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What a vision she makes, it makes his heart ache. He drows the pain of it with gulps of whisky. He stares a bit too long at her, Amanda catches him doing so, makes him blush. But the worst heat of all it’s Olivia who causes. He’s set aflame by her smile. Drunk and stupid and reckless, he wishes he had the courage to dance with her.
He’d love to steal her from a world of pain, like Hades stole Persephone. But he’s nothing like Hades and she’s nothing like Persephone. He prays he isn’t Apollo to her Daphne.
But, before anything, he recognizes Olivia Benson as a deity of her own. Somewhere between the beauty of Aphrodite and the brilliance of Athena. He knows no entity to represent her, no pantheon that could hold her.
A goddess of her own.
Rafael lowers his gaze to his glass, observes the thin line of whisky at the bottom. He’s composing poetry and referencing mythology for her sake. Perhaps that’s enough of alcohol.
Still, his gaze lingers as he watches her interact with their friends at the table after a hard day of work. There’s no alcohol to blame for the infatuation which existed before the inebriation.
Barba finishes his drink, aware that he’s done for. Olivia Benson ruined him and he loves every second of it.