Work Text:
She'd never really stopped to take in the simple pleasures of a blossoming tree at the turn of the spring, or how the scent of the air changed depending on if it was blowing from the North or from the East - North brought the smell of the winter crisp, East, the smell of the river, and the ocean beyond. Flowers and bushes in bloom in Central Park in every color of the rainbow, grass as sharp and green as an Irish meadow, the sun blessing her face with its radiance...she'd never taken the time to just stop and marvel at the world around her.
Olivia had become fond of birds, watching them hop about on branches or soar swift and sure in the skies above, hearing them chirp their songs. She especially loved the little birds that came and told her their secrets, things that they felt she would appreciate knowing. One had texted her just a half hour ago in fact, tweeting a story which had the potential to sound wildly inaccurate but that her gut was telling her was true.
That was how Olivia found herself standing in the viewing area of one of the indoor shooting ranges the NYPD boasted for its sworn staff and sister agencies to practice and qualify in, watching Rafael Barba, clad in a bullet resistant vest, and eye and ear protection, pulling the trigger of the firearm in his hands in an even rhythm, the bullets shredding cleanly through the paper target 15 yards down range, standing in a classic Weaver stance. Olivia couldn't help but be impressed; any instructor judging for marksmanship would've given him at least a ninety percent score if her own estimates were adding up right.
As Olivia continued to watch from, it became clear this wasn't Barba's first time on a range, and it wasn't the first time he'd used a firearm, that much was as patently obvious as the shoes he was wearing. In the few years she'd known him, Olivia had always thought a gun in his smooth, white-collar class hands wouldn't just be awkward, it would be wrong; Rafael's weapons were his words and his intellect, and he wielded them both effectively, whether it was for reassurance or to drive home a point or to bury a defendant so thoroughly in Court that he or she would never see the outside of a grey cell ever again. His words could convince a terrified victim that she had the bravery to testify, or it could fatally wound a defense attorney, no matter how good they might be. Calhoun, Baird, Buchannan - all of them and more had fallen under his cold, sharp tongue any number of times.
He really is wearing patent leather shoes on the range, Olivia mused in disbelief, still stuck on that visual. Did he come from the office? Hell if she knew, but it was lunch time - maybe this was how he was spending his hour, tossing hot lead straight down the pike and obliterating targets. She glanced over past the control operator, at the wall behind him where the vests and protective gear were hanging, practically inviting her to take each of them. When she was suited up, ear protection in hand, vest and visor on, she nodded at the guy, Jim, who leaned forward and pressed a button, the mic going hot.
"Cease fire. Shooter coming on range."
Olivia watched Barba immediately came out of position, resting his firearm on the loading surface in front of him and looking, somewhat pensively, at the door. The line of tension in his shoulders didn't ease and she imagined he may be aggravated that his smooth (and rather good, she had to admit) firing flow had been interrupted. Well, she wouldn't keep him waiting long. She exited the control room doors, stepping into the small, box vestibule and pushing the door to the range open, breezing through. It was cool, as it always was, but as Barba's face and front came into view, she knew that the slight shiver crawling down her back had nothing to do with the temperature change.
Rafael Barba looked good.
The only thing missing from Rafael's suit was his jacket, and that had been strewn over one of the back tables in favor of the sleek, black personal protective vest he wore, the Balthus knot of his forest green tie peeking through and resting, slightly loose, a little askew, just to the side of his jugular. He'd shucked his suspenders for obvious reasons, his beige pants were pressed, his shirt was crisp and white with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, and as Olivia moved closer, she could smell the combination of nitrocellulose and nitroglycerin from the gun firing as easily as she could his expensive, spicy cologne. The unpreparedness, the dexterity and skill she'd seen him exhibit, the confidence on display - it all mixed together to give her a heady jolt of unexpected arousal.
