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“Momma,” Noah calls from the kitchen in a sing-song voice, “It’s Friday!”
She has no idea why he’s so excited about Friday.
“I know that, Sweet Boy.”
“You said on Friday we get to see Santa.”
She did say on Friday they get to see Santa. Great. See, last week, she had been invited to Jack McCoy’s house for a holiday get together. He may have said something about bringing Noah because Santa was going to make an appearance.
She made the mistake of forwarding the invitation to her six year old son, who was very excited about all things Christmas and Santa and reindeer.
A Christmas party at Jack’s wouldn’t normally be a problem, and it wasn’t when she had agreed to attend, but that was before Peter Stone had strongly intimated he was going to make an appearance. He'd also strongly suggested he was going to be “dressed up” and made comments about “bowls full of jelly.”
She’d tried to be nice to him, to help him ease his way into the department. She’d tried to forgive him for prosecuting her best friend for murder because he was just doing his job. It also turned out that his dad had just died and he had to take care of his sister and it sounded like he was just trying to do his best.
But it turned out that he was a mess. A mess of a person she didn’t honestly like enough to handle outside of a shrink’s office.
The thing is - some people, you actually like enough to deal with their chaos, to help them through. Some people, they’re nice enough that you give them a shoulder to cry on and a pat on the back. Some people just take the opportunity to ingratiate themselves into your life and latch onto your kindness.
Some men take being nice as some sort of indication you’re interested.
Maybe she’s imagining things. Maybe Stone isn’t going to be Santa Claus at Jack McCoy’s Christmas party. Maybe he’s just making really bad Christmas jokes and he’s not that great at socializing. Maybe she’s projecting because she finds him annoying.
Maybe she’s projecting because the only real reason she finds him so annoying is because he isn’t the man who left. The man who kissed her on the forehead after he’d gained his freedom and let her wallow for 65 days before texting her back.
In retrospect, the reason she was even nice to Peter was that she was nursing a broken heart.
It wasn’t until June, after two months of idle texting with Rafael, that she realized she was never getting over him. It wasn’t until July that he told her he was probably never coming back.
For holidays, maybe. His mother had a thing about Thanksgiving and Christmas, but unless things severely changed, he was sticking down in El Paso. She can’t imagine him in a quiet, dusty town full of cacti and warehouses, but maybe he’s mellowed out. Maybe he doesn’t stick out as much as she’d think.
He’s doing as much good as he can there, he says. She hasn’t been able to bring herself to tell him he’s the hole in her heart. He had to know what she was going to say that day. He had to know she was going to ask him to stay and he must know that she loves him.
For a long time she thought he might have loved her too. For a long time she entertained fantasies of him showing up at her door and telling her to screw their careers and to finally kiss her.
For a long time she thought she was incapable of the love other people had. When Rafael left she realized she was just incapable of getting the right men to stay. The right man to want to stay.
He hadn’t come for Thanksgiving. He was actively involved in suing the federal government for dereliction of duty for allowing migrant children under their care to die while in custody. While their parents awaited trial and deportation the federal government, or rather, the billion dollar security company the federal government had contracted had allowed seven children to die.
She couldn’t be mad at him for pursuing that.
But she could be mad at Peter Stone for thinking she was interested.
Then she’d been stupid and promised Noah a visit with Santa, and she’s not the best mom but she’s not an awful one either. So she bundles up Noah and plugs McCoy’s address into Uber.
Carisi is there, clad in a sweater with Buddy the Elf across the front. She’s about to make a comment about the dress code when McCoy welcomes her.
“Lieutenant Benson!” he claps her across the back, “So nice to see you. And this must be Mr. Benson.”
He clearly doesn’t remember Noah’s name but he’s doing a valiant effort at hiding it.
Noah looks between them, confused. He knows he’s not supposed to talk to strangers, but he also knows he’s supposed to be polite.
“Noah,” she smiles, “This is Mr. McCoy.”
“Call me Jack,” he holds out a hand.
“Okay?” Noah looks at the hand, confused.
“Jack is Mr. Stone’s boss,” she offers to the boy. He’s met Peter, in spite of her best efforts, because she was trying to be nice.
Noah still seems confused. He’s not quite to the age where he understands what a boss is, except that it’s something like a teacher to a student.
“Um,” he chews on his lip, “Mr. Jack. Do you know where Santa is?”
