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It’s not the door opening that rouses her from her doze, or the thin line of light that spills in as whoever it is slips into the room. It’s the way that the throbbing in her shoulder eases, the way her body relaxes as the smallest bit of warmth seeps into her various bruises and scrapes.
“Rafa?” she says, because there is, quite literally, no one else in the world it could be.
“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Wasn’t really sleeping.”
“The morphine didn’t knock you out?”
“For a bit. Wore off about thirty minutes ago.”
“Why didn’t you get the nurses to replace it?” Rafael asks, squinting at her IV in the darkness like he’s thinking of doing it himself.
“Didn’t want to bother anyone. Rollins and Fin were both making a fuss before they left, and I figured they’d probably had enough for one day.”
“If there’s anyone worth fussing over, Liv, it’s you. Do you want me to get someone now?” He half rises from the chair he’d pulled up next to her bed, and she scrambles to catch his wrist with the hand not currently confined to a sling.
“No,” she says, too quickly, and only just stops herself from giving away more by adding I don’t want you to go with something she’s almost certain would be desperation in her voice. “I just…” She smiles at him, or at least tries to. “I don’t want you to blow your cover, after you did all the work to sneak back here. I’m pretty sure it’s after visiting hours.”
“I’m offended.” He pulls his wrist out of her grasp, but only so he can take her hand in his, and she sighs, the direct contact easing her pain even more. “I can’t believe you think I would ever sneak instead of charming my way in.”
“And what exactly did you tell them?”
“This and that. Brought a few extra coffees with me,” he says, nodding at the cup he’d placed on the tray next to her bed. It’s a strangely vague answer from him, especially with her, but she doesn’t really care about whatever white lies he’d told to get back here. What really matters is that he’s here .
She’d been hoping he’d come, ever since Rollins had mentioned in passing that she’d called to tell him about what had happened. Rollins clearly hadn’t thought much of it, but Olivia’s heart had leapt, because it meant that he might come without her wading into the quagmire of explaining to him herself. Or worse, asking him herself, which she’s not sure she would have been able to resist.
But he’s here now, his presence calming in the dim hospital room, and they haven’t had to actually talk about it. She’s almost certain that’s what he prefers, not talking about it at all.
Occasionally, when her head is pounding and she really needs to finish paperwork, or when several long days in a row meant her muscles ached in a way that even a really good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure quickly enough, she’d make up some excuse to go over to Rafael’s office or apartment. They’d sit and work, or watch tv, and let the connection between them work without ever actually talking about it.
And Rafael never seemed bothered by any of this, in fact he usually seemed glad to have an excuse to keep an eye on her, to hover while trying to seem like he wasn’t not hovering at all, but he never actually said any of that, and he certainly never took advantage of their connection in the same way. The only times he’d ever let her help him had been the few times that she’d just happened to stop by his office when he was in the middle of a migraine, and she wasn’t entirely sure he’d been fully conscious of accepting her offer to help. She might have felt bad about that if she hadn’t seen the way his whole body shook as the pounding in his head and the stiffness in his muscles eased, hadn’t heard the way his breathing had gone deep and slow as she traced her fingers gently along the back of his neck.
So they have a system that works, and they don’t need to talk about it at all, not if he doesn’t want to, and Olivia is fine with that because the other option and its potential consequences are a little bit terrifying. And he’d come here, hadn’t he? Amanda had told him that a perp had pushed her down a set of stairs during a pursuit, and he’d snuck into the hospital after visiting hours to sit with her. If that didn’t mean things were going to be okay, she wasn’t sure what would.
“They asked if I have a soulmate. When I was first brought in, once they’d established that there wasn’t any internal bleeding or head trauma. They asked if I wanted a smaller dose of morphine, just to tide me over until someone could get ahold of them. Said that some people prefer the natural pain relief, if it’s available.”
Apparently, in considering things, her brain had decided, without her permission, that they were going to talk about it.
“Oh,” Rafael says, and she wishes she could see more of his face in the dark. “What did you tell them?”
The effects of the morphine must be lingering more than she thought, because she can almost fool herself into thinking that the wariness in his voice is hope instead. She squeezes his hand, wishing it was in apology instead of reassurance.
“I just said I didn’t know. I didn’t want to say too much and give anything away.”