Barba also looked surprised, and shocked, and maybe even slightly apprehensive at her presence as he slid off his ear protection, at her sudden appearance on a firing line that he must've assumed he'd have to himself, and it suddenly dawned on Olivia that Rafael likely hadn't told many people he was proficient with a handgun, or even that he owned one. He recovered well though, the theatre of emotions on his face condensing to a split second before smoothing out; God knew he'd been surprised in open Court often enough to learn how to cover his feelings thoroughly. He spoke first, of course he did.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"A little birdie told me they thought they saw you here," Olivia grinned. "I thought I'd come see for myself."
"If I'd known people were actually interested in watching me shoot, I'd have sold tickets." He quirked his lips at her, then added: "I'd've let you watch for free, though." It was said so straight and matter-of-fact that Olivia would've missed the flirtatious lilt of his mouth if she'd turned to the target down range even half a second earlier.
"That's some pretty good grouping you have there," she complimented, walking up to the barrier and taking a closer look, or as close a look as she could take when the target was forty five feet away behind a barrier. Yep - at least a ninety percent score.
"You sound surprised."
"No, I..." Olivia chuckled before looking over her shoulder at him. "Okay, fine; I'm surprised. I never expected that you, of all people, would ever carry or even want to own a firearm."
"Well, I don't know what 'me of all people means', Liv; attorneys carry firearms all the time."
"I know, I just - for some reason I never expected that you would be one of them." This was becoming very awkward, very fast. Why was this getting awkward? He seemed almost insulted at her assumption. Or irked. Perhaps irked was the better word for it. His brow furrowed, highlighting the dignified lines on his forehead born of late nights pouring over legal texts and cases and witness statements in low lighting until the early morning hours, a half drunk glass of scotch resting just within arm's reach. Olivia blinked that image from her mind, from wherever it had come from.
"Why?" Rafael stepped up to the barrier, taking his firearm in hand, a Ruger if she had to guess, and pressing the magazine release button. Olivia noticed a box of 9mm ammunition sitting off to the side and watched him deftly begin the process of refilling the standard sixteen round clip, the pads of his fingers dusted slightly with residue. It was mesmerizing - press one bullet down, place a bullet on top, press that bullet down, place another bullet on top, so on and so forth.
Rinse and repeat.
"I don't know, I guess I'm... used to watching you settle all of your disputes verbally," she defended, lamely.
"There are disputes that can't be settled verbally, Olivia," Rafael looked at her. "You of all people should know that."
Okay, well, she knew what she 'of all people' meant in that context. Her job provided a front row seat to the horrors humans could inflict on each other every single day. But she set that aside in favor of the objective fact he'd dropped just prior. Olivia's mind tugged on the little metal cord attached to the proverbial lightbulb. It clicked on, brilliantly, with neon colors. She was embarrassed she hadn't put it together before she got to the range. "This is about the threats you've been getting."
"It's true that the Munson case may have moved up my usual practice date, but, no," Rafael finished with the magazine and popped it back into the gun, racking the slide back once to load a bullet in the chamber. "I'm an ADA prosecuting some of the most volatile and heinous crimes New York City has, and before I came here I was a prosecutor in Kings County. I have two decades worth of cases under my belt, targeting the worst our society has to offer and putting them away for the rest of their existence - individuals who are used to controlling the lives of others and stealing power from their victims, and doing whatever it takes to ensure their criminal enterprises still bear fruit; they do not like me when I'm done with them. In the past, one or two have shown their displeasure with me in person. In the event anyone else chooses to pay me a visit, I would prefer to be prepared rather than a sitting duck."
Olivia knew, she knew he didn't mean his words the way they hit her, that he wasn't implicating her own situation only a couple of years ago, but she couldn't help the sudden onslaught of memories flashing to the forefront of her mind, of entering a dark apartment, and a man lying in wait for her, gun trained on her forehead, the moment that began a four day sentence to Hell with William Lewis. She'd been the quint-essential sitting duck before she'd entered her apartment and she hadn't even known it, had gone stock still, froze, instead of reaching for the gun on her hip when she realized too late what was happening.
Lewis hadn't given her the chance.
