Archive of Our Own

"L'enfer, c'est les autres" - Jean-Paul Sartre

It’s been three months since he took the opportunity, the promotion, the out, really. He probably could have negotiated for a better gig. Gone to fraud or some other white collar bullshit. He probably could have leveraged that airline case win to run for office if he'd really wanted. Feminist icon certainly had a ring to it.

But Rafael Barba knew, quite simply, he'd almost fucked up big time

Tampering with a jury was a serious issue in the last case and he was quickly losing control. Quickly losing his ability to stop himself from pulling asinine maneuvers just to get a win.

But that wasn't the half of it. He'd always done the ridiculous to assure wins.

No. What he'd really done was risk his license. It wasn't in full-throated defense of his client or legal principles. It was because Liv asked him to.

Except she hadn't asked. She hadn't really even suggested he go that far. He’d decided it was the only way to win a case he really only cared about because she did.

That isn’t her fault and he’d never dream of thinking it. It’s his. It’s just - the fact that he's head over heels in love with her hasn’t affected his cases before.

Their cases.

So, instead of talking about it, instead of actually dealing with the situation and figuring out a way to separate himself again - he'd grabbed McCoy's offer without entirely thinking about it.

An EADA position with Manhattan Homicide. He could take Carmen, if she so chose. He had hiring and firing power with ADAs. He mostly had free reign on what cases to prosecute.

Anyone else would think it was a reward for a job well done. He knew it was a different game, but it wasn’t until he'd gotten a Lenox Hill socialite to confess to murder on the stand that he realized what Jack was actually doing.

Making him deal with petty Manhattan politics and the glitterati was a way to show him he may not quite be cut out to be DA.

Jack, for some reason, thought he was going to challenge him in the next election cycle and was throwing him out in the deep end. Sink or swim. How do you drown in it and save yourself before you die?

What Jack McCoy, wide-eyed idealist and purveyor of what he has decided are the ideals of the American justice system, failed to realize - was that Rafael Barba has been playing this game since before he can remember. Putting on a face to prepare for everyone else is common practice when your father likes to throw you down the stairs if you look at him the wrong way. He knows what its like being the nerd. He's been the only brown kid in a Catholic prep school. It's being one of a small set of kids whose dads didn't own yachts at Harvard.

Clothes make the man.

He can pretend with the best of ' em. Rub elbows, shake hands, make the captains of industry think, believe, know he's definitely not going to pursue these murder charges against Dustin or Trudy or Sage - and then issue an indictment the next day.

Rafael Barba lives and breathes this pretense. And the only person who ever truly saw through it was Olivia Benson.

Parading him out to homicide was going to do nothing to kill the ambition.

He’d briefly considered running for office, once upon a time, before Manhattan. Before sex crimes, before the death threats, before abuela died, before Yelena and Alex and Eddie and learning what you have to sell to be important. What you have to ignore to be powerful. Before he learned there are consequences to every act you take. Before he realized if you want to be in power - you have to make choices that will hurt people and you have to think of it as collateral damage.

Before Liv he didn’t think he had anyone who could become collateral damage. Before SVU he only thought of his friends and family, and, they could handle it. The past six years had taught him that the worst people of the world would go after anyone to get what they wanted.

The past three months has taught him he can do good work wherever he lays his hat, and that blind ambition will never get you what you really want.

The thing Jack McCoy doesn’t realize, is that he doesn't actually want to be the DA.

What he wants he hasn’t been able to bring himself to verbalize. It sounds ridiculous at this stage in his life to desire something normal, and boring. To stop being just Uncle Rafa. To be more than just someone she trusts.

That dream died a long time ago. Glimmers of hope at the edges of smiles, brief thoughts of her saying yes - those still persisted, but they didn’t mean anything. They didn’t mean as much to her as they did to him.

She’d never been mad at him for leaving. She was almost - happy he'd gotten the opportunity. He shouldn't want her to be mad. He shouldn't need her to scream at him to feel some of her passion. But it was the death rattle of that desire.

In that moment, he’d convinced himself once and for all that she wasn’t interested in him. Not like that. She wasn’t angry or worried about who was taking over. She wasn’t pleading with him to stay.

She wasn’t crying like he’d be leaving her, possibly because she never saw it as the partnership she had. She was perfectly happy, hopeful even. He didn’t understand what she had been so excited for - except, she was a true friend.

A good friend.

So, he learned to live with it. Being Olivia Benson’s best friend is a position he never thought he’d have, and it’s not a job he takes lightly. It’s not something to throw away, and that trust had been hard-earned.

He accepts her congratulatory dinners and she only ribs him gently when he complains about the detectives at the 407. “Once upon a time you hated me,” she says, as if that was ever the complete truth of it.

Once upon a time he let the clothes protect him from the realities of the world. Six years ago the swagger and the stupid comments were a way to get her riled up. But she saw through all of it. Even if she never knew it.

She never even really hated him back. Annoyed by him, wanted to wring his neck so much he’s surprised she never actually did. But when you meet your intellectual match you have to fight it a little.

If he’s honest, he’s only just realizing he always thought she’d be a different kind of match. And at this stage, the next step is figuring out a new dream.