“Oh,” he says again, and lets go of her hand.
Something in her chest freezes as he pulls his hand away from hers and the strange, magical warmth that he’d brought with him ebbs at the loss of contact. She only just stops herself from grabbing him again, and she forces herself to relax a little when he doesn’t stand but instead leans back in his chair, like he’s trying to put distance between them without actually moving. She hates it.
“Maybe I should-” he starts, running his hand through his hair, and she hates this too, hates the way the normal ease between them drops away as soon as they try to talk about any of this, how they’ve never been able to talk about it, not in all the years they’ve been friends, not in the beginning when there wasn’t nearly as much between them and not now when even mentioning it feels like walking right up to a cliff’s edge she can’t afford to jump off alone.
“If you’re worried, I can-”
“I’m not.”
She can see his surprise, even in the dimness, because the one thing they had been able to talk about was their decision not to tell anyone else; they weren’t going to do anything about it, so protecting their working relationship and their burgeoning friendship had been the priority then. They couldn’t technically be separated just for being soulmates, but all it would take is McCoy or Dodds or anyone else deciding they were too close, jumping to conclusions, and coming up with some excuse to transfer one of them.
But all she’s worried about right now is getting him to stay. She’d shout it from the rooftops if she thought it would help instead of scaring him off, possibly for good.
“They’re only keeping me for observation. I don’t think they’ll do another scan of my shoulder, and unless you plan on staying all night, the bruises won’t fade enough for anyone to notice if they’re not looking for it.”
“Right. Okay.” He takes her hand again, and the tension in her chest eases. “I’ll stay for a bit. At least until you fall asleep again, since it’s my fault you woke up in the first place.”
“Thank you,” she says, and with that promise she can feel the exhaustion of the day welling up again. She wants to ask him again to touch her for real, at her shoulder where they’d reduced the dislocation or her hips where the bruises are the worst, but she compromises with herself on a slightly less revealing truth. “It’s not your fault. I was hoping you’d come.”
Olivia watches his throat work, watches him worry his bottom lip for a few moments.
“I wanted to come earlier. When Rollins called, I-” His throat works again, and she squeezes his fingers. “But she said you were alright, and I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to give anything away.”
“I’m glad you came. I’m glad you’re here, Rafa.”
I’m always glad you’re here, she’d say, if she were braver or less tired or if the warmth of his hand in hers didn’t so greatly outstrip the warmth in her bruises.
Instead, she shifts her hand to hold his more firmly in her grasp, hoping he’ll understand but knowing it’s not really enough.
-----------------
Rafael hangs his head, his elbows resting on the countertop and his phone sitting in front of him where he’d dropped it after his last failed attempt to come up with something to send to Olivia.
He’d forced himself not to say anything to her at all yesterday and for most of today, going so far as to leave his phone in the other room as he worked in his home office. It hadn’t been a perfect plan, since he’d been up out of his chair at least once every half hour or so to make sure he hadn’t missed any messages from her, or from anyone else telling him that things had taken an unexpected turn for the worse.
But there hadn’t been anything except for two texts from Olivia yesterday, one confirming she’d officially been released from the hospital, the other letting him know that she’d managed to get home and settled. It’s been nearly two days since he’d seen her though, since he’d slipped out of her hospital room, feeling guilty about leaving when he knew she was still in pain and equally so over the fact that he’d lingered for so long after she’d fallen asleep, and he’s feeling twitchy with the lack of talking to her, of knowing how she’s feeling. He thinks texting her will at least take the edge off, but he can’t even decide what exactly to send.
Eventually he sighs, grabs his phone, and types out How are you feeling? before he can second guess himself again. It’s a simple question, one that any friend would ask, and it doesn’t cross any of the lines he’s been so carefully tiptoeing around since Rollins had called him.
He jumps when his phone vibrates in his hand, not expecting her to reply that quickly.
OB: Fine. Practically everything still hurts, but it’s nice to be at home.
OB: I think having to stay with Rollins worried Noah. And the bruises. He’s been trying to take care of me all day.
RB: That’s nice, although I’m sorry he was worried.
OB: It is nice, and very sweet, although he did need a lot of help taking care of me. I’ve been moving around more than the doctors would probably like.