Ah, yes, the only real reason they are here. The only real reason she is willing to deal with this. Her son has some weird obsession with Santa and she’s going to have to deal with the fact that Peter Stone knows it.
Jack beams. “Well Noah, he’s supposed to show up any minute now. He’s been a bit delayed by… reindeer.”
“They didn’t run over Grandma, did they?”
She swears she is never forgiving Carisi for introducing him to that song.
“No,” Jack laughs, “Why don’t you go over and play with the other kids?”
She knows she’s taught him well when he still looks up at her and doesn’t take Jack at his word.
“Momma?” he asks.
“Yeah,” she nods, “go find Jesse.”
He smiles and darts off to where Jesse is with a few other kids in the living room, playing with Legos. She doesn’t even want to know where Jack McCoy of all people got Legos, but he does have an assistant or two.
“He’s a good kid.” he notes from behind her.
“Thanks.”
She thinks she means it. He’s trying to give her a compliment, but it’s not a compliment for him to give. She never asked for his opinion on the matter, but she’s trying to be polite.
“I’m glad you came, Lieutenant,” he offers, “I know we haven’t gotten along much since…”
Bad move, McCoy. That’s her one button. If he wants to try and cross the Maginot Line she’s going to attack.
“Since you ran the best ADA I ever had out of town?” she interrupts. “No. We haven’t gotten along very much since then.”
Since you refused to have an ounce of compassion for a grieving mother and then barreled toward prosecution because the situation you caused made you look bad. That’s what she wants to say but that’s … coarse.
“That was his choice,” he defends.
She disagrees. Running away was Rafael’s choice. Going to the border and defending more small children against more nefarious arms of what the US justice system has corrupted itself into thinking is the rule of law was his choice. The actions he took were a totality of his choices, but Jack McCoy cannot absolve himself of his complicity in the matter because he’s decided to not be a jackass today.
“But I’m hoping you can see this as an olive branch. Besides, you’ve done a great job with Peter. He’s really taken to you.”
She’s done a great job? Like it’s her responsibility to train an unqualified man for a job she’s never wanted to have. She’s trying to take what McCoy thinks is an olive branch, but honestly? It’s insulting as Hell.
The fact that Jack McCoy hired a mess shouldn’t be her job to clean up, and inviting her to his house after work hours isn’t going to help things. Using her son to get to her is only going to make things more awkward.
Still, though, a lot of her bristly attitude has to do with the fact that last Christmas the party had been at her apartment. Carisi had stayed long past what would reasonably be considered polite, and Amanda had downed most of the bottle of wine that Rafa had clearly not intended for them to actually open. Fin did not attend.
Rafa had stayed past Carisi being kicked out, and also helped pack Amanda into a cab soon after.
It was not the first time she thought he might kiss her, and it wasn’t the last, but it’s the time she thinks of a lot. It’s the time she believes may have changed things. If she could go back, it’s the time she would try to fix.
But you can’t change things, and actions have consequences we don’t anticipate. She knows that best of all.
“Yeah,” she manages as a response. What she’s really mad about is the mess a bunch of messes created and expected her to be happy about cleaning up. Expected her to be grateful they asked her to clean up.
Jack does not take the hint.
“It’s been hard for him, since Ben died and Pam was - “
What about everyone else who life has been hard for? Peter’s sister dying was a tragedy and he has not been dealing well, but she doesn't need the explanation. She doesn't need the excuses.
“I know.”
“You’re a good influence on him.”
“Thanks.”
Maybe she is. Maybe she’s helping him learn how to be a bit more compassionate. It’s possible she’s lashing out about a situation Peter had no control over. Really, she resents that she has to help in the first place. That he dropped into her life, nearly sent her best friend to prison, and has never once offered condolences for it.
It’s all about Peter, and that is what it is, but he isn’t the only person who lost someone precious to him. Grief is allowed to make us selfish, but sometimes she wishes he extended some of that compassion to her.
Maybe that’s what he’s doing with the Santa act? Maybe that’s all he intends with the baseball invites and the awkward offers. He doesn’t know how to communicate these things and maybe she should give him a break.
She still reserves the right to be huffy about it. Thank you very much.
“Anyway,” Jack sighs. “I think you’ll be excited about Santa. Even though I had to make a last minute change.”
Great. We’re really gilding the lily on that one.
“I don’t really care about Santa, Jack,” she snaps, tired of this whole game, “but if Noah’s happy then I’m happy.”