So they go to dinners and sometimes she even sits through a musical. She occasionally lets him talk her into babysitting Noah when she’s too busy to get home. She tells him to stop leaving his takeout leftovers in the fridge but she eats them every time. They both know he’s doing it intentionally.

The sergeant at the 407 thinks it's quite interesting they go out like this and are not dating. In fact, the sergeant at the 407 is quite interested in his personal life for someone who doesn’t share anything about hers. She’s tried to set him up no less than twelve times. It’s only after she informs him he can’t be a Senator if he’s single that he picks up on what she’s really doing.

He tells her he doesn’t want anything to do with politics and to start focusing more on putting away bad guys. The thing about Fiona Masters? She’s already militantly focused on putting away the bad guys. She just thinks half of all politicians are, at the very least, part of the problem.

She’s not - wrong. She never is, but why she has to meddle in his life is beyond him.

She’s close to figuring out the real issue, what he really wants, and he can’t decide if she’ll be relieved or disappointed when she finds out he’s really just a boring man in love with his best friend.

The best friend he will learn to be happy for when she calls him one day and needs him to babysit while she goes on a date.

In fact, when Olivia invites him to dinner he thinks that’s what she’s going to tell him.

But it’s nothing - just a quiet night at Forlini’s. Smiles and jokes, and wine and laughter. An ease and a familiarity to it that if he didn’t know better he’d say - but he does know better. So he’s not going to.

So they walk home and she asks pointed questions about the rape charges she thinks they should bring into the prosecution of a suspected serial killer (he’d only admitted to two homicides). There’s only so many details he can tell her. There’s only so much he can share. He misses being on the same team.

“By the way,” she smirks as she pushes the up button on the elevator in her apartment lobby, “I'm told there's a new Lieutenant in your life.”

He groans. Fiona had been chattering nonstop about her promotion for a week.  

“God. Did Masters text you in hopes you'd congratulate her?”

He's never given them each other's number, but Fiona has her ways. She’d only taken the exam because the Captain was set to retire, and she knew she’d stay put in the 407. She’d made sure she stayed put in the 407. In fact, she started vetting sergeants before she even passed the exam.

“No,” Liv laughs, “Just the grapevine. I've heard she deserves it from multiple sources.”

“She does. Last week she got a trust fund kid to confess to a triple homicide with his lawyer in the room. It’s infuriating.”

She has no right to be that good at her job while also being so focused on playing Yenta half the workday.  

“Well good to know your new life is exciting,” she leans against the wall near the button. “Your replacement is a lot quieter than you.”

“Is a good or a bad thing?”

She shrugs, “Just an observation. She’s good though.” He can sense the next comment before it comes, “suspiciously good.”

He’s heard about forty-five different rumors about Keshia Charles. Most of which contradict each other. Everything from resigning in disgrace in Detroit to being Jack McCoy’s pet project, to the DA’s Office being a stepping stone to the presidency.

In reality she is methodical, purposeful, smart as a whip, and almost his exact opposite in every way. She’ll drown a guy in motions and mountains of evidence before considering going to trial, and then bury him with bite mark evidence before he can think about it. To Keshia, a courtroom isn’t a stage - it’s a doctoral defense.  

If she’s on some sort of take she’s the best actor he’s ever seen.

“Liv,” he rolls his eyes, “Not everyone is a spy.”

“No,” she shakes her head, “I think McCoy was worried about re-election so he wanted to get a woman on sex crimes and it’s backfiring.”

Keshia would be an excellent DA if she could make it past the forty-five different rumors. If she got the right endorsements and actually wanted the gig.

“And here I thought you might support me in a primary,” he jeers, pressing the up button to the elevator yet again.

He doesn’t quite know where that came from. As he’s told himself and Masters over and over, he doesn’t want to be a politician. He doesn’t have any plans to run against McCoy. So why the hell would he be jealous of Keshia?

Because of the woman standing in front of you, jackass.

She furrows a brow, “Are you running?”

For the first time, she seems worried about it. Wary of his career choice. He stops himself from making a thinly veiled joke about what boyfriend she's trying to protect.

He knows why she'll never want him back. He was an ass from the beginning. She hates lawyers. He thought maybe she'd forgiven him for not being a good enough one to get Lewis behind bars. He thought he’d finally worked his way into her trusting him again.

But he doesn’t even have that - not really. She hadn’t asked his opinion on Keshia or disabused him of the notion she wouldn’t support him. She needed to know what his answer was before telling him her opinion.

That’s all he needs to know.

His nostrils flare, “Are you telling me not to?”

Her expression shifts, she closes something off behind the eyes. She's hiding. He doesn't know what or why. The tension morphs into something beyond anger. Somewhere tinged with sadness.

She blinks, “Like you'd care what I think.”

“I do,” he sighs. He means it. He cares what she thinks most of all. That’s why it hurts so much to not have her support for something he doesn’t even want. “but that's just as much an answer as any. Good to know.”

She looks stricken by something in his tone. He never could hide that around her.

“Rafa,” she reaches out, ready to give him some sort of lying pep talk or something, when the elevator finally, ridiculously, announces it’s arrival with a light bing and opening doors.

He is absolutely assured they will continue whatever this fight is when they get to her apartment. They’d probably continue it now if there weren’t two other people there with them. He doesn't even know when they got on. He was too busy pretending his emails were very important to actually pay attention.