OB: He’s in bed now. Wore himself out.
Rafael grimaces at the thought of Olivia limping around her apartment and trying to do things one-handed all day, trying to make Noah feel better. He could have been taking care of them, he thinks, and then he shakes his head quickly, as if he can knock loose an idea that he’s fairly certain is permanently wedged in his brain at this point.
RB: Are you resting now?
OB: As well as I can. It’s hard to get comfortable.
OB: I didn’t sleep well last night.
RB: Do you want me to come over?
Rafael slams his phone onto the counter, screen down, and paces away from it.
It had been as involuntary and unstoppable as his heartbeat, but that doesn’t mean it was right. Olivia was almost certainly exhausted, and he’s sure she’s glad to finally be able to sit for a while without anyone bothering her or fussing over her. As much as he might want to, and as much as he might believe she deserves to have someone take care of her, at least once and a while, he knows as well as anyone how good she is at taking care of herself.
His phone buzzes across the room, and he shoves both hands into his hair, tugging for a moment before he decides it’s best to just get it over with.
OB: Please.
Another message comes through as he’s blinking in surprise at the first: As long as it’s not too much trouble.
RB: You’re never too much trouble. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.
He laughs, despite the squirming nervousness in his stomach, when her reply appears at the top of the screen as he’s sorting out an Uber.
OB: We both know that’s not true, but thanks. See you soon.
His knee bounces the entire ride over to Olivia’s, but the driver doesn’t say much besides hello and have a nice night . He spends the elevator ride up concentrating on arranging his face into the careful expression of friendly neutrality that he’d so utterly failed at keeping straight at the hospital two nights ago.
It all goes out the window the moment Olivia opens her door. She’s smiling, but the dark circles under her eyes are stark and he can tell she’s in pain just from how carefully she’s holding herself. Her left arm is still in a sling, and he can see the edges of the bruises around her dislocated shoulder at the loose neck of her t-shirt.
I should have been here earlier. I should have responded to her yesterday, should have checked in then. I should never have left the hospital in the first place.
“Hey, I’m glad you’re here,” she says, and he’s sure she means it, can already feel the tugging sensation behind his navel and the back of his neck, the pull at the tips of his fingers that means the reaction between them has started. “Come in.”
He follows her into the apartment, looking around at what he’s sure are the scattered remains of Noah’s attempts to help his mother all day: blankets, melted cold packs, a heating pad shaped like a monkey, various cups and bowls. Olivia is picking everything up, and while she’s not exactly hobbling, she’s moving stiffly enough that Rafael winces.
“You should sit down.”
“I don’t want to deal with it tomorrow,” she says, but she drops the blanket she’d been holding with a sigh.
“Then leave it for a few days, until you’re feeling better. It’s not that bad. Or let me do it.”
“You didn’t come over to clean up my apartment.”
“I came over to help,” he responds, throat tight. She sighs again, but she doesn’t pick anything else up. Instead she heads for the kitchen, and he follows with a sigh of his own, rubbing at his forehead.
“Liv, please sit down.”
“I’m hurt, not an invalid. I can pour us drinks.”
“So can I. Liv…” He steps forward, touching the back of her hand with just the tips of his fingers as she sets a wine glass on the counter. Her breath shudders for a moment, and he takes a deep breath himself, because she’s warm and real and here . “Please.”
She nods, finally, and Rafael can feel his shoulders relax as she hands over the glass. By now he certainly knows where she keeps things in her kitchen, and he’s only half paying attention as he pours them both drinks, keeping one eye on Olivia as she settles on the couch. Or tries to settle at least, because he can tell how much she’s struggling to find a comfortable position.
It’s more than enough to strengthen his already significant resolve to stay until she really feels better, to not run away this time no matter how terrified he still is that lingering for too long will cause all his secrets to come tumbling out.
It must be her hips that are giving her the most trouble, he realizes, watching her try to sit without putting too much weight on either side, an effort that’s complicated by the fact that she only has one good arm at the moment. When she notices him watching her, she stops moving, sitting back with a grimace.
“How can I help?” he asks, handing over her glass of wine.
“You’re already helping plenty,” she says, and he bites back the desire to press her.