Barba must've realized where her thoughts had gone too, because he immediately put the firearm down and gently placed his hands on either side of her shoulders, trying to use a gentle touch to bring her out of whatever path her brain was taking her down. "I'm sorry, that was careless of me," he murmured, ducking down to catch her gaze, to make sure she was still there, still present with him in NYPD's firing range and not back in that dark apartment duct taped to a chair or tied up on the floor of an SUV or handcuffed to an iron headboard. "Olivia?"
"I know, I'm - I'm okay, I'm good," she came back, grateful for the soft manner in which he'd realized his mistake that wasn't really a mistake - not really. "It's okay, I understand what you meant."
"Still-"
"It's alright, Rafael," she reached up, gripping one of his hands that were still settled on her arms. "Look, I-"
Her back pocket buzzed, and she sighed, deflated, and reached back with her other hand for her cell. "Benson."
For the thirty seconds she was on the phone, Barba continued to look at her, examine her, as if staring at her face would grant him access to her inner thinking while she listened to Fin inform her that a young woman had just come in, stating she was a rape victim of a date gone bad. "I'm sorry," she apologized once she'd hung up with Fin, pulling the phone from her ear, pocketing it, looking at Barba finally. "I have to head back, we caught a case."
Barba nodded, dropping his hands, his expression falling right along with them. She could relate. "Would you like me to walk you back?"
"No, don't - no, Barba. It's fine, thank you, but.... stay here, practice. I'll see you later." She offered a tight smile, inwardly congratulating herself for managing to stammer out a halfway decent sentence while hating herself as she caught the look on his face - half concern, half guilt - and exited the range.
Once she was outside she started towards the one-six at a brisk pace, the surrounding vision of spring-in-bloom forgotten.
*
Rafael was at the bottom of the steps of the Courts building when at the last minute, he hung a right instead of heading towards the reserved Uber that was waiting directly in front of him. He dug his phone out of his inner coat pocket and canceled the rideshare, still leaving a nice tip for the wasted time of the driver and coasted along the streets alongside the pedestrian traffic that was heading home after the end of a long day. It was past seven o'clock, the sky was giving way to the early spring dusk around him, a kind transition to the evening dark – the direct opposite of the way his mood had been darkened for the remainder of the day after seeing Olivia at the firing range.
How could he have said something so stupid? Of course, it was an innocuous statement - millions of people around the world had probably said exactly that or something similar to it that very day, but it was clear his ‘sitting duck’ euphemism hadn't been appropriate for his audience. For the almost four years he'd been with SVU, if there was one thing Rafael Barba had learned, it was that the smallest thing - a word, a smell, a sound - could trigger a memory in a victim of a violent crime. Barba had been working special victims for four fucking years; he should've known better.
He did know better. He just didn't think.
Reaching the entrance to the one-six, Rafael bounded up the steps and into the building, taking the elevator up until its soft ding alerted him that he'd reached his intended floor and he stepped out.
The bullpen was still bustling with activity, though less so than it would've been earlier. Fin was still at his desk, which meant Olivia would be too; it hadn't taken him but a day to understand the loyalty and devotion Fin Tutuola had for Olivia Benson, well earned over nearly twenty years of working together. Fin happened to glance up as Barba walked in, and Rafael groaned inwardly as a wide grin spread on the other man's face; this couldn’t be good.
"Hey, Billy the Kid! What's goin' on?"
Oh, stellar. Rafael narrowed his eyes.
"Is it possible for you to compare me to a historical American figure without also comparing me to a murderous outlaw?"
"It probably is," Fin smirked. "Liv's in her office, if you're looking for her."
"Thank you," Barba grumbled as he walked past. He found her at her desk, head bowed, reading over something, a smattering of files and papers surrounding her, an iPad tossed off to the side. She'd buried herself in work, the way she would when an unpleasant memory came up and she needed to escape, or when an issue arose she didn't want to deal with, and Rafael kicked himself internally once more for his gaff earlier. He knocked softly, hoping not to startle her, and at least that went as intended. Olivia looked up, blinking him into focus.
"Hey," she greeted, bright and chipper, as if she hadn't had a moment of traumatic reminiscing during her lunch hour. "Come to talk about the case we got this afternoon?"