He nods. She thinks, finally, maybe, he understands where she’s coming from here. Peter’s life isn’t the only one that’s been upended this past year. Not by a long shot.
Maybe that was their intent the entire time.
“Ho! ho ho!” she hears from the door. “Merry Christmas.”
The voice is … familiar somehow. Even though it’s deeper than she remembers. No. She’s wrong.
The kids take turns visiting with the man who is not at all large enough or old enough to be Santa. Whoever he really is he hasn’t put enough padding on to be convincing in his role. The kids don’t seem to mind, though.
Jesse asks him for a new baby brother, and he tries to tell her he can’t control genders. When he tries to convince her to be happy with a baby sister too, she cries. Santa, who looks vaguely like someone she only knows via text messages these days, is not very good at this.
When it’s Noah’s turn he wastes no time. He climbs up on the man’s lap and doesn’t even let him ask what he wants for Christmas.
“You probably didn’t get my letter yet,” he begins, “Uncle Fin says it takes a long time to get to the North Pole and sometimes the letters get lost with the narwhal.”
Somehow in watching the movie Elf this had given him a reason for mail carrier delays. Fake Santa takes the opportunity.
“Yes,” he chuckles, “that’s possible.”
“Well I wrote some other stuff on that,” Noah chatters, “but what I really want is a baseball glove and the Lego robot.”
The Lego robot is already under the tree. She’s asked the former Major League Baseball pitcher who has not deigned to show up to this party for advice on the glove. She’s very proud of herself for paying attention.
Santa agrees, “These are very good choices.”
Noah’s about to climb down when he stops, “Can I ask for one more thing.”
“Sure,” Santa tests.
“I know you’re like, into stuff,” he says, “but if you could get my momma something that would make her happy that’d be nice.”
“That’s very sweet of you.”
“She’s been real sad since my Uncle Rafa left around Valentime’s. Maybe she wrote you a letter for Christmas too.”
She tries not to cry about this. She’d tried to keep that from him. Tried to tell him it was fine, and Rafa talked to him on the phone all the time, but apparently that isn’t enough.
“What I really want is for my Uncle Rafa to come back. I think that would make her happiest. But he has lots of work. So maybe you could, if that’s something you’re in charge of, make his work go away so he can come visit on Christmas.”
That’s how she’s explained it to him - that he’s very busy, that he has work to do. Maybe she really does wish for his work to go away too, for selfish reasons, but also because she wishes he didn’t have to do the work in the first place.
“I’m not sure that’s how it works, but-”
“That’s what Auntie Manda said.” Noah says before the man can continue, “Thanks anyway Santa.”
He climbs down and resumes playing with the Legos. Maybe she hasn’t done a great job of hiding things around him. Of course children always see - not always in the way you expect, but they always see. He’s right. Rafa coming back would make her happiest, but there’s no way that’s happening.
Hopefully he’s okay with just the baseball glove and the robot. Hopefully she can actually figure out a way to move on.
No one else seems to think Santa looks like Rafa. She’s asking it in roundabout ways, but to everyone else he’s just some guy Peter knows. She eventually gets Jack to admit Peter was going to dress up, but he had a last minute appointment with his therapist, so he arranged for an actor friend of his to show up.
She’s both grateful Peter is going to see his therapist and that this isn’t Santa’s real job.
She’s not grateful she sees Rafa in him.
Santa leaves, and the ghost of the man who never really is coming back escapes her grasp. In a way, she wants him to sound like Rafa. She wants him to be here. Maybe if she asked him to come, he would. Maybe if she told him how she felt- maybe that’s what he’s waiting for.
But you can’t tell someone that over the phone - by the way, I only realized I was falling for you after you left me. Sandwich it in between Christmas memes and gossip about whoever Carisi is pretending he isn’t dating (Amanda’s bet is Det. Timmons from the CounterTerrorism Bureau and Fin didn’t even tell her to stop talking so it might be true.)
You can’t expect someone to travel 2200 miles on a “hey, we have to talk.” It’s only a six hour flight with a connection in Atlanta. She’s only looked it up once or twice (a day) since he told her that’s where he is.
Because the thing is, if he wanted to come back he would have. If he wanted to visit he would have. There are demons he is running from, monsters he is trying to fight, that he needs to battle without her. That’s the toughest pill to swallow.