The car slows again. He notices the woman’s stance, slightly unnerved and flighty. She’s not supposed to be here.

He gets a message from Fiona. She wants him to go to some party organized by some bigwig he doesn’t care about.

He looks up before he writes back to her. It’s going to take him maybe .3 seconds to find the N and the O keys.

The man is clearly carrying a gun underneath that jacket. It’s something that’s only obvious to people who spend a lot of time around detectives, he guesses. Maybe also those in militias?

He’s got himself into something here, and he can’t get off the elevator soon enough to have this fight with Liv.

The elevator whirs up again, gentle winds follow every time the light beep starts.

He finally decides to write back a little more to the world's most ridiculous homicide sergeant - now lieutenant. 

[No. Please stop asking if you don’t want a cease and desist letter.]

He just hits the send button when the light beep sounds.

This time the door doesn’t open, and the whirs turn to silence.

Stuck . Is his immediate reaction.

His immediate reaction is actually something about him causing himself to be in this situation by reacting like a child to something Liv didn’t actually say.

His second reaction is that the world doesn’t actually revolve around him and that kind of selfish thought is only part of the reason he’ll be alone for the rest of his life.

His third thought is that they’re probably stuck in an elevator with two people who are up to something.

He looks at his phone. The response is a winking emoji that indicates she has no intention of letting up.

He manages a look at Liv. She's eyeing the shut door sideways.

“Hey, so,” the man pierces the silence, punctuating his oratory with an unnecessary tap against the elevator railing, “looks like it won't open.”

He genuinely can't help rolling his eyes, but before he can work the snark out of his mouth, Liv raises an eyebrow.

He snaps his mouth shut immediately.

He may be an idiot, but he's got enough sense to back down where others, himself included, have failed.

“Jake,” the woman tests, clearly terrified of both of them. “Maybe you could text Charles.”

“And let him know we went to Manhattan without him?” he turns, “He’d be devastated. Be reasonable Amy.”

“And we can't really text anyone else in the squad for obvious reasons,” she mutters.

Great. They're cops. Probably up to something nefarious they don't want anyone to know about.

“Don't worry,” Jake looks among everyone nervously, “She has a hair dryer in her purse.”

Amy glares at him.

“For the last time, no human woman keeps a hair dryer in her purse.”

He hesitates to ask, but, he has to.

“What…” he swallows, “do you think a hair dryer would do?”

“Melt the buttons?” he responds with a shrug. “I don't know. There are no bad ideas just bad people. Then again bad people are mostly just a product of circumstance and what do you have to contribute man?”

It strikes him as a slightly panicked answer to an elevator door that hasn't opened for not even five minutes. These two are definitely up to something

“I could try the emergency button?”

Leave it to Liv to be the rational one with an obvious solution.

She walks over to it, and pounds the red button. No response. She tries again. No response.

Great. He's definitely stuck now. He's in an elevator with his best friend. His best friend who he just snapped at for not being able to read his mind. His best friend who is going to yell at him the minute they get out of here.

He's trapped. In an elevator with his never going to be anything more best friend and two detectives who are clearly trying to pretend they're not detectives.

Three cops. One lawyer. And a door that won't open.

Sartre would have something to say about this.

“Benson here,” he overhears before he can even think about calling someone up. “Could you get the fire department to open an elevator at 221 Fieldcrest?” she huffs, pushing against the button again. “Because there are four people stuck in one and the security in the building isn't answering. I just did,” she taps her foot against the floor. She only does that when she's really annoyed. “Listen Roger, you wanna keep playing Sudoku that's fine, but I need you to call the fire department before I personally call your boss and get you placed on unpaid leave.”

That. Sounds like him a little and honestly it's pretty attractive. He really shouldn't be thinking that at all. Let alone while stuck here with the Keystone Cops.

She clicks the phone closed and slumps against the wall. “He said he'd put in the request. We'll see how that goes.”

“You want to have Rollins double check the call sheet?”

She smirks, “You know she or Carisi'd be over here with an ax in twenty minutes and I can't be paying for that.”

“Your landlord is derelict by not properly servicing the elevators, and the security staff being negligent is not something they want in a lawsuit, Olivia.”

She rolls her eyes, and texts Amanda. As she's doing so, Amy gasps behind him.

“Olivia Benson,” she just short of shrieks, “As in Lieutenant Olivia Benson?”

Definitely a cop.

Olivia looks as confused as she always does when people do this to her.

“Yes?”

“Wow,” Amy's eyes bug before she swallows a breath, “I… um. You are….”

“Well this is awkward,” Jake laughs beside her. “What Amy is stammering about is that she is a big fan of yours and would like you to know you mean a lot to her. I mean honestly this is worse than when she met our Captain and she basically went Buffalo Bill on him. Not that she wants to wear your skin or anything.”

If they're trying to pull off a heist they're the dumbest criminals he's ever seen - and he once got a guy to choke him in court.  

“Sergeant Amy Santiago,” she finds her voice. “It's nice to meet you. I do not want to wear your skin.”

“Thanks?” Olivia reaches out a tentative hand for Amy to shake.