"No, actually," Barba let himself fully into her office and shut the door softly. "I came by to apologize, again."
"Barba-"
"What I said was careless," he interrupted, stepping forward. "I should've known better, should've thought about how that would've sounded-"
"Rafael," Olivia stood, matching his stance, "stop. Sit. Listen."
Not knowing what else to do, he did as he was told as he often did when it came to her, putting his briefcase down on the floor and easing down into one of the chairs across from her desk. Olivia followed suit, looking at him with a maddening glint of kindness and amusement in her eyes.
"There have been moments since Lewis, where the most obscure, random things have pulled me backward, have jogged a trigger somehow in my grey matter. I can't sit next to anyone who's drinking vodka, for example; the smell of it is too potent for me. I wind up right back in the back of that van, right back on that bed in that room. Just like that," she snapped her fingers. "I've... tried, honestly, I have. But the last time I tried, the nightmares were so real that I didn't sleep for two nights."
"That isn't your fault," Rafael reassured her, leaning forward a little.
"No, I know that," she smiled tightly, "and it wasn't the fault of the guy minding his own business at the bar, enjoying a martini. And it wasn't your fault for where I went in my head after you referenced a common metaphor that people use every single day."
"I never want to be a person who makes you remember what you went through, Liv," Rafael whispered, fierce and low, looking at her.
"You never will be."
"I did this afternoon."
"No, you didn't. You said something that people say every day. You'd never want to hurt me, Rafa, I know that. My brain played a trick on me," Olivia shrugged, sadly. "It'll play more. That's why I have a therapist. I cannot and will not expect for my friends to walk on eggshells for me. I can't live like that, and neither can you. That's not a fair expectation for either of us."
It absolutely was, but Rafael didn't want to argue with her any further. This was how she felt, this was what she thought, and he respected that, even though he silently promised to himself that, at least for the next little while, he would do his best to watch his words around her.
"Can I convince you to let me take you out for a drink?" he asked instead. For a moment that seemed to stretch into the next morning but truly only lasted a few seconds, he thought she'd say no, but he was pleasantly surprised when she pushed the file she'd been reading away from her and looked at him, considering him.
"A drink wouldn't be the worst thing in the world," Olivia eventually murmured, the hint of a smile on her lips.
Rafael nodded, got up to grab her coat which he normally didn't do, but no matter what she said to him he was going to find little ways to make up for his carelessness earlier in the day. If Olivia noticed, she didn't say anything. She simply slipped her arms into the sleeves of the black, light trench coat and let him adjust it until it rested comfortably on her shoulders, against her back. He picked up his briefcase, she grabbed her executive bag, and Rafael opened the door to her office once more, watching her turn out the lights before stepping through and into the bullpen. Fin glanced up at his desk, taking them both in.
"You out, Liv?"
Rafael watched her offer Fin a tired smile. "Yeah, I think so," she responded, chancing a glance around the room. Business was starting to taper off, shifts were beginning to change, cops and administrative assistants and everyone in between were collecting their belongings to head home. "When you see Carisi and Amanda, tell them to take off. That goes for you, too."
"Will do, I'll see you later. You too, James Bond."
Rafael sighed a long, suffering sigh as he walked just behind Olivia towards the elevators. "There'll be no living with him after this."
*
"By the way, I asked Fin to keep your secret rendezvous at the range just between us. Sorry," Olivia apologized as she slid into one of the booths at Forlini's, stuffing her coat in the corner, “I guess I was just so shocked that when I saw him it just… kind of came out.” Across from her, Rafael did the same flashing a thankful smile. "I guess it's not something you go around actively talking about."
"I don't; that's the point of concealed carry," But Barba waved away her apology and flagged down a waiter, ordering a scotch for himself and a glass of red wine he knew Olivia liked.
"Ordering for me?" she grinned once the server headed back behind the bar.