It’s okay if he never loved her, and it’s okay that she’ll never get to hold him and kiss him and fall asleep in his arms. It’s fine that he’s fighting his own battles. It’s good, even.
The problem is that he never needed her. She could never have really asked him to stay, but she was really hoping their friendship would be enough to make him come back.
She was honestly hoping he’d come home - but maybe he found a new one without her. She never had the courage to ask him that.
Amanda glares at everyone drinking wine and Fin makes a brief but entertaining appearance because no one expected him to actually show up. She’s introduced to sergeants from homicide and legal assistants in the DA’s Office and some guy who knew Mike Dodds’ cousin’s roommate’s sister or something.
She would have left a long time ago if Noah wasn’t having so much fun, but she finally talks him into leaving.
They take another Uber back home and he barely makes it through brushing his teeth before he’s nodding off.
“Momma,” he says as she’s putting him to bed, “Uncle Rafa said he was gonna try to come home this time.”
“Noah,” she sighs, heart breaking ever more, “He’s very busy.”
“I know,” he says, clutching his elephant and closing his eyes.
She smooths his hair back and kisses his forehead. Then turns off the light and shuts his door, content to let him dream over his own wishes.
She doesn't cry herself to sleep. It's not worth all of that. She's been trying to move on, to come to some sort of stasis. She and Rafa can remain whatever version of pen pals they are. He's doing good work. Necessary work. So is she.
There was a time when their missions coincided and they could work together, but now they don't. That's all it is. One day he'll feel the need to visit his mother and maybe he'll see them. Maybe he won't.
She just wishes she didn't have to get so sad over something she can't fix.
The next morning is spent watching a series of very bad animated Christmas movies on Netflix and burning gingerbread. Noah doesn’t seem to mind.
She’s cleaning up the remnants when she gets a text from the person she’d managed not to think about today.
[I may have done something very stupid.]
[Did you go off on a federal prosecutor again?]
[No. Well yes, but that’s normal.]
He found out a few weeks ago the lawyers in the US Attorney’s office had a habit of calling him El Diablo. He loved it.
He sends another text.
[Can you open your door?]
[Did you send me a package?]
[Not entirely.]
She contemplates prodding him a little more, but she’s curious. She’s honestly expecting a box to be lying there, or some sort of elaborate holiday card.
What she finds almost knocks her knees out from under her.
There he is, in the hallway of her building. His skin is bit tanner, his hair’s a little grayer. She’s got to be hallucinating. Maybe she’s a little drunk, but she never drank anything.
He smiles and she smiles and then he breaks the silence.
“Your building needs a doorman,” he offers, hands in his pockets, looking down the hall at nothing. “I didn’t even have to wait that long for someone to let me in.”
No. She’s definitely not hallucinating. That kind of sass about building security she wouldn’t make up. Only he would comment on that before saying hello.
“You could have waited outside,” she offers, hip against the door.
He huffs, “It’s 12 degrees out.”
“Or you could come inside,” she gestures to the open space behind her.
He eyes her, expression unreadable. “I didn’t know if that would be welcome.”
“So is this the stupid thing you did? Chickened out about knocking on the door?”
“The stupid thing was waiting until Thursday to book my flight and having to connect in fucking Minneapolis to fly here on Southwest.”
“How traumatizing.”
“The woman in front of me tried to take a pallet of Christmas gifts as a carry on.”
She didn’t realize how much she missed this part. This part she always thought was the annoying section of his personality. It’s not the same in texts, without the eye rolls and the head bobs and the smile he’s trying to tamp down.
She’s missed him more than she can ever begin to express.
“I’m sure you’re not exaggerating whatsoever.”
He shrugs, “I told Noah I’d try, but if you don’t think he’s ready I can -”
“Will you just come inside already?”
He nods slightly, and pulls off his gloves, putting them into his pockets as he follows her into the apartment.
Before she’s even finished with the deadbolt, she hears a squeal from Noah and a whoosh of air indicating he’s running. She’d yell at him about it, but honestly she feels the same way.
“Rafa!” Noah collides with his knees. “Santa made it come true.”
He laughs and kneels down to hug Noah, who wraps his arms around Rafa’s neck. She wants to hug him too. She wants to hold him close and never let him go, but she just can't bring herself to. She's still not entirely sure what his angle is.
“Momma said you were really busy.”
“I was, but I really wanted to see you amigo.”
“And Momma?”
He sighs, “And your Momma.”