“So,” Jake claps his hands together, “do we want to use Amy's portable charger and take turns playing Bubble Buddies while we wait for the fire brigade?”

He’s not even sure Rollins has confirmed they’re coming, so he doesn’t know what playing Bubble Buddies is supposed to accomplish. Nothing other than wasting time, and he has work he can probably do.

Except - he didn’t bring his briefcase so he doesn’t have his notes, and it’s probably not the best idea to be going over case notes with three cops who have nothing to do with it. Even though he trusts Liv with his life, he’s still not sure what these two are up to.

“I um…" Amy picks at her fingers, “don’t.”

“What?” he responds with an over-dramatic head-tilt and emphasis on the t.

“I have a charger,” she crosses her arms, “I haven't been replaced by an alien. It's just a wall charger.”

“Amy Santiago doesn't have four portable chargers for just this sort of situation? Are you okay?”

“No. We left really early and I've been in weird mood all week..”

“Maybe we’re in an escape room.”

He has no reason to pretend that’s true so he’s going to ignore it. Maybe he can sit on the floor and take a nap. Though he has a feeling Jake isn’t going to shut up and Liv will try to bust down the door in about ten minutes.

“We could shoot the door!” Jake offers excitedly.

“By all means, there’s no possibility that a bullet would ricochet and hit someone in here, when we have no way of knowing when or if anyone is coming to get us,” he sighs.

“Dude you are such a buzzkill,” Jake slumps against the other wall, “What did you like, go to Harvard or something?”

Liv is the one who snorts at that.

“It’s possible,” he shrugs, “listen, I’m going to sit down and wait for Rollins to text back. Unless either of you want to see about opening the door?”

“You just gonna let your girlfriend do all the work then?” Jake folds his arms over his chest. He’s really not sure why the kid is trying to goad him into a fight when they’re in an enclosed space with minimal air.

“One, it’s best to get out of Olivia’s way in these situations,” he smirks, pulling off his jacket, “and two, we’re not dating.”

“Wait,” the young man interjects, throwing an hand in the air, “You're telling us you two aren't a couple?”

“No,” he grimaces. He must be imagining Liv's recoil. If it's real it's just a recoil at the suggestion.

“It's certainly not your business.” Liv crosses her arms.

“Sorry,” Jake shrugs, “Just looking for some entertainment, but I now see that it was inappropriate and uncalled for. Hashtag my bad.”

God help him, Jake is starting to grow on him. He’s an idiot, but he seems to mean well. It's not his fault they’re in this situation.

Amy’s looking exasperated in the corner as Jake tries to help Liv at the panel. The man clearly has a death wish.

He sits on the floor and contemplates texting Fiona back. She’d enjoy this too much. Way, way too much. He’ll wait for Rollins to text back or when he ends up having to report Liv for justifiable homicide.

“So,” he turns to Sergeant Santiago, “what brings you to a random Manhattan apartment building?”

“Jake and I are looking for somewhere to live.”

He raises an eyebrow, “he’s not doing a great job of hiding the sidearm if you don't want people to know you're up to something.”

Amy looks nervous. “How do you know he doesn’t have a conceal carry permit?”

“He might,” he considers, testing his phone as Jake takes to bashing his head against the door, “but he’s also a cop. I'm not going to blow whatever game you’re up to, but I might be able to help.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “We’re not undercover. I had a job interview and Jake tried to make me feel better by pretending we were sophisticated people looking at a fancy apartment.”

He smirks at the idea that Olivia’s apartment is fancy. Clearly they don’t even have a decent security team. And, honestly, given Liv’s history, he’s pretty sure he’s going to sue them tomorrow, on principle.

If he ever manages to get out of here.

“And what job are you interviewing for you don' t think you'll get?”

Her eyes dart across the room as if there’s anyone else who will hear her. The other two are distracted anyway. Then she crouches down and meets his eyes, and then lets out in a stage whisper, “Homicide.”

Interesting.

“Well,” he manages a shrug, “homicide in Manhattan is a little different than the outer boroughs.”

“Oh I'm sure you'd know,” she rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest and clanging her head back against the wall.

“Maybe,” he tilts his head, trying to stop himself from pulling Liv to sit down. She’s probably actually going to murder Jake in five minutes. “I worked around King's County for a few years.”

“No one calls it King's County outside of the DA’s Office,” she stops, “Wait. You're not an ADA are you?”

“Technically,” he pretends to be very interested in the Notes app on his phone, “I'm an Executive ADA.”

She slumps against the back of the elevator. “So you are Barba. Great job Amy.”

He laughs, “I’m not sure what the problem is with that but yes.”

“My interview was with Lieutenant Masters.”

He’s not quite sure why Fiona thinks she has any say over who gets hired as her Sergeant nor why Amy thinks her weird vetting process is any kind of formal interview. Though, Fiona has dirt on everyone and some people would call her charming. If anyone had influence over who got to be their sergeant it would be Fiona.

“First I bungle the interview, then I get stuck in an elevator, and now I’ve made a horrible impression on both Rafael Barba and Olivia Benson. Could this day get worse?”

He resists the urge to crack a joke about Oedipus trying to run from his fate.

“Amy, clearly we are just people.”

She snorts, “so is Will Shortz.”