"Allow me to exorcise my Catholic guilt in my own way," he quipped back. They settled into some easy banter back and forth until the waiter came back with their drinks. Olivia took a sip of her wine, Rafael pulled from his scotch, and they settled into their respective booths. He watched her, her face broadcasting an argument she was having with herself. "Pretty sure I have a penny around here somewhere, but if you're charging more for your thoughts, I'll have to Venmo you."
Olivia scratched the back of her neck, a little embarrassed that he'd caught her out. "I was just... wondering how long you've been shooting."
"Since the second time I wound up with a protective detail while prosecuting a case," Rafael leaned back, making himself comfortable, thankful that Forlini’s wasn’t crowded that night and that he could speak at a normal volume. "It was gang related. I was in my late twenties, I had a mountain of student loan debt I was trying to pay off, so I was living at home on a junior ADA salary, and I didn't want my mother to get caught up in my work. We lived in a neighborhood where it took ten minutes on average for police to respond to any call. So, I took classes, got... proficient, is the popular term, and applied for a permit. And I've owned one ever since. Two, now, actually."
Olivia lifted her eyebrows. "Two?"
"One for home defense, one for practice; a fairly common arrangement," Rafael sipped on his scotch. "You saw the one for practice today," he added, helpfully.
"Okay, wow, I, um..." She couldn't help but stare at him. It was so wildly out of her idea of who he was as a person, how he functioned. Somewhere in Rafael Barba's condo was a gun, sitting in its little gun case, with its matching magazine and whatever other assorted accessories he had with it, hopefully snug in its little gun safe. "I assume you have the one you used today?"
"With me?" Rafael clarified. She nodded once. He smiled and hid behind his glass. "Why is this so surprising to you?" He easily deflected her question and took another sip of his scotch, enjoyed the burn as it went down his throat and settled in his stomach, warm and solid. "I could be in the hundreds before I stopped counting the number of attorneys I know who carry."
"I know, I know, it's just - " she was trying to find the words. He let her while the waiter came back, offering menus and he took two, sliding one her way while he looked over his own. He hadn't had their salmon in a while, and he remembered it being quite good.
"You're too pure."
Rafael didn't drop his menu, but it was a near thing; he was sure he'd heard her wrong. "Come again?"
Once again they were interrupted by the waiter, and Rafael actually felt himself be irritated by that because Olivia had been about to answer him, instead of answering the server and telling him that she wanted the crab salad; her response to him took a much higher precedence, he thought petulantly, before ordering the salmon and handing the menus back, fixing her with a look as it was her turn to now hide behind her wine glass. "You were saying?"
She chuckled, voice low, looking up at him and setting the glass down and trailing the tip of her finger about its rim, "Rafa, you... have a way with words, as a prosecutor, as a friend, as a man, that no one I have ever known has had. The way you see the world, the way you live in the world, that righteous indignation that you have on behalf of the good, and the innocent, the victims you protect... and you do it all with your words. With your incredible intellect, your way of seeing through to the truth, and you've never once had to use violence to do any of it."
There weren't many points in Rafael's life where he could say he'd been stunned speechless, but he had to admit, even to himself, as his cheeks began to grow uncharacteristically warm that this was one of those moments. He'd had no idea that she'd felt that way about what he did, who he was as a person. Leave it to Olivia Benson to flip how he saw himself completely upside down.
Pure. Him? He needed a drink, another one, right the fuck now. He signaled to the bartender, gesturing between him and Olivia that they needed refills, and took his time slowly nursing the remainder of his scotch before the bartender, Rich, stepped out from his station and dropped their next round on the table. He was their usual bartender, that was why; the SVU crew and Barba were some of his favorite customers.
"You were saying?" Olivia gently prodded, a teasing, soft smile lighting up her brown eyes as she volleyed his words with ease back at him. She'd put him on his back foot, and she knew it. Knew that he hated it, too.
Rafael would make an exception for her though; he always did.
"Does it bother you?" He asked, leaning forward, tenor tones soft.