Her heart drops slightly. He didn’t come here to make a grand declaration. He isn’t staying. He just told Noah he would try to visit and he’s visiting. Maybe she should have told him herself - taken the chance in the cold and leaned up into that forehead kiss. But that isn’t what he wanted.
It isn’t what he wants now either. She has to learn to respect that, even if it hurts like Hell. The guys who fall for her feel like settling and the guys she actually likes don’t want what she has to offer.
She isn’t being fair.
She hasn’t talked to him about it. In fact, she’s terrified to talk to him about it so much that she conjured up visions of him as Santa along with the sugarplums. It won’t do to mope around Noah about something they don’t need to examine.
“Rafa, you can watch Elf with us.”
“Noah,” she starts, “he doesn’t -”
“Sure,” he says at the same time, then attempts to correct himself, “unless you have something to do?”
“We’re gonna watch Elf,” Noah reiterates, looking between them, confused and oblivious.
“You can stay,” she shrugs, “If you want to.”
“Okay.”
Noah barely lasts halfway through the movie, until his arms are curled around Rafa’s forearm and his head is resting on his bicep. They sit in silence until the movie is over. Eventually he laughs at the Central Park Rangers and it breaks a bit of the tension between them. When it’s over he offers to help put Noah to bed and she doesn’t have the heart to deny him.
He pulls Noah up with him and carries him to his room. She’s about to give him pointers when he tucks him under the covers and lays Eddie against him.
When he got so good at this she doesn’t know. He used to be so tentative and scared of him when he was a baby. Maybe it’s the absence, maybe it’s familiarity.
“Sorry about that,” she shrugs as they move back into the living room and she shuts the door. “He’s had a big day.”
“Yeah, me too,” he smiles, sitting down on the couch.
“You aren’t going to complain about how dumb and illogical the movie is?” She settles next to him, legs underneath her.
“No.” He answers immediately, then reconsiders, “I mean, realistically, letting Buddy stay with them like that was going to give them a real issue with New York City tenancy standards, so I’m hoping he and Jovie moved out before the baby came.”
“That’s what you got out of it?”
“That family isn’t just your blood relatives and admitting to your mistakes is the only way to learn from them? No, that’s hackneyed.”
“Glad to see you’re enjoying things in your old age.”
“The sleigh scene was funny,” he offers.
“You would enjoy Santa,” she laughs.
“I’m not following,” he searches her eyes for a nonexistent clue.
She sighs, she really can’t put into words any of yesterday’s delusion and strangeness to him without sounding ridiculous. Without revealing way too much about feelings she’s not sure he even wants to know about.
“It would take to long to explain,” she murmurs. Though he looks like he’d wait for her to explain it at this point. So maybe it’s time to be honest - to have the talk she has refused to for this long now.
“Rafa, I’m really glad you came to visit,” she sighs. “It’s been good for Noah.”
He’s not going to let her out of this one. He raises an eyebrow testily. “And you?”
Ecstatic, over the moon, tentatively optimistic it means something it probably doesn’t.
“I’m,” she sighs again, looking at her nails instead of him, “happy to see you too?”
Why she phrases it as a question she’ll never know. She can practically feel the side eye he’s surely giving her. It’s that or devastation and she’s not about to look at him and confirm it.
She’s not about to look at him and ask him to stay. For another hour, another day, another week.
For forever.
“You don’t seem sure.”
It sounds like a laugh - there’s one in there, but it’s more of a resignation.
“You made it sound like you weren’t coming home. It’s taking awhile to catch up.”
It’s not a complete lie, but it’s a stretch. He doesn’t push it. Just nods.
“Well you probably won’t want to keep talking after what I'm going to say.”
What could he possibly say that would make her not want to see him barring criminal activity? Even then it kind of depends on the kind of criminal activity.
“You getting married?”
She means it as a joke, but maybe she doesn’t mean it as a joke.
“No,” he furrows a brow. He’s confused why she would ask that. He would have told her if he was dating someone long enough to get engaged, and green card marriages are fraud punishable by up to five years in prison.
Why would him getting married make her not want to talk to him anyway? She should probably tell him. How she feels, how she wants him to feel, what she wishes he would have said. Especially if he’s going back to El Paso.
What’s the worst that could happen? Her heart’s been broken before. Just not like this.
“Are you the new White House Chief of Staff?”
That joke lands, and he offers a chuckle in spite of himself.
“Don’t even joke about that.”
