Chapter Text
Olivia collapsed into a chair at an anonymous Brooklyn bar. Why she was in Brooklyn she couldn’t say, except that she’d needed to be somewhere where she definitely wouldn’t run into any of her mother’s old college friends, or, for that matter, any of her own colleagues. They meant well, and had been amazingly supportive, but Olivia needed breathing room. She wasn’t sure she could take any more stories about how amazing and perfect and talented her mother had been, or any more of Elliot’s worried glances in her direction. Serena Benson had been all of those things, but none of her mother’s college professor friends had known what happened behind closed doors. The drinking binges, the throwing up, the events she had missed out on throughout Olivia’s childhood, the unreliability. Leaving Olivia at school after evening practice or rehearsal. The broken wine glasses in the kitchen the next morning. The jagged shard heading towards her…drawing in a sharp breath, she forced herself to not go down that road. Not tonight.
“Can I get you something?” The bartender asked.
“Cabernet, please,” she handed over her card, “Leave it open.”
“Coming right up,” the bartender eyed her cautiously. His establishment was a more upmarket one - near the courthouse, so it mainly catered to lawyers or cops. Neither party took a drunken mess at the bar kindly, and this women looked like she could end up that way.
Olivia glanced at him as he poured, seemingly figuring out what he was thinking, “Don’t worry,” she sighed, “I’m a cop. I’m not going to cause you any trouble.”
“Uh, sorry,” he said, seemingly embarrassed, “Just, you know, lots of cops and lawyers in here after court. It’s around the corner,” he gestured vaguely.
“Oh. I’m based in Manhattan at the 16th. Just needed a break for an evening,” she said. He placed the wine glass in front of her.
“Enjoy,” he smiled. Court must have just adjourned, because the bar started filling up. Olivia glanced at her watch - sure enough, 5:00. Someone bumped into her slightly as he took the stool next to hers.
“Sorry,” he apologized.
“No worries,” she said, not looking over at him but staring into her glass instead. Her bartender friend put a Scotch in front of her new seat mate without being asked, who was obviously a regular.
She looked up finally, in time to see him loosen the top two buttons of his shirt, and let out a breath, taking a small sip of scotch.
She put her glass back down on the table, contemplated him. He had dark wavy hair and sparkling green eyes. A mischievous smirk on his face. He was arrogant, but, Olivia thought, there was more to it than that. He had a past. A strong jaw, determined, set face.
“Long day?” She asked.
“Oh, no more so than usual. You?”
She shrugged into her glass, “I buried my mother.”
“Oh. Wow. I’m sorry.”
She shrugged again, “She was an alcoholic. Our relationship was…complicated.” She didn’t know why it was easier to bare her soul to this stranger than to her partner, or any of her friends. She snorted to herself. What friends? Since joining SVU she hadn’t exactly made any effort to keep in touch with her friends from college, or reconnect with friends from high school when she’d moved back to the city.
He looked sympathetic, understanding. Not pitying, she thought with relief, not even understanding, “Alcohol complicates everything, right?” He asked, contemplating his own glass.
“Overuse of it does anyway,” Olivia agreed, swirling her wine before sipping again.
“Want to talk about it?” He asked.
“Unload my soul to a stranger at the bar? How cliche of me. No, but thank you for asking.”
“Anytime. Rafael Barba, by the way. ADA. Brooklyn Courthouse. There you go, I’m not a stranger anymore.”
She smiled, despite herself, “Detective Olivia Benson. Manhattan Special Victims Unit, 16th Precinct.”
“Nice to meet you, Olivia.”
“And you, Rafael.” She smiled again, looked into her empty glass, and held it up when the bartender looked in her direction.
“One more, please,” she requested, “And one of whatever he’s having, if he wants it.”
He smiled in acknowledgement, “Thanks,” he added when his refilled glass arrived.
He tipped it against hers, “To your Mom,” he said, and she managed a smile.
She contemplated the man on the stool next to her. He wasn’t the type she’d usually go for. There was nothing macho about him, but he was…alluring in his calmness. His kindness. Though, something about the mischief in his eyes told her he wouldn’t back down from a fight either.
“So what’s your story, Rafael?” She asked curiously.
“The Bronx to Harvard to Brooklyn Courthouse,” he shrugged, “It’s a story.”
She whistled, “Definitely is. How’d that happen?”
He shrugged, “I was tenacious. Stayed late at school to avoid going home. Camped out in the library. Looked for the next ticket out of The Bronx, and it arrived in the form of a full scholarship to Harvard.”
“Wow. Must have been rough though, a kid from the Bronx wining and dining.”
“It was, at first. I learned to fit in. I never really fit in in the Bronx either,” he gave her a somewhat self deprecating smile, which immediately made her want to tease out more. She got the feeling he didn’t share that part of his story readily.
“Not fitting in is rough in high school,” she stated, trying to show him the same courtesy - no pity.
“Yep,” he said, “I had a small group of good friends, so that helped. You want another of those?” He asked, gesturing at her nearly empty wine glass.
“Over dinner?” She threw out.
“Sure. Not here though. I know a great restaurant a few blocks away?”
“Okay,” Olivia said. Their bartender appeared again and she paid her tab.
“Have a good night,” he told her, winking. She smiled.
“So where to?” Olivia asked as he opened the door for her and they stepped out onto the street.
“Do you like Latin American food?” He asked.
“Uh, I’ve had Mexican…” she said, “I like that.”
“You should like Latin American then. The restaurant’s a ten minute walk, is that okay?”
“No problem,” she said. They fell into step, and she enjoyed walking in a part of the city she was less familiar with. Brooklyn was definitely up and coming, she thought as they walked. Lots of shiny new business windows flashed by them as they passed, and Olivia saw plenty of “SOLD” signs on apartments.