"I don't know if 'bother' is the right word," she frowned. "More like...it makes me sad that you feel you have to. I guess that anyone feels they have to, really, but you...you should never be put in a position where you have to be afraid for your life, Rafa." Her fingers danced idly on the table the way they did when she was trying to puzzle something out, feel okay about something. His hand landed on them, gripping hers, strong and sure, comforting.
"No one should have to feel that they need to own a weapon in order to protect themselves, Olivia, but you and I both know that the nature of our work proves that feeling meaningless every day."
"I know, but..." Olivia trailed off, looking at their joined hands. Rafael waited for her, patiently, waited for her to sort her thoughts out, put them into words. "Sometimes even owning a firearm, or any weapon, really - sometimes it's not a guarantee that it'll keep you safe, that you'll even get the chance to use it."
"Hey," he reached out with his other hand, gently using its fingers to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze, because he could see where this was going, and no; he was not going to allow her to blame herself for what happened to her. "Don't do that. Okay? Do not blame yourself for something that was completely out of your control. Nothing, nothing that Lewis did to you was your fault, Liv. Nothing."
This had been happening more lately; small, intimate touches between them, to reassure, to comfort, to plead. Recently, there were times when Rafael would be in his office well after normal business hours that would seem offensive to anyone else and somehow Olivia would know he was still there, would come visit. If it was an especially difficult case he was trying to sort out, she'd come around his desk, lean against it. They'd talk. And then when it was time for her to go, she'd brush his leg with hers, or rest the palm of her hand on the juncture of his neck and shoulder with a sure grip, tell him softly that she'd see him in the morning, and leave as quietly as she'd come, but a chorus of ‘stay’ would be screaming in Rafael’s brain as he’d watch her go.
And when it was Barba's turn to visit her, he'd do much the same. One time, when Olivia had been sitting at her desk in her office, she hadn't realized Barba had come to see her until he was standing right next to her chair. When she'd finally lifted her head after the third time he'd called her name, her hair had fallen in front of her eyes. He'd moved it back gently with the pads of his fingers. Rafael had found himself doing more things a gentleman might do for a lady he fancied - like, helping her with her coat, opening the door for her...
…ordering the wine he knew she liked.
Barba cleared his throat, felt his cheeks warm, opened his mouth to apologize as Olivia pulled his fingers away, but his voice caught in his throat because she was wrapping his hand in her other free one, and now both of their arms were outstretched across the table, meeting in the middle where the fingers of both were interlaced. As hard as it was for him to tear his gaze away from their hands, he was glad he did, otherwise he might've missed the dusting of a blush on her own cheeks that he was certain wasn't cosmetic.
"How's Noah?" He asked, changing the subject to something safe, something she loved, that she could never find any trauma or unhappiness in. Olivia started telling him all about the progress he was making, how he could have whole conversations now, and loved reading at night, and how much he loved arts and crafts, and that she was letting him fall asleep to the sounds of kids speaking in Spanish at night, a point of information that filled Rafael with pride. Her recitation only stopped when their dinner arrived, but once they'd each gotten through about half of their meal, Olivia turned the tables and asked him about his mother, and her school, and if everything was going alright for her since the last time she'd seen Lucia Barba.
If their hands continued to graze each others' throughout the meal and during dessert, neither of them mentioned it.
*
"I'm just saying, Carisi looks at you like a mentor, Rafa," Olivia's grin was only eclipsed by her laugh, which may have the influence of a few glasses of wine to its lilt, but Rafael couldn't care less. He was walking Olivia Benson home with her arm tucked into his elbow after dinner and drinks at Forlini's, and it was the happiest he'd felt in a long time.
"Well, you should tell him I'm all out of slots for mentorship. I'm booked," he argued back.
"Okay - who are you overseeing right now?" Olivia challenged, quirking an eyebrow at him, clearly not believing him, and he shook his head, his own lips running away with a grin clearly giving his falsehood away. But again.
Couldn't care less.