“Then unless you're defending Moonves or something I'm not sure what you're going for.”
He sighs, looks into the corner of the room like he’s receiving an eye exam. “I have a job interview. Here in New York.”
Why would that upset her?
“I thought you didn’t plan on coming back.”
She’s really trying to play it cool and the only reason she’s able to is years of police training in interrogation.
“It's just an interview.”
“But you might take it.”
“If they offer it.”
“Okay.”
She really doesn’t know what he’s on about. If he gets the job he should take it and she’d be ecstatic. If he doesn’t then she’d still like him to come back. But she can’t ask that of him. Especially when there’s something he isn’t yet saying.
He meets her gaze. “I don’t have to take it if that would be weird for you.”
“Why would that be weird for me?”
He huffs.
“There was a time when I thought, maybe, I had an opening there around June. Instead I freaked out and I'm sorry,” he swallows, “I'm sorry for February. I’m sorry for everything. But you’re the only one who was actually able to move on and I can keep things professional.”
She’s the one who moved on? He’s sorry? For June? For February? He can’t mean what -
“Rafa,” she reaches for his hand, “I'm going to need you to go back and explain a few things. First, what’s the job?"
He stares between them at the hand clutching his.
“The mayor is starting a Hate Crimes Task Force. He’s worried the DA’s Office doesn't have the resources.”
That would be the perfect opportunity for him, if he can get it in spite of, well, everything. But she’s surprised he would work for this mayor, given previous comments about his role in the decline of western civilization.
“You'd willingly work for De Blasio?” she laughs, “Didn’t you tell me he was single-handedly responsible for the collapse of the subway system?”
He offers a smile and a lightening of the eyes. “Technically I'd work for the city, and I'd report to a commission,” he strokes her hand, “I was also being dramatic.”
“You?” The man who, if rumors were to be believed, once got opposing counsel to literally throw a book at him could never be accused of dramatics. “You're saying he thinks McCoy isn’t prosecuting those crimes?”
He is… just, poorly. But no one asked her opinion. Clearly.
“I don’t know what his angle is yet, but I'm interested.”
“I still don't see why this would cause problems for me.”
Because of the opening he didn’t take in June or February that she is choosing to ignore for the time being.
“The task force would be headquartered at your precinct. We'd share some resources.”
Detectives more like. Dodds was going off about more investigators last week. Of course there was a catch. There always was a catch.
“But anyway,” he shrugs, “I don’t have to take it if I get the offer.”
Here it is. Her opportunity, her opening, her shot. Might as well get up the gumption.
“What opening did you think you had in June?” she asks. She still hasn’t dropped his hand and she’s not going to until he drops hers.
“I thought maybe you were ready to forgive me,” he winces, “for leaving.”
“I know you had to. And you kept in touch… eventually.”
“I thought I might have been ready to tell you in February, and then again in June, but I chickened out as usual,” he laughs. It’s bitter and full of censure at himself, but his hand is still around hers and their fingers are entwined.
She feels the hope she did in June rushing back to her, but this is different. This is real.
“Tell me what?” she asks.
“Liv,” he smiles, “you must know.”
“I hoped,” she knows he means it now, but he’s still got something else to tell her. “I,” she loses her breath and he squeezes her hand, “In February, when I said and-”
“Yeah?” he encourages.
“What I was really asking was if you loved me.”
“I did,” he beams, taking his other hand to wipe away the tear she didn’t know had fallen from her eye, “but I didn’t want you to feel like you needed to fix me. I had to come to terms with what happened on my own.”
“I know,” she fights back more tears, “but I miss you.”
“So you'd be okay with me coming back even if I don't get the gig?”
She doesn’t have anything more to say than what comes out of her mouth. “Yes.”
“Good,” he curls his lip, “because the other stupid thing I did was quit my job yesterday.”
Her face must express the panic that her brain is in. He hadn’t told her about that, and he hadn’t told her he was really considering even visiting.
“I know it’s sudden,” he swallows. “I just - you texted last week about McCoy's party and Stone being an idiot and remembering old times and I wanted so badly to be here with you I decided to take the interview offer as a sign.”
She doesn’t have to ask whether he made sure his replacement was trained or if he gave a two weeks’ notice or any of your standard questions. Because, honestly, she doesn’t fucking care if it means he’s coming home. She also knows that work is way too important to him to leave without a proper advocate in place, so she trusts that he did.
“Do you have anywhere to stay?”