“Times are changing around here,” Olivia commented.
“Yeah,” Rafael agreed, “Certain members of the community aren’t thrilled about it. It’s keeping the courts busy.”
“I bet,” she said, then she steered the conversation away from work, “So what does a Harvard grad turned ADA do for fun?”
Rafael laughed, “You mean when he’s not pulling all nighters at the office?”
“Yeah.”
“I used to sail. Haven’t really done much since I moved back to the city though. Uh…Skiing, in the winter.”
She laughed, “So you hang out with the Harvard crowd, huh?”
“Honestly, I haven’t been doing much hanging out with anyone since I got the ADA job. I go to the gym, and I play ultimate frisbee on Saturday morning. What about you detective, what do you do to wind down?”
“Wind down? What does that mean?” Olivia asked, thinking for a minute.
“I go out for drinks with friends from work. ADA friends too. Try to date. The job usually prevents that though.”
“Huh. So we’re both workaholics.”
“One thing we have in common, I guess,” Olivia laughed
He opened the door into the restaurant for her, and was greeted with his name by a stout woman with a smiling face whom Olivia assumed must be the owner.
“Rafi! Come in, come in, and you brought a friend - it’s about time. Here, sit,” she led them to a booth in the corner of the restaurant at the window. It was slightly early for dinner yet, so the place hadn’t filled up, but Olivia could already tell by the atmosphere and general hustle of a restaurant before service that it was popular, and would be full, even in the middle of the week.
“Thank you, Marquita. This is my friend Olivia. She’s a detective in Manhattan.”
“Ah, a work friend, then. Nice to meet you, Olivia.” Olivia smiled and returned the sentiment.
Olivia noted that Marquita didn’t bring them menus, “It changes daily,” Rafael explained, “So she posts it on the board at the front. Do you mind if I order for us both? What would you like to drink? I highly recommend the Sangria.”
“Go ahead and order,” Olivia said, “I’m not fussy, and I don’t have any allergies. Sangria sounds perfect.”
“Perfect,” Rafael said, “I’ll be back in a minute.” He was at the counter before Olivia realized he would probably pay there too, and tried to get his attention, gesturing to her wallet.
He waved her away, mouthing “I’ve got this,” so she rolled her eyes at him but smiled, and sat back in her chair, staring out of the window. Her phone distracted her by bleeping, so she glanced at it to check the message.
“Just stopped by. Are you ok? Let me know or I’ll send out an alert.” She rolled her eyes again. Elliot. And he probably would send out an alert.
“I’m fine. Having dinner with a friend. See you tomorrow.”
“You have friends?” He shot back immediately.
“Ha, ha. Go home to your family, Elliot. See you tomorrow.” She snapped the phone shut.
Olivia stared out of the window while she waited for her dinner-mate to return. He finally managed to extract himself from a conversation with the guy manning the counter and returned to their table.
“Sorry about that,” he said, “Eduardo’s an old friend.”
“No worries. I thought you grew up in the bronx?”
“I did. So did he. They opened this place around the same time I started at the DA’s office, so I used to come here all the time…it was comforting. Homey. Where I’d come to relax after a long day, or pick up take out from to bring back and work some more.”
“The American Dream, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess so. It’s a real family affair. Marquita’s his mom. His grandmother and aunts do the cooking, his Dad runs the books with Eduardo when he’s not working his other job. His sisters wait tables, but they’re at college too.”
“Amazing,” Olivia said, impressed.
“Yeah. They struck lucky when property prices in Brooklyn were so low after they redeveloped it,” Rafael finished, as their drinks arrived.
“Thanks, Lisa,” he said.
“De nada,” she replied, then, in Spanish, “She’s beautiful, Rafi.” Olivia smiled into her drink, and Rafael rolled her eyes at the other girl.
“I’m guessing you understand enough Spanish to know what that means,” Rafael observed, noting the smirk on Olivia’s face.
“I speak it fluently,” Olivia admitted, “Along with Italian and French.”
“Whoa. Renaissance woman. Impressive.”
Olivia shrugged, “I liked to avoid home too. And languages always came easily.” She took a long gulp of the refreshing drink, already eyeing the pitcher on the table between them, but knowing she should have some water. Chips and salsa appeared at their table, and Olivia gladly selected a chip to dip into the salsa, suddenly hungry.
“You can talk about her if you want,” Rafael said softly, “Or not.”
“Our relationship was complicated,” Olivia admitted quietly. She then launched into the whole story - somehow knowing that this man, who’d been a stranger a few hours ago, would understand. And he did. He didn’t pity her, or offer empty sympathetic words, or share his own stories, just listened. When the food came, he made her laugh telling her stories about himself learning to make the various dishes with his own Cuban grandmother. It was all delicious, and they finished the single pitcher between them, drinking their last glass slowly, watching as the restaurant around them got busy and loud, then quieter towards the end of service. Finally, it was obviously near closing, and they stepped outside.
“Ice cream?” He asked, “There’s an amazing place around the corner. Homemade.” Neither were ready to say goodbye yet.
“Oh, God, twist my arm,” she agreed easily, stretching, “But I’m buying.” He nodded easily. They found a bench to eat their cones, mostly in companionable silence. The ice cream was rich and creamy. Olivia finished her single scoop, glad she hadn’t allowed Rafael to goad her into getting more.
“That was perfect,” she tossed the paper from the cone into the trash can next to their bench/
“Told you you’d want more,” he commented mildly.
“It was just right,” she argued back, smiling.
“So, Olivia,” he said as he finished his last bite, “Think we could do this again sometimes?”
She smiled at him, and nodded, “Yeah. Yeah I think we could.” He grinned. Not smirked, actually grinned.