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There are always wolves
There are always spells
There are always beans
Or a giant dwells there
So into the woods you go again
You have to every now and then
-Sondheim, "Children Will Listen"
“Besides,” he mutters, “the point isn’t about the merits of the case, it’s about-”
“Standing,” she interjects, laughing. “So you’ve said 20 or so times.”
Rafa stops, “Right, well thank you for indulging me.”
He can’t help being a little shocked that she actually listened to him. He’s talking about federal statutes and original jurisdiction - things that have next to no basis in local Manhattan crimes. They certainly have more to do with his job than hers.
Liv shakes her head, turning toward him on the crosswalk, “You’re very welcome, and I’m sure SCOTUS will agree with you that Pennsylvania can’t sue Indiana.”
“Well, that’s not exactly -” he trails off at the look on her face, “right. So how’s Noah’s dance class been going?”
She smiles, motions to sit on the park bench they’ve been nearing. “Great, he’s learning jazz hands.”
“Bob Fosse would be proud,” he grins, joining her to sit.
There are several things he would like to do, but he isn’t sure what level of physicality she’s okay with these days. Sure, it’s been several months since he got his act together and asked her on a real date, but that doesn’t mean she wants to go making a fuss about it in public.
In all the times he practiced telling her how he felt, he never actually got past her letting him down gently. He never truly expected her to say yes.
Everything past that he’s been kind of expecting for the other shoe to drop.
Still, he thinks she might be okay with him brushing that hair out of her face. Maybe she hasn’t moved it herself because she’s hoping he’ll do it. Who knows?
He’s just about to lean over when he hears a yip.
Annoyed, he looks down to see a scraggly little animal that may have once been considered a dog.
“Oh, hi there,” she says, as if the canine will speak English back to her, “are you lost?”
The animal barks in response. Maybe it’s trying to speak English back to her?
She reaches down to scruff its neck, frowning. “No collar.”
“He could still be chipped,” he offers, flailing at nothing.
“True,” she offers, still scratching the dog’s ears. “I think the animal unit has a scanner.”
He looks down at the mutt, tail wagging excitedly. He should be mad at the thing for interrupting him, for stealing Liv’s affection. But doesn’t every lost creature need an Olivia Benson?
Maybe he’s projecting a little.
A lot.
He meets her eyes, and she smiles, and somehow he knows he’s in a lot of trouble.
When she smiles at him like that he knows he’s going to agree to things he really shouldn’t.
It’s only three days, three shots, and no microchip later when he realizes he’s acquired a pet.
A pet she talked him into taking home after it was thoroughly washed and deloused. A pet he has definitely not started referring to as Oliver.
He spent entirely too much time researching what to feed Oliver. Especially when he has a large amount of research to do on a forthcoming case in front of a very crabby federal judge. Luckily the dog seems to eat whatever he gives him. He may be starting to forgive him for interrupting a moment.
It’s not the dog’s fault he’s too chickenshit to ask Olivia if she’s okay making things official.
Three days after that is spaghetti night.
If Liv is annoyed he brought Oliver, she doesn’t say so. Though she does tell Noah dogs aren’t supposed to eat gluten when he offers him some garlic bread. (Are dogs not supposed to eat bread?)
After spaghetti Noah wants to walk Oliver around the park, but Liv gets a phone call before she can answer the question. This, apparently, plays right into his hands.
“Can Oliver stay?” he asks.
He imagines part of the reason he ended up with the animal was so he wouldn’t, but he’s not going to begin to answer. “I don’t know. I think we’d have to ask your mom that one.”
“But I thought he was your dog.”
Maybe, possibly. Who knows?
“Still up to your mom who gets to stay in your apartment.”
"You could move in," Noah offers helpfully, petting the dog.
"What," he chokes.
"You and Oliver. You can move in," he reiterates, this time grinning widely. "That way we can share."