They sip their drinks in silence for a few minutes, and Rafael fights the urge to tap his fingers or fidget with his glass too obviously. He’s never been very good at sitting still, not when there was more he could be doing.
“Noah will be sad he missed you.”
“I didn’t want to crowd you guys. Figured you probably had enough people fussing over you already.”
“I thought you said I was worth fussing over?”
“Absolutely, and always.”
She hides her smile behind her glass, looking at him over the rim.
“Well, I would hope by now that you know that you’re always welcome here. By both Noah and me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“How long can you stay?” she asks.
“As long as you want.”
He thinks she relaxes for a moment, her shoulders dropping, but then she looks away from him, picking at a spot on the back of the couch.
“We’ll have to be careful. If you don’t want to give us away, I mean. I have a few days off, but people will notice if the bruises have completely disappeared or if I’m not wearing the sling.”
Olivia keeps talking, but Rafael isn’t really following, all his attention caught on one word. Maybe she hadn’t had any intention behind her wording, but if that was really what she thought, if that was why she’d always been so careful, why she’d been so nervous at the hospital…
“Liv, I don’t care,” he blurts, and she blinks at him for a few seconds, obviously confused at his sudden outburst. He shifts on the couch so he can reach out and touch the tips of his fingers to the back of her hand where it emerges from the sling. “I don’t care if people find out, especially if the alternative is you being in pain. If you do, then I’ll leave whenever you want, but don’t… don’t do anything on my account, because I don’t care. I’ll call everyone and tell them right now, if you want.”
Olivia is staring down at their hands, and when she looks up he’s surprised to see the sheen of tears in her eyes. Before he can say anything else, she wraps her fingers over his.
“It works better with direct contact,” she says, her voice soft but still meeting his eyes.
“Right,” he replies, remembering the warmth of her fingers spreading from his neck down his shoulders and through his head. He wants to wait for her to ask, but he also wants to make sure she knows she can. “Where do you want me?”
“Maybe you could…” She winces as she shifts to set her glass on the coffee table. “If you sit in that corner of the couch, I could… I can lean back against your chest. That just seems like the best option from a surface area standpoint.”
It’s such a clinical description that under other circumstances he’s certain he’d be laughing until his stomach ached, but under these circumstances he can barely breathe, much less laugh. He sets his drink next to hers though, and, without letting himself think too much, he strips off his sweater to reveal the t-shirt underneath and, more importantly, the bare skin of his arms. Olivia watches him as he moves, and he tries not to fidget too much, tries to look as calm and collected as he can with his heart pounding in his chest.
“You’re sure this is alright?” she asks, only pushing herself back enough to get between his knees, holding her body stiffly upright in a way that cannot possibly be comfortable.
Rafael rolls his eyes and gathers up just enough courage to rest his hands on her hips, tugging gently.
“Yes, Liv. Don’t worry about me so much.”
“Pot. Kettle,” she says, but she finally scoots back enough to actually lean back against his chest, and he can feel her shoulders relax after only a few seconds.
“Next time someone pushes me down a set of stairs,” he says, taking a beat to push back the memories that try to rush in, “You can worry about me all you want and I won’t say a thing.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” she replies, but her voice is already soft with exhaustion and relief. He shifts, trying to fit as much of his body against hers as he can, and his right thumb slips under the loose hem of her shirt, brushing against her skin.
Olivia gasps, the sudden intake of air enough to shake both their chests, but when he jerks his hand away she catches it with her own. They sit for a few moments, completely still, the only sound in the room their breathing.
“Liv,” he says, certain she must be able to feel the way his heart is clattering against his ribs, “Do you want me to…?”
One beat, then another, and then-
“Please.”
Her voice breaks on just that word, and his own nerves suddenly don’t matter as he slips his hands underneath her shirt and spreads his fingers across as much of her skin as he can reach. They rush back as she shudders, her whole body shaking in his arms, but then she relaxes even more fully against his chest.
“Jesus, Rafa, that’s…”
“Good?”
“More than.” She reaches across herself to rest one hand over his. “Thank you.”
“Of course, Liv.” He wants to apologize, for leaving the hospital in the first place and for the radio silence of the past two days and for something else he can’t quite put his finger on, but it feels like too much on top of what he’s already admitted. “Any time.”
