Work Text:
"I still maintain," Rafael said, looking at the frozen surface of the Bryant Park rink with deep suspicion, "that this is a tort lawsuit waiting to happen. It is water that has been hardened into a weapon surface, surrounded by tourists holding sharp metal blades."
"You promised, Barba," Olivia said, grinning as she sat down on the wooden bench in the changing pavilion. "You lost the bet on the Garcia verdict. You said, and I quote, 'I will do any winter activity you choose, provided it does not involve jumping into the Atlantic Ocean.'"
"I expected you to choose wine tasting in a chalet," he grumbled, placing his leather duffel bag on the floor. "Not... this."
"Admit it. You're scared." Olivia smirked, accepting the battered blue rental skates from the attendant. "You're afraid that without your Italian loafers, you have no center of gravity."
"I am afraid of nothing, Lieutenant. Except, perhaps, your driving."
Rafael sat down next to her. He watched her struggle with the stiff laces of the rental skates. She looked happy—her nose pink from the cold, a knit beanie pulled low over her ears. She looked ready to see him humiliated.
He decided, right then and there, that he was going to destroy her.
He unzipped his duffel bag.
"Aren't you going to the rental counter?" she asked, tugging on a lace. "They run small, by the way. You might want a size up."
"I prefer my own equipment," he said calmly.
He reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of Bauer hockey skates. They weren't new—one of the black boots was scuffed at the toe, the laces slightly frayed on both—but the blades were freshly sharpened, gleaming under the pavilion lights.
Olivia stopped tying her shoe. She stared at the skates. Then she stared at him.
"You own skates," she stated.
"I grew up in the Bronx, Liv. We didn't have polo ponies. We had frozen parking lots and aggressive street hockey." He slipped his foot into the boot, tightening the laces with a quick, practiced snap of his wrists that made his forearm muscles flex.
"I..." She blinked. "I thought you spent your childhood reading encyclopedias and judging people."
"I did that too. I am a man of multitudes." He finished lacing the left skate and moved to the right. "I haven't been on the ice in a few years, but it’s like riding a bicycle. Only faster. And with more potential for violence."
He stood up. He was taller in the skates, towering over her even more since she was still seated. He removed his skate guards with a clack-clack sound that was intimidatingly professional.
"Well?" He offered her a hand, his eyebrow raised. "Are you coming, Benson? Or are you going to sit there and admire my gear all night?"
Olivia narrowed her eyes, her competitive streak flaring. "Don't get cocky, Counselor. Just because you have fancy shoes doesn't mean you can stay upright."
She finished tying her rentals and stood up. She wobbled immediately. The plastic boots were stiff, the blades dull. She grabbed his arm to steady herself.
"Woah," she muttered.
"Steady," he murmured, his hand gripping her elbow firmly. A small, smug smile played on his lips. "The ice is that way. Do try to keep up."
He let go of her arm and stepped onto the rubber matting, walking with an easy, rolling gait toward the rink entrance. Olivia watched him go, a sinking feeling in her stomach that she had made a terrible tactical error.
Rafael stepped onto the ice with a terrifying nonchalance.
There was a sharp shhhhk sound as his blades bit into the surface. He didn't wobble. He didn't flail. He simply pushed off with his left foot and glided out toward the center of the rink, executing a crisp, perfect crossover turn that showed off the lines of his legs in his dark jeans.
He did a quick lap—just one—moving with a speed and aggression that belonged entirely to a different version of himself. He wasn't the ADA in a bespoke suit right now; he was the scrappy kid from the Bronx who learned to skate fast to avoid getting checked into the boards by kids twice his size.
He spun around at the far end, skating backward effortlessly, and drifted to a stop near the entrance, where Olivia was currently clinging to the railing like it was the only thing keeping her from falling off the face of the earth.
"The water is fine, Lieutenant," he called out, his breath pluming in the cold air. He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Come on out."
"I hate you," Olivia muttered, staring at her feet. "I hate you, and I am going to find a way to charge you with reckless endangerment."
She let go of the rail with one hand. Her ankle immediately buckled inward. She grabbed the rail again, her knuckles turning white.
"The rental skates have zero support," she complained, her voice tight. "It’s like trying to balance on two butter knives strapped to Jell-O."
"It's not the skates, Liv. It's your knees." Rafael glided closer, moving with infuriating grace. He stopped inches from the rubber matting where she was hovering. "You're standing like a telephone pole. You have to bend. Lower your center of gravity."
"If I lower my center of gravity any further, I will be on the floor."
"Trust me." He held out both hands, his gloves dark leather against the white ice. "Come here. I won't let you fall."
Olivia looked at his hands. Then she looked at the swarm of teenagers zooming past them. Then she looked back at his face. The smugness was gone, replaced by a quiet, steady patience she usually only saw when he was prepping a terrified witness.
"If you drop me, Barba," she warned, "I will shoot you."
"Duly noted. Now, take my hands."
She took a deep breath and stepped onto the ice.
Her feet slid out immediately. She gasped, lurching forward, but Rafael was there. He caught her hands in a firm, unyielding grip, his arms locking to stabilize her. He didn't budge an inch.