“The crossword guy?”

“The New York Times Crossword Editor,” she corrects, eyes ablaze, “He came to the Puzzle Symposium last year. It was amazing.”

“There's a symposium on puzzles?”

“You'd like it.” she offers, as if she knows what he’s interested in. Hell, maybe she does, but he'd rather vomit with the idiots at Santa Con. “I can get you 25% off as a Frequent Puzzler!” she grins, then catches his face, “Yeah. I'm being weird again.”

He thinks her weirdness is probably part of the charm.

“I’ll tell you what,” he laughs, “we get out of here and I’ll put in a good word for you with Masters, but would it really be the end of the world if you don't get the job?”

She furrows a brow at him, “And would it really be the end of the world if you told Olivia how you feel?”

He opens his mouth, shuts it, chews worriedly on his bottom lip. There’s no real use denying it at this point. Amy Santiago is either a really good detective or he’s really that obvious.

Both.

It’s definitely both.

“She knows,” he manages, gazing over at her as she tries to pull open the doors, “it isn't worth saying out loud.”

“It’s always worth saying out loud,” she states, as if, somehow she knows. As if she has any idea, “and I might be wrong, but I don't think she'd be looking at you like that if she wasn’t interested.”

He turns back to her. This time it’s his turn to furrow his brow.

“Like what?”

“Ah, so you haven’t seen it yet,” she nods, smiling like some sort of cat. “You don’t know what it means, maybe? I don’t know either but she’s definitely not the kind of person to have you hang around out of pity.”

“Amy,” he shakes his head, “She’s not going to risk her career to pursue some jackass she used to work with who gets stuck in elevators.”

He's absolutely going to sue her landlord if he ever gets out of here.

“Doesn’t matter man,” he has a feeling she’d be grabbing his hand if they were actually friends, “but you gotta tell her. She’ll either confirm that I’m right or confirm you can move on. Staying in limbo isn’t going to work for either of you. Believe me.”

“How do you know I haven't tried to move on?”

“It didn't work because somewhere in the back of your mind she’d never actually said no, so there was still hope. You won't give her the opportunity for yes because then you'd have to live up to it. Put up or shut up…” she states, then corrects with a hasty, “Sir.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, “If we get out of here I'll tell her.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he rolls his eyes.

He has no intention of keeping that promise.

“Okay,” Jake laughs, suddenly, maniacally, swiping his hand against his forehead. “Don’t yell at me, but I don’t think we’ve tried the 'doors open' button.”

“I’m not following,” Liv edges out.

“We’ve hit every other button and tried to pry it open, but we haven’t actually tried that one.”

“It’s not going to work,” Amy calls out.

“Probably not, but worth a try, right?” he shrugs, reaches over, and pushes the illuminated white panel.

He’s staring. He really shouldn’t. This isn’t going to work. Amy’s right, but he can’t help it. It’s the universe, daring him. Egging him on. Giving him hope where there really isn’t any to speak of.

There’s the light beep, the whirring of elevator cars, and voila - the doors open.

They’re all struck by how dumb a solution it was, so much that it takes each of them a full 10 seconds to actually move. At which point the doors start to close again.

Liv, on the quickest of instincts, hits the button again. Holds it.

They’re slightly below the next floor so they’re going to have to step up to it, which is probably why it didn’t automatically open. He gets up, dusts off his jacket. Offers a hand to Amy.

And they all four walk out the door.

It’s as he’s climbing up that he realizes - maybe Jake was right about an escape room scenario. The door was really open the whole time. Maybe Sartre really would have something to say about this.

Maybe deep down he knew the door was open the whole time.

“I better not find out you didn’t follow through on your promise, Barba,” Amy pierces his thoughts, calling after him as she and Jake make for the stairwell.

He smirks, “or you'll send Will Shortz after me?”

“Do not joke about The Puzzle Master,”

He hears behind him as Liv directs him the opposite way down the hall to the other stairwell.

He has no real intention of keeping that promise, because he’s walking to the end of his friendship anyway.

How could he have forgotten about the fight?

He could beg off and pretend they didn't get into a fight over a job he doesn't want. Though he's not sure he could live with himself if he did.

The door was open the entire time and he just had to walk through it. The solution was only revealed when he chose to believe there was a solution.

He's not so self-important as to believe the universe trapped in an elevator with three cops so he would acknowledge his feelings. And really - Jake was the one who saw the solution. Still, though. Maybe he has to have the fight.

“So what was the promise you made Amy?” Olivia asks as she rounds the stairwell to the next floor. He has no clue what floor they're on. Hell, maybe she's going to the roof to push him off of it.

“Just a plea deal so she wouldn't try to invite me to Puzzle Camp,” he answers, gripping the railing a bit too tightly.

“You have no intention of holding up your end?”

He isn't even looking at her face and he knows she's mad at him for it. She doesn't even know Amy.

“She would have no way of knowing if I followed through or not," he really can't help the defensiveness.

“That doesn't sound like the prosecutor I know.”

She left out the important distinction - used to know. He's a prosecutor she used to know, a friend she used to trust. He used to be a colleague, at least. Now he's some asshole who she's glad she doesn't have to make feel better all the time.