“Rita offered the dungeon in her townhome,” he grins, “so I'm staying at the Four Seasons.”
“Well,” she offers, “I don’t have an all night pastry chef or anything but you could stay here for awhile. If it'd save you money or something.”
“Thank you for the offer but I'm not sure the money saved is worth sleeping on your couch for a week.”
She was honestly expecting him to make a comment about New York tenancy laws and squatting, but he really is not picking up on what she is offering.
“I wasn’t talking about my couch.”
He smirks, “You hiding a Murphy bed in the utility closet?”
“Rafa -” she quirks an eyebrow, meaning for it to be suggestive. He searches her eyes and it finally clicks.
“Oh,” he coughs, “Well, that's an offer I can't even begin to refuse.”
“And?” she smiles.
“And I'll stay as long as you'll have me.”
Good to know, but not what she’s asking.
“And?”
“And I've been in love with you since the day I met you.”
Also good to know, but still not what she’s asking, as well as stretching the truth.
“Bullshit,” she chuckles.
“Yeah okay,” he shrugs, leaning forward and reaching out his other hand to caress her cheek again. “But I have absolutely wanted to do this since the day we met.”
He finally captures her lips in his. She finally gets the kiss she always wanted from him. The one she wanted in February. The one she wanted in June. The one that helps to fill the hole in her heart. Though, really, he was always a factor in the creation of that hole.
“For the record,” she states as she breaks away from his mouth, “Me too. A little bit. Just so you'd shut the fuck up.”
He bursts out laughing as he leans his forehead against hers, practically beaming. He’s not surprised by that one.
He’s surprised she forgives him. He’s surprised she loves him back and it wasn’t all in his head as some sort of chemical attraction. Neither of them are surprised at how nice it feels to go to bed together. In more ways than one.
He doesn’t leave her apartment for a week.
He appears in the precinct the Monday after New Year’s, clad in a paisley tie and wearing a bored expression. He’s with the team introducing the new task force and Dodds is blathering about institutional cooperation or something.
If she hadn’t known this may be coming she’d be pissed at him for dropping this on her at the last minute as if a team of writers decided a new storyline would be cool. Clearly Dodds is another one of her messes and she suspects Rafa wanted to surprise her.
After her boss drops what he was obviously hoping would be a grenade on her, Rafa excuses himself back to her office.
“So you got the gig?” she asks, even though she can tell the answer by the smug look on his face.
“I did,” he grins, settling on her couch beside her. She’s only ever had it here for better naps, but now she’s contemplating other uses.
“And our…” she struggles to find the word, “status isn’t a problem?”
He laughs, “We’ll just borrow some of your detectives occasionally if we need the resources, but I’m not technically in your division so it’s not a conflict of interest.”
“Technicalities win law cases. They don’t cover ethics violations.”
“So you’d want to… “ he trails off, “disclose our situation?”
He’s picking up on what she’s asking but until he asks it she will continue to squabble with him. She’s always loved playing this game and now she has the potential for even better payoff.
“You’re the lawyer,” she shrugs, “You know the rules and the ways to avoid punishment.”
“As far as I know,” he raises an eyebrow, “our situation is that we slept together last night and then you ushered me out this morning.”
She’d ushered him out because he’d told her he had an appointment and if she let him keep kissing her then he was going to be late. Apparently this was the appointment so no wonder he wasn’t worried about it.
She gets up, walking to her desk to pretend to rifle through some papers, to pretend to be nonchalant about it.
“I’m willing for it to be more defined.”
“So do you want to go out for a steak on Thursday?”
Yes, she thinks. Please, she thinks. But, she thinks, that’s an old wish from an old time. They’ve evolved now.
“Or,” she offers, turning around, “you could pick up a steak and we could hang out at home with Noah.”
“Or,” he counters, getting up from the couch, “I could make you two dinner. I hear he likes spaghetti.”
Somewhere along the way they’ve inched toward each other and she really wants to kiss him, but she also wants to give him more crap about this.
“That’s Wednesday,” she offers, reaching over to caress his arm.
“Be careful Lieutenant,” he murmurs, pretending to brush some nonexistent lint off the spot she touched, “Your blinds are open and your favorite prosecutor is watching.”
He knows he’s her favorite now, and he’d never let her live that down, so he must be adopting sarcasm. Sure enough, when she looks through the blinds, Peter is watching the scene intently.