He expects her to fall asleep, knowing she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and he plans on letting her doze for at least a few minutes before encouraging her to go to bed and taking his leave. But he’s underestimated how exhausting the past few days of worrying have been, how comforting it would be to have Olivia in his arms, real and solid and fine, relatively speaking, and getting better by the minute. One moment he’s trying to figure out how long he should let Olivia sleep before it does more harm than good, and the next he’s blinking up at the ceiling, head leaned back against the armrest where he’d slid down to be more comfortable.
Olivia has also shifted in her sleep, to lie between his side and the back of the couch, one leg stretched over his. Her arm is still in the sling, but her fingers are twisted into his shirt, and her head is on his chest, tucked underneath his chin.
“Liv. Olivia,” he says, brushing her hair away from her face, “You should get up and go to bed.”
She whines in protest, turning her face more fully into his chest.
“You’ll be more comfortable in your bed.”
“I’m comfo’ble,” she says against his shirt, and he laughs, too tired and comfortable himself to waste energy on reading anything more into it.
“You say that now, but I bet you’ll regret it in the morning.”
She whines again, then huffs, managing to push herself up from beside him with her one good arm. He’s just about to sit up himself when she shifts again, leaning over him with her arm on his chest, pretty effectively pinning to the couch.
“You really don’t care? If people know?”
He swallows hard, still determined not to read anything into any of this, not to let his own half confessions cloud his judgement. But he’s not about to chicken out now.
“I really don’t.” He lifts his hands to her waist to help support her weight over him as he tries to puzzle out the look on her face.
She efficiently puts all the pieces into place when she leans down and kisses him. He kisses her back, because of course he does, and the pleased sound she makes shoots right through him. When he wraps his arms around her waist, she settles herself more solidly against his body and her hand moves, first to cup his cheek and then to trace down the side of his neck.
And he remembers those few times in his office, her palm soft against the back of his neck and the pain melting away into a warmth he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to describe to someone who hadn’t experienced it themselves. He remembers how desperately he’d wanted to be closer to her, to have her touch more of him and to touch her in return, how he’d felt almost drunk. He hadn’t acted on any of it, of course, but that had been after only a few minutes, maybe half an hour, and he can’t imagine what she might be feeling after however long they’ve been lying here together.
“Liv,” he says, pressing his head back into the couch cushion beneath him, “Liv, wait. We should- I don’t-”
That’s as coherent as he manages to be before Olivia is trying to scramble off of him as best she can with only one arm.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” she says, not looking at him, and his entire chest aches. He’s not tired anymore, Olivia’s kiss having burned that out of his system entirely, but he still feels exhausted all the way down to his bones.
“Don’t apologize,” he responds, pushing himself up to sit, “You don’t have anything to apologize for. But I don’t want to take advantage of this.”
“Take advantage? I kissed you.”
“I know that. But I also know what this feels like, and how badly you want it to keep feeling like this, how badly you just want to get closer and closer. And, Liv, I-” he says, working to keep his voice from breaking, “I couldn’t bear to have this be something you end up regretting. I can’t be your soulmate for just one night.”
Olivia is just staring at him, and he knows he’s revealed entirely too much when both of them are feeling this vulnerable, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s just about to stand and excuse himself for the night, cut his losses while there still might be anything to lose, when Olivia speaks.
“I was so glad when you came to the hospital. It was all I wanted after Rollins told me she had called you, because I knew as soon as you got there I would feel better. And I wasn’t thinking about it logically, I wasn’t thinking that I would be in less pain if you came. I won’t say that the pain relief wasn’t nice, because it was, but it was you I was glad to have there, not my soulmate. And if we lived in a world where being near your soulmate turned your eyes purple or made music play in your head or didn’t do anything at all, I still would have wanted you there.”
Rafael is sure he looks ridiculous, staring at her with his eyes wide and his mouth open, but he can’t unfreeze his face, can’t breathe or move or do anything except keep looking at her as she speaks.
“And I almost said something at the hospital, like I’ve almost said something a dozen times before, but every single time it always felt like I was risking too much, especially when you always seemed to actively avoid anything at all that had to do with being soulmates. But now… Now I suppose the cat’s out of the bag, and I want to make sure you know that I kissed you because I wanted to. It doesn’t have anything in particular to do with being soulmates.”