Then again, she invited him to dinner. She invited him back to her place. She’d casually mentioned something about a party on Thursday.

“I work homicide now. We'll say anything for a confession.”

He can tell she's suppressing the laugh, but she is spared another jab when she opens the door to her floor.

Good to know he isn't being pushed off a roof. Though maybe it'll feel that way when she's done with him.

Yet, when they reach her apartment, she spends fifteen minutes cancelling the cavalry. She places calls to the fire department and to Rollins.

He takes the one with Carisi. It lasts at least seven minutes as he tries to figure out what the other cops were up to. He hangs up on him when he tries to tie all of it back to some conspiracy involving Castro. It feels pointless to explain the man’s been dead for two years.

He does feel like Fiona should know he's alive, but he also hadn't told her they were stuck. She'll find out.

Maybe he should call his mother. But it isn't as if he had a near death experience, really. He'll call his mother after Liv pushes him out a window.

Liv is still on the phone with Roger's watch commander. He's getting a stern talking to about training that he would not want to be on the other end of.

Honestly? It's really fucking hot.

He needs a drink.

He catches her eyes and tilts his head toward the scotch on her refrigerator. She indicates he can go ahead as she huffs at Sergeant Daly.

He takes it down and pours himself two fingers. Neat.

“What if the issue had been something more pressing?” she complains as she hangs up the phone. She pulls a wine glass out of the cabinet and a bottle from her wine rack.  “Someone could have died Rafael.”

“I'm aware,” he smirks, taking a swig of his drink, “but I think you should sue your landlord.”

“He was my first call. Of course he didn't answer.” She places the glass on the table as she unscrews the lid. She’s really stressed if she’s going for a screw top. No time for a cork.

“But there are more expedient ways than lawsuits.”

Definitely not enough time for a cork.

“In my official capacity as an agent of the state I did not hear any of that,” he raises an eyebrow. He’s attempting levity.

She snaps.

“You mean the future District Attorney of New York County can't be party to perceived police misconduct?”

Here it is - the trial leading to his death sentence. He swallows, takes another swig, and squares his shoulders.

“Can I finish my scotch before you rake me over the coals for that?”

“I didn’t mean you weren’t qualified to be DA,” she sighs, pouring her wine into a glass.

He sets the glass down on the counter, finally allowing himself to look her in the eyes.

“But you don’t think I should run,” he searches her face. She can try and hide it, but he’s caught her. If he doesn’t play this right, this is the final nail for their relationship - the death of their friendship. Judge, jury, execution.

“I didn't say that,” she presses her free palm to her forehead.

“You didn't have to,” he notes, taking another swig.

What he’s expecting her to say he’s not sure. He knows Keshia is a better candidate and will do better work. How knows he actually alienates everyone he meets so he can't expect to be a good politician. He knows the only reason he ever won anything was by theatrics, and the stage doesn’t make the laws.

He knows he's lucky he wasn't fired over Ashtonja. He’d have to sell his soul to get that to disappear, and that’s the one thing he can’t stomach.

He knows all of that, so what’s he so mad about? Because hearing it from Liv would be confirmation that he isn’t just making up all the problems. Hearing that from her would confirm he doesn’t actually have the choice to not want it.

What he gets knocks the wind out of him.

“You ever think maybe I don't want you to die?”

Her voice breaks on that last word - the one his brain was playing over and over again in a different context. She isn’t joking.

“What?” he asks her back. She’s taking way too much time to put the wine back in its rack. It strikes him that she doesn’t want him to look her in the eyes.

“Those threats that magically disappeared,” she presses her head against the cabinet. “You don't think they'd come back after you if you ran for DA?”

It strikes him that she doesn’t want him to see her crying. And, suddenly, all of that anger, all of that panic, all of that hostility and artifice - it just disappears.

“Liv,” he crosses the space between them, but he doesn’t dare touch her.

“If you want to run I will support you,” she sniffs, wiping her eyes as she turns around to face him, “but promise me you'll get protection you won't try to skirt off.”

He wants to reach out - to touch her, to hug her, to let her know he's not running and the reason he's been mad has actually nothing to do with whether Keshia would be a better DA or not.

Before he can manage to ask, she holds out a finger. “Promise me.”

All he can do is nod. And then she releases a sigh, falling into his chest, as she pulls him into a hug.

“You better keep this one,” she mutters into his chest as he nuzzles her head, “I'll definitely know.”

He has comments about active hostage situations and not giving people his home address but they're dead on his lips. She's in his arms and her hands are clutching his back and his nose is in her hair. It's everything just short of what he wants.

Maybe he can be okay with that.

But that's not what he needs to do.

What he needs to do is acknowledge the unlocked door. The one he can’t ever seem to bring himself to go through. He could -  just tell her. Even though it will ruin everything, even though she’ll just confirm she wants nothing to do with him. At least, not that way.

But, at least, then he’ll know.

Maybe then Amy was right - maybe then he can move on. He can’t keep standing still.

So, he finally forces himself to make a choice.

“I mean,” he smiles, rubbing his thumb against her palm, “you do know I'd do anything for you, right?”

She snorts.

“Short of high crimes and misdemeanors, yes.”

“And you know what I was trying to ask by inviting you to dinner.”