"I'm not sure that's how it works, Noah," he laughs nervously, hoping desperately Liv will finish her call with enough time to bail him out of this. "Besides, where would I stay? That couch doesn't look all that comfortable."
Noah looks at him like he's the hapless lead in a mystery series, missing an obvious clue.
"With Momma," he intones, teetering toward annoyance.
The kid clearly doesn't know how that works, right?
"Not sure there's enough room in there for two beds, mi amigo."
Noah rolls his eyes. "You share the same bed all the time."
Busted.
"You're… okay with that?"
"Yeah," he laughs, like it’s obvious to everyone. "You make better spaghetti."
The vote of confidence is overwhelming. Here he is, worried about how much Liv wants him around, and Noah’s already got him setting up a drawer.
Children really do see and hear everything.
Too bad that means he’s gone and made a mess of everything by not being careful. Too bad that means he has to have the conversation he’d been avoiding for months.
Too bad it’s kind of exactly what he wants to do and she’s never going to agree.
"Noah wants me to move in," he offers after Noah’s gone to bed, Oliver standing watch outside the door to his bedroom.
You’d think he’d have a better line than that, but he’s never felt all that eloquent around her. Besides, he’s a dead man anyway, best to lop the thing clean off.
"Really?" she murmurs, continuing to sip her glass of wine as if it’s not a remotely surprising development.
"I think he's more interested in the dog and my spaghetti as part of an omnibus plea deal."
She just smiles slightly, revealing absolutely nothing
"You don't seem shocked."
"That Noah wants a dog?” she laughs. “No. That’s not news, Rafa."
"You're avoiding the question."
Not that he actually asked one.
"Which is?"
"Are we ready for the next step?"
He also doesn’t clarify what the next step actually is, hoping she’ll take the ball the rest of the way into the end zone. (Is that how football works?)
"I'll take you if you bring your fancy sheets."
That’s the not the enthusiastic consent he realizes he was hoping for, but also not the full-scale throttling he was expecting. He should take it, really. She’s not yelling at him for his lack of circumspection or for getting Noah’s hopes up prematurely.
He’s just a little worried the kid wants him around more than she does, and the kid is mostly interested in the dog.
It's really just - it's the other shoe - dropping square onto his chest.
"Liv," he tests, "if you don't want to it’s perfectly okay. I can come up with something to tell him."
This gets the reaction he was expecting. She purses her lips, downs the rest of her glass. Stops short of rolling her eyes.
He doesn’t know what the problem is now.
"I waited for you to make a move for six years and now you think I'm holding out on you.” she huffs. “Amazing."
“I don’t think that - I think maybe you’ve settled for the situation because Noah likes me and I wouldn’t want you to just to spare my feelings.”
There - it’s out, right? Wolves, dragons, nothing quite so scary as pouring your heart out to the one person who can destroy it.
She actually rolls her eyes at that. Glad to know he’s so annoying.
“Rafa,” she sighs, “do you just not listen to me? I told you I’ve been waiting for you to make a move for six years and you think I’m settling because of my son?”
That’s not even true.
“You didn’t even like me six years ago.”
“Didn't mean I wasn't interested," she raises an eyebrow.
Oh. Well, that’s not the same thing is it?
“Just because we’re good in bed and Noah likes my dog doesn’t mean you should take on two strays.”
She shakes her head, seemingly agitated, “Is this what you learn at Harvard Law? To defend your mental gymnastics so much you actually start believing it?”
Okay, she’s actually agitated.
“It can’t have been six years. You thought I was an idiot.”
“Because you’re an idiot,” she laughs incongruously, “When have I ever done anything I didn’t want to do?”
She’s got him there, really.
"I still think you're imagining the past as you want to see it."
"Well I wasn't in love with you six years ago."
"And now?"
She doesn't answer. Just smiles. Runs her hands down his chest and under his suspenders, stopping short of what he knows she wants to do.
It's that smile of hers that makes him do just about anything.
No halfway decent lawyer asks a question he doesn't know the answer to.
He finds he likes the answer.