"I got you," he said, his voice low and grounding amidst the noise of the park. "Breathe."
"I'm breathing," she wheezed, staring intensely at his chest. "I'm just... regretting everything."
"Look at me. Don't look at your feet. Your feet know where they are."
She looked up. He was close—much closer than they usually stood, even in crowded elevators. His eyes were dark and focused, locking onto hers with an intensity that made the rest of the rink blur.
"Okay," he said softly. "Now, I’m going to skate backward. You are just going to glide. Don't lift your feet yet. Just let me pull you."
"Backward?" she squeaked. "You're going to skate backward while holding a dead weight? That’s suicide."
"You're not dead weight. You're my partner." He squeezed her hands. "Push off gently. One, two, three."
He began to move. Slowly. Smoothly. He pulled her away from the safety of the wall, guiding her into the flow of traffic. Olivia’s grip on his hands was bone-crushing, but he didn't complain. He just held her gaze, skating in reverse with an easy, rolling rhythm, navigating the crowd without ever looking over his shoulder.
"See?" he murmured. "You're skating."
"I'm being towed," she corrected, though a small, terrified smile was starting to tug at the corner of her mouth. "There's a difference."
"Semantics. You're upright. You're moving. And you haven't sustained a concussion yet. I call that a win."
They did three laps like that—Rafael towing her, Olivia gradually relaxing enough to actually bend her knees. The fear started to recede, replaced by the sheer, exhilarating absurdity of the situation.
The holiday lights strung through the trees of Bryant Park twinkled above them. The Empire State Building glowed red and green in the distance. And there was Rafael Barba, skating backward, guiding her through the chaos with a look of utter devotion that he probably thought he was hiding behind a mask of concentration.
"Okay," Olivia said, feeling a surge of unearned confidence. "I think I've got it. I'm going to try to push."
"Easy, tiger," Rafael warned, though he loosened his grip slightly. "Don't get ambitious."
"I'm an athlete, Barba. I have excellent proprioception."
She pushed off with her right foot. It worked. She glided. She pushed with her left. She was doing it. She was skating.
"Look at me!" she laughed, letting go of his hands. "I'm doing it!"
"Liv—" Rafael’s warning came a second too late.
A teenager in a hockey jersey zoomed past them, cutting too close. Olivia flinched, instinctively trying to sidestep. But she crossed her feet.
Crossing your feet in rental skates when you don't know how to stop is a fatal error.
Her legs tangled. Her center of gravity vanished. She pitched forward with a startled yelp.
Rafael didn't hesitate. He lunged for her, abandoning his own balance to break her fall. He caught her waist, trying to haul her upright, but her momentum was too great, and the ice was too slick.
They went down together in a heap.
It wasn't graceful. It was a tangle of limbs, wool coats, and startled grunts. Rafael took the brunt of the impact, hitting the ice back first, with Olivia landing squarely on top of him.
They slid a few feet before coming to a stop near the center of the rink.
For a second, there was silence. Olivia lay frozen, her face buried in the wool of his peacoat, waiting for the pain.
"Are you..." Rafael wheezed beneath her, the air knocked out of him. "Are you intact?"
Olivia lifted her head. She was straddling him, her hands pressed against his chest. His hat had knocked off, his hair was messy, and he was looking up at her with wide, startled eyes.
And then she started to laugh.
It bubbled up out of nowhere—a loud, genuine, belly laugh that she couldn't suppress.
"I told you!" she gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. "I told you I’d take you down!"
Rafael stared at her for a beat, feigning annoyance, before the corner of his mouth twitched. Then he was laughing too—a rich, warm sound that vibrated through his chest and into hers.
"You are a menace," he said, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair out of her face. His hand lingered on her cheek, his thumb tracing the cold, flushed skin. "A complete liability."
"You caught me, though," she whispered, her laughter fading into a soft smile.
The world around them—the skaters, the music, the city—seemed to pause. They were lying in the middle of a frozen rink, cold seeping into their clothes, but Olivia had never felt warmer.
"I'll always catch you, Liv," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that was meant only for her. The playfulness was gone, replaced by a raw honesty that made her heart hammer against her ribs.
She looked at his lips. He looked at hers. The distance between them was negligible. All she had to do was lean down...
"You guys okay?" a rink guard asked, skating up to them and breaking the bubble. "No sleeping on the ice, folks."
Rafael groaned, letting his head thud back against the ice. "The moment is gone," he muttered to the sky.
"Come on, Gretzky," Olivia said, grabbing his lapels to hoist herself up, though she was blushing furiously. "Buy me a hot chocolate, and I won't tell the squad you fell."
"I didn't fall," Rafael corrected, accepting her hand as they scrambled back to their feet, his dignity bruised but his spirits soaring. "I performed a tactical dive to save an officer of the law."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Counselor."
"You," he murmured, slipping his arm around her waist to steady her as they made the slow, slippery trek back to the wall. "You help me sleep at night."
Olivia leaned into him, trusting his weight to hold her up. "Smooth, Barba. Very smooth."
"I try."