He’d like to say he looked at her when he said that, but he can’t. Presenting himself for sacrifice is enough of a step forward. So he stares at the hand in his instead.

“Which time,” she laughs.

“Every time.”

“I assumed you were asking me to dinner,” she pauses, dropping his hand to pull his chin up and look in his face. “Rafa, what are you trying to say?”

He sighs, then grimaces against it - no time like the present.

“That it was never just dinner for me.”

He could go on about how the silence wraps around his heart, the way he can't breathe. Or think. How he doesn't know how he's going to survive her response.

He has no real idea of what to expect - just that she is okay with having him live. Possibly even wants him to live.

Maybe she'll slap him or tell him to get out of her apartment. Maybe she'll sadly tell him how she wishes things could be different but confirm she’ll never feel that way about him. Could be that she still doesn’t get it, and God forbid, he has to come right out and use the actual words.

He can’t bring himself to hope she kisses him.

Instead, she smirks. “You're saying Jake was right about you being in love with me once?”

Always a surprise, that Olivia. He never counted on her finding it funny. It’s so ridiculous he’d find it funny too. If his aorta was still pumping blood through his heart.

“So he’s not a complete idiot after all,” he manages.

“He did try to tell me he could slide through the panel doors like in an episode of Blossom, which, can’t be true,” she smiles, then shakes her head, “Wait, that's not what we're talking about.”

“Liv, look,” he throws a hand to his neck, “I didn’t tell you because I need or expect anything. It was just brought to my attention that you might not know as much as I had assumed and I didn't want to live in an assumption.”

“Rafa,” her tone is so gentle it feels like his skin is breaking out in hives. She knows. She’s always known. And now it’s time to move on.

Confirmation is even worse than he’d anticipated.

“But, I can see by this reaction that you did know,” he laughs, choking a bit on his tongue, “so I'll see myself out.”

She immediately grabs his arm before he can even turn. Looking into her eyes she’s almost - mad. Disappointed, maybe.

“Don’t you dare," she admonishes.

“Can’t I just go drown my sorrows in a bottle of scotch like the barely-adjusted idiot I am?”

Can’t she let him move on?

“You're right. I did know,” she stares him down, both hands on both of his shoulders, preventing him from escaping his fate. “I've just been waiting for you to do something about it, but Jake said you probably thought I wasn’t interested and you were trying to spare my feelings.”

Jake's way more insightful than he seems. Then again he mostly seemed like a cartoon character who fumbled his way into the police academy.

“Liv - I don't know how you could have made it more clear you weren't interested.”

She shakes her head. She’s exasperated now. At least that’s familiar.

She releases his shoulder, grabbing his forearm with one hand and reaching out for her wine glass with the other.

She gulps down the rest of the drink, placing the glass back on the counter.

“You know, I brought you up here tonight to seduce you.”

That… sounds like a joke, but her tone isn’t joking. He doesn’t understand.

“Excuse me?” he gulps.

“I was going to make an offer of no strings so we'd finally get rid of all this tension but…” she falls off, shrugging.

“You think that's all I want from you?” he frowns, correcting himself, “with you?”

“No,” she shakes her head, “I thought it might be all you were willing to give.”

Good to know he’s always been obvious - in both his feeling and his lack of confidence.

“So,” he manages a smile, “if I actually asked you on a date tomorrow you'd go?”

“Yeah, but I'm all lonely tonight and maybe you could help keep me company?”

As seductions go, it’s pretty effective. He raises an eyebrow. Maybe she hasn’t dropped the plot so much.

He reaches a hand out to cup her jaw, running his thumb along her cheekbone.

“What kind of company are we talking about?”

If he leans forward like he wants to, if he kisses her like he's been dreaming of for years, he’s not going to be able to stop.

She meets his eyes and - its there. The look. What he hadn’t seen yet. What Amy had so rudely pointed out wasn't pity. What she had, if he’s being honest, rightly pointed out wasn’t pity.

Her lips curl into a smile. She shrugs slightly. “Kiss me and you'll find out.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. Not when she's the one telling him.

So he moves the hand to cup the back of her head, “if I do that I'm not sure I'd have enough self-control to stop.”

Her mouth quirks, “I never said you should.”

It's her who leans forward and kisses him. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who needed to make a move.

It's amazing, even if it doesn't quite feel real.

Her hands, her eyes, the throaty sounds she makes that she isn't quite conscious of. The way he lapses into Spanish and doesn't have to explain it. The way her legs envelop his.

That feeling, deep inside and wrapped over - the way she looks at him before she starts to whine - its otherworldly.

He's been so fucking in love with her he could barely stand it for years. But this - to know she feels the same way? He's not sure its healthy for his heart to beat like that.

Afterwards, with her head nestled against his neck and her hands clutching his back as she entwines their legs- that's what he can believe. That's what he feels.

“I'm sorry,” she breathes.

He looks down, trying to pull her head up so he can look in her eyes, “if that's the first thing you have to say after we did that then I'm at a loss.”

“No,” she smiles, “we're pretty great at that. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about it and thought I could seduce you.”

“Your seduction techniques are unparalleled, Lieutenant,” he smiles, running his hand along her back, “But you're right. I would have definitely misconstrued your objective.”