“Liv…”
“Rafa, you don’t have to-”
“Liv.”
He wonders what she can see in his face as he tries to put his words together.
“You do so much for others. You make so many sacrifices, you give so much of yourself to others. And it sometimes makes people think that they can have some part of you whenever they need it. That they can ask for it, or that they have some claim to it without even bothering to ask. I didn’t want to be just one more person asking for a piece of you. Besides,” he says, looking away from her and laughing a bit, because it is funny, in its own way, “I’m not sure how you could have missed the way I reacted when you touched me. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you touch me and keep the secrets I needed to keep. Too much at risk.”
Olivia is staring at him, and the silence in the apartment feels total, absolutely complete, like the entire world has been momentarily reduced to just the two of them and their confessions. And then, once again, Olivia speaks, taking two steps to stand directly in front of him.
“You don’t need to keep any secrets from me.”
She cradles his jaw for a moment with her free hand, and then he straightens as she leans in. It starts gentle, but it doesn’t stay that way for long, and Rafael leans back against the couch when Olivia presses a hand against his chest, bringing his own hands up to her waist as she straddles him. His breath catches as she ducks her head to kiss his neck, but he hesitates as he moves to slip his hands underneath her shirt again when he feels her wince against his skin before he’s even touched her.
“I’m okay,” she says without putting any space between them, but the last word finishes in a groan as she shifts again. He leans back enough to meet her eyes, and she groans again before letting him help her move to sit next to him. They stare at each other for a few moments, both breathing hard, and then Olivia turns to press her face against his shoulder with a sound that he would never describe as a whine to her face.
“Liv, it’s fine,” he says, and he can’t help laughing softly when she whines again.
“This is not how this was supposed to go.”
“Hey,” he whispers, softly tracing his fingers along her jawline until she shifts enough to look at him, “I plan on being here until you have actual hip problems, and a long time beyond that, if you’ll have me.”
Olivia sighs, turning her face back into his chest, but he can feel her smiling against his shirt.
“Will you stay? Tonight, I mean.”
“Like I said, I’ll stay as long as you want.”
“Good,” she hums, then stands, still moving gingerly, and holds out her hand towards him, “Come on then.”
They get ready for bed mostly in silence, casting absolutely unsuppressed grins at each other every time one of them catches the other watching them, the potential weirdness of the moment overwhelmed by their warm presence together in the moment. When Rafael emerges from the bathroom wearing his t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants Olivia had loaned him, he can feel her eyes on him from where she’s already settled under the comforter.
“You know,” she says as he climbs in next to her, “You don’t have to wear those if they’re uncomfortable.”
The sweats are tight, which he’s sure she’d noticed as she watched him move around the room, but not to an uncomfortable degree. Besides, he suspects an ulterior motive.
“If I’m not wearing these, I don’t trust your hands not to try writing checks your hips cannot currently cash.”
She pouts as he settles on his side behind her, and elbows him when he laughs, although there’s not much force behind it.
“It’s mean to laugh at someone who recently got pushed down the stairs,” she says, but she settles back against him as he spoons her, her breathing going long and deep for a few moments as she fits her hips into the cradle of his.
This is all he’d really wanted the past few days. Whatever else he’d considered- bringing them food, or offering to watch Noah for a few hours to give Olivia some time to herself or coming over in the first place- had all been good things that he might have done, but were also mostly just a distraction from thinking about this, about Olivia Benson pressing as much of her body against his own as she could manage until she felt better.
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m enjoying being here with you.” He presses a kiss against her shoulder, hesitating for a moment. But if he can’t say this now, after everything that’s already been said and while lying in her bed with her in his arms, when can he say it? “I’m in pretty deep here, Liv,” she says, so softly he isn’t sure she can even hear him.
“Good,” she replies, resting her hand on top of his where he’s got his arm draped over her waist and squeezing slightly, “That makes two of us.”
“I can make breakfast for Noah in the morning, so you can sleep in.”
“That sounds nice. Although I like pancakes.”
“I’ll make some for you whenever you get up.”
“Good,” she repeats, voice soft with sleep, and Rafael lets his own eyes close, because Olivia is here, and she’s safe, and they’re good.
They’re good, and getting better.