"Tell Carisi to save his money and stop law school, tell him to stay a detective; that's the wisest advice I can give. Otherwise, you end up old and grumpy with hypertension, and while my handsome face and sardonic wit often save me-"
"You do have a handsome face, I will give you that-"
"-I... I have now completely forgotten the rest of the good advice you were supposed to pass along to Carisi because - did you just call me handsome?" Rafael stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, right as they were turning the corner, looking at her with surprise and happiness but which he was sure no doubt may appear to the casual viewer to be utter befuddlement. They were on her street now, her building was just up ahead; he could see out of the corner of his eye the long awning stretching towards the sidewalk, pedestrians passing by or residents walking underneath and through the doors.
"Actually, I agreed with you that you were handsome," Olivia smiled up at him innocently. "Do you not think you're good looking, Rafael?"
On the contrary. Rafael wasn't vain, however, he did know that when he put effort into his appearance, he could turn an eye or two his way. But to know that she thought it? That was… something else. And she was looking at him with those big brown eyes that he loved, that he could get lost in if he wasn't careful, that could tell him everything she was thinking without her ever saying a word. With the light from the streetlamps dancing off of her hair, a smile on her lips and her gaze only for him, dammit, she was beautiful.
It wasn't until her face flushed and her grin crawled almost entirely across her face and her gaze was darting everywhere else but his eyes that Rafael realized he'd said that out loud, and he'd driven her into some kind of bashful reaction because of it. Olivia Benson, shy; who'da thunk? But she deserved to hear it, every day.
"Eres hermosa, Olivia," he murmured, taking advantage of her arm that was still tucked into his, reaching for her hand, and tugging her forward just enough that he could brush her mouth with his, once, twice. He felt his heart stop for a split second as he looked at her, watching her watching him, and he practically groaned in relief when she leaned forward and kissed him solidly, opening her mouth and letting him in to explore and taste and feel, and he did, until his brain vaguely reminded him that they were standing on a street corner in New York City, and her son was waiting for her at home half a block up the street, and his pants were becoming a little too tight to be appropriate in public, even on a sparsely populated city street at night.
He felt something bump into her as he pulled away, catching his breath. "It's my briefcase, I swear,” he groaned.
"I was about to ask if it was your gun, or if you were happy to see me," she laughed - giggled, really, the kind of laugh that could only come from being high on a first kiss. Rafael couldn't help the snort that followed as he turned his lips into the side of her face, kissing her on the sensitive skin where her crows next wrinkles around her eyes were deep and happy, where the top of her jaw met her cheek and made it easy for him to slide his mouth down next to her ear.
"There will never be a time where I won't be happy to see you, Liv," he whispered back, serious and low, not able to let her joke just sit. The happiness she gave him could never be a joke to him. Looping his arm around her waist, he nudged them both forward the hundred feet or so to the door of her building. Rafael... hated this building right now, and the door, and the elevators, because they were all about to combine forces to separate both him and Olivia for the remainder of the night, this night which had led somewhere completely unexpected, but maybe not all that surprising when he thought about it.
"I'm glad you stopped by the office, Rafa," she murmured, a soft smile just for him - for him, of all people, he couldn't believe it.
"Thanks for coming by the range," he hugged her close with his own arm, the hand of his other arm preoccupied with his briefcase. "I don't know who told you, but I'm glad they did, otherwise-"
"-tonight wouldn't have happened," she finished for him, smiling into his neck, planting a whisper thin kiss against his jugular. Rafael swallowed, taking a breath.
"Go on up," he urged, "tell Noah good night for me." Instead of kissing her again like he wanted to, he slid his fingers along her arm until it gripped her hand and he brought it up to his lips, laying a kiss goodnight there. Olivia's eyes were glittering, smoldering even, and he would love nothing more than to follow her up for a night cap, but he was going to do this right with her, if it was the last thing he did. She deserved that, and so did her son.
She seemed to understand as she pulled away, walking backwards towards her door. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Count on it," he didn’t let his grin fall as he watched her enter the building, walk through the lobby and hop safely onto an elevator. His feet carried him back a few paces, and he smiled the whole way down the sidewalk back the way they'd come, pulling his cell out of his pocket and ordering an Uber. With one last look back at her building, he hung a left, turning the corner, a smile on his face.