“Then I'm glad we got stuck in an elevator for some kids to knock some sense into us,” she burrows back into his neck.

He sighs, “what time did you need me out of here?”

“Noah's at a sleepover, and Lucy's not bringing him back until the morning.”

“So you really had bang up plans,” he laughs.

She adjusts, leaning back to look in his eyes. “I want to be clear. I only did that because I was desperate. And please don't sneak out in the morning. Noah is always happy to see you.”

He wants to comment on her desperation but he's truly touched she doesn't have a problem with her son finding out about this so early. Whatever this is - she's in for the long haul.

So he grins, nods his head and says, “deal.”

She presses her lips to his, then turns around, pulling his arms around her from behind.

“Before you nod off, I do want to clear up something.”

“Shoot,” she mutters.

“Why,” he murmurs, lips against the shell of her ear, hands cradling her stomach from behind, “if your feelings were such, were you so happy to be rid of me in special victims?”

She tenses. The only reason she doesn't turn around is because he's holding her a little too close for that. He can't look her in the eyes when she tells him he's not the lawyer she needed. He can't see her disappointment when she admits she never expected things to get like this.

“I was happy for you. You deserved that promotion,” he can feel her lungs deflate a bit, “and maybe I was being a bit selfish.”

He’s really not sure how she thinks being happy about a promotion was being selfish. He’s never know Liv to be selfish about much of anything. In fact, she’s self-sacrificing to an almost annoying degree.

“You don’t really seem given to selfishness.”

She nudges his wrist to let her turn around. He acquiesces. He thinks he can stomach looking at her for this part. Maybe.

“You were going to leave eventually,” she runs a hand along his forearm as she looks in his eyes, “but if you went to Homicide there wouldn't be as big a conflict of interest. I was hoping that was your opening.”

That hits him in the gut a little. How he misjudged everything so completely. Her, so completely.

It’s his turn to be sorry,

“I thought you weren’t interested,” he defends, but before he can tack on the apology she adds her own admonishment.

“Next time talk to me about it before assuming?”

God the time he’s wasted. The time they’ve wasted. He could tell her about how she could have made a move herself, but she was going to. He could tell her about how she assumed what he was willing to give, but she knows.

They’ve both made mistakes. If he’s so bold, he believes his are worse, but he knows she would never allow that argument.

Besides, there’s a wide open door to walk through.

“You mean,” he grins, placing his hand at her waist, “next time you try to beg off a dinner invite I should give you a hard time about it?”

“I mean -” she grins back, other hand at his neck, “next time I tell you I have to get Noah I'm really inviting you to my place instead of Forlini's.”

“Okay,” he nods, taking a beat. “Do you want to join me at Forlini's on Thursday?

“How about you come over for spaghetti night first?” She grins, looking between them approvingly, “and make sure you bring a change of clothes.”

It doesn't sound like a date and it isn't quite one either. But maybe he'll kiss her good night and have fun with Noah and that's good enough.

More than good enough.

“Spaghetti get that messy?” he teases.

“No,” she admits, biting her lower lip, “But we can’t have you wearing the same tie two days in a row. That would be gauche.”

Is she - already inviting him for a repeat performance?

“Are you saying?”

“Yes,” she throws a leg around his waist, “but don’t let it go to your head.”

All the blood in his body is much lower than his brain. He can’t help the entendre.

“Which one?”

She almost rolls her eyes, but instead she mostly just smiles. “You're very lucky you're cute.”

“What are you gonna do? Punish me?”

“No, but I do have to confess that your best friend Fiona did text me,” she smiles, “and I promised her I would go to some fundraiser next week. So I need you all to myself for a few days.”

“Greedy,” he smiles, licking the skin just below her ear. “Wait,” he pulls back, “what fundraiser?”

“Some fancy party for the Domestic Violence Awareness League. I thought it would be a good idea to go. To show people the NYPD is on the right side of the issue.”

“I don’t know about the NYPD, but you certainly are.”

Then it hits him - devious, diabolical, way too interested in his personal life, tells him to get married so he can be a Senator, actual demon, Sergeant Lieutenant Fiona Masters.

She definitely would.

“What's the problem?” Liv squints.

“I think,” he shakes himself slightly, “that’s the gala she's been dropping hints about for three weeks.”

She immediately picks up on his ridiculous, yet not-at-all ridiculous, thought. Of course she does.

“You're saying she jammed the elevator? How?”

“She knows everyone. It would explain why the security guard wasn’t there when you hit the emergency button, and how two other cops just happened to be with us.” He laughs, “I told her to stop meddling in my personal life so she attacked it at a different angle.”

If it’s true he’s almost impressed. Almost.

“Rafa,” she laughs, pressing her fingers to his heart and her lips against his neck. “You sound like Carisi and his theory about the moon landing.”

“I'm definitely going to have to punish you for that.”

“Sounds harrowing.”

Maybe Fiona didn’t orchestrate. Maybe everything just happened to fall into place and she wasn’t bending the powers of the universe to her whims. Maybe it was bound to happen anyway

He likes thinking someone or something pushed him in the right direction - Amy, Fiona, weirdly personally significant signs from the universe

Really, he just needed to choose to open the door. The door he likely, somewhere deep down, knew was open the entire time.