If he can’t give her two seconds then she’ll give him a show.
“Give me the papers,” she says, holding out a hand to Rafa.
“What?” he shakes his head. This wasn’t the line of questioning he thought they were on.
“I know you already filled out the disclosure paperwork,” she breathes. “Give them to me to sign so I can kiss you.”
He motions to the briefcase he’s holding, indicating he does have them, but there’s a catch. There’s always a catch.
“I think we have to have them turned in before it’s all clear.”
“Then fuck it.”
She reaches back across them for his tie, and pulls him closer toward her.
“What are you doing?” he asks, clearly trying not to fall forward.
She eyes the sprig of leaves above them.
“I forgot to take down the mistletoe last week.”
He clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, following her eye line to the offending foliage. “You told Carisi that was a harassment suit waiting to happen, right?”
She had, and she’s not quite sure when she told him Carisi had put it up, but she’d also left it in spite of herself.
“Do you want an excuse to kiss me or not?”
He laughs, leaning forward to settle his hands behind her head. He pulls her forward and kisses her sweetly, chastely. He’s testing his waters here, dipping a toe in to get used to things.
She’s had enough of that, so she reaches back and grabs the back of his neck, pulling him into what could only be described as a passionate lip lock that may or may not lead to a make out session later in her apartment.
But much, much later. Now they’re mostly interrupted by Amanda and Carisi hooting and hollering, then asking 8000 questions they never once answer.
Barba moves in the next week.
The couch in his office is so comfortable she's caught several detectives trying to take naps on it. His task force gets three detectives, a battle ax of a sergeant who transferred from homicide (one of the ones she met at McCoy’s party), and a world-renowned trauma therapist.
If Dodds thinks there is a conflict of interest here he doesn't say so when she officially turns in the disclosure forms. The commission doesn't seem to understand why Barba thinks it might be one. No one really seems that surprised by it, actually, and the mayor's chief of staff finds some way to spin it as a true partnership.
The only one who seems surprised is Peter. He gives her some lip about him deserving to know, and she finally has it with him. She launches into him about the emotional baggage he expects her to deal with without return and asks him why he can’t just let her be.
Things are much more cordial and professional from that point on. He transfers to homicide three months later. He moves back to Chicago a year after that. She loses track of him until years later when he gains national attention for putting a serial killer behind bars.
McCoy surprises the hell out of her when he hires a prosecutor with actual sex crimes experience to take Peter’s open position.
She doesn’t realize Rafa had officially moved in with her until she finds out he’s been getting his mail sent to her place and he doesn’t actually have another official residence. Then, when she thinks about it, their closet has been successfully divided between his and her clothing and his hair products fill up half the shower.
His books are in piles across her apartment and it’s only when Noah starts trying to read Pygmalion that she realizes they need a bigger place.
The night she’s going to propose looking for a place with three bedrooms and more closet space he proposes marriage before she can ask. The wedding comes before the move, but neither are the biggest deals.
What is a big deal is that the Hate Crimes Task Force becomes so successful it is looked to as a model for the rest of the country. The way Rafa strenuously, aggressively prosecutes every case to the fullest extent of the law is only matched by the compassion and understanding of the detectives. It’s all underpinned by the training they all work together to compile.
Eventually they’re asked to do lectures about it, and eventually all kinds of offers are coming out of the woodwork. From the New York AG’s Office to the Federal Justice Department to law firms and universities and even a rumor about the new president’s administration.
He assures her he isn’t going anywhere, and when Jack McCoy finally retires he ends up endorsing Rafa to take his old job. Imagine, the man who pursued murder charges against you endorsing you to be the District Attorney.
Thing about America? They love a comeback.
The thing about wishes is sometimes they come true, in ways you never expected. Maybe Peter’s old friend really was Santa. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Magic is complicated and ridiculous and she would have figured out a way to tell him eventually. He came home on his own and they took their shots without the aid of a fairy tale creature.
Coincidence does not a conspiracy make, but she still finds herself wishing on stars and believing, slightly, in superstition. Just in case. It’s possible it helped her the one time. It’s possible it can help someone else in the meantime.
Now they are a team, a partnership, in more ways than she ever dared dream. Now she really will squabble with him at 85.
Hell, maybe that wish was planted before she ever realized it. Anyway, she’s happy, he’s happy, Noah’s happy, and even though she’s probably going to have to retire now, they’ll figure something out.
They always do.