other.
But.
"What about tomorrow?" He asked softly. Her eyes were bright - with disappointment, with sadness, but understanding, too. "I can't let myself have something I may not be able to keep, Liv. As much as I want to - and I do want to - spend the night with you, sleep with you, make love with you, I can't give you that when I don't know if I can keep you, querida. To share that with you and never be able to have it again. You and me… we’re more than a one-night-stand, Liv."
Rafael felt her deflate against him. His lips caught her cheek as she leaned forward a little, not crying, her face not even crumpling, but more of a sad resignation that he was right. He kept the connection between them, forehead to forehead for as long as she remained like that, unwilling to deny her at least that much when he was turning down an offer that had raced through his mind more than once over the last ten years. He could hear a whispered apology between them, and he shushed her just as quietly.
"Take your time," he whispered in her ear, unable to help nuzzling her affectionately. "Decide what you want. Do whatever it is you need to do to make that decision. I'll hope it's me, Liv, I can't lie to you and say I won't. But whatever choice you do wind up making, that will not change how I feel about you. I told you I loved you unconditionally, and I meant it."
"Are - " Olivia cleared her throat and pulled away just enough to meet his gaze. "Are you saying you'll wait...? Rafa, we're not in our twenties anymore, I can't ask you to hang around while I get my act together - "
"First," Rafael gave her a wry smile, "I very much doubt it's you who needs to get their act together in this web that's been weaved. Second, you're not asking. I'm saying... you're the first woman in two decades to ever make me consider settling down with someone." His voice was serious and deliberate, and he never looked away from her, not once. "I doubt I'll meet anyone else who will make me think about it in the future. I've already made my bed, Liv." He knew it sounded pathetic, but he didn't care. Olivia Benson had ruined him for anyone else without even trying, without even so much as a single kiss. It was the truth, and maybe it wasn't the best move to tell her that she'd been only woman in twenty years to make him think about walking down the aisle and taking vows and tying his life together with hers in the sacraments of marriage while he was trying to make her feel better about their unique situation, but he would not lie to her or spare her feelings, not now. Neither of them could afford to speak in riddles, not anymore.
Like she said, they weren't in their twenties.
"It's almost one thirty in the morning," he squeezed her hand again. "Go up to your room, take a shower, get some sleep, call Noah in the morning."
His heart lifted a little watching a slight but still present smile spread on Olivia's face.
"I'm glad you walked over to me tonight," she whispered.
"So am I." Rafael lifted her hand, which he still hadn't dropped since they'd left the restaurant and pressed a kiss over smooth skin before forcing his fingers to part ways with hers. He pushed the button on the control console, calling down for an elevator car and stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"I'll... text you tomorrow," Olivia told him before stepping into the elevator, holding her arm in front of the door so that it wouldn't close.
"I'd like that."
Rafael got one more smile flashed his way over her shoulder before the doors closed, separating her from his view.
He knew it was futile. He knew what the end result was going to be in this situation. He might not have known Olivia when she was partners with Stabler, but she'd told him enough about their shared history that Rafael knew they'd both been circling each other for nearly a quarter of a century. They'd both been waiting for their opportunity at them; no one understood that more than Rafael Barba. He couldn't begrudge her that chance at happiness, and he wouldn't.
And if things fell apart, he would be there to pick up the pieces for her, however she needed him to.