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Ten.
She goes first.
Rafael doesn't expect that, and it isn't right. He always thought it'd be him—that stress at last, or (when he's feeling more dramatic) maybe an angry felon out on bail. He tries to tell himself that it's all right. After all, they had so much time.
He hates his cane, tries not to let anyone see how much he needs it. But on this night he has come to see her by himself; there is no one around to pretend for. So he gratefully accepts the cane's support, and whispers, "I miss you." He doesn't even notice his voice cracking.
Rafael can almost hear Olivia laughing, feel her poking him gently.
"You old softy," she would say. "Talking to a stone? Rafael, you don't have to look anywhere but at yourself to find me." To which he would roll his eyes, and tell her to stop quoting Hallmark cards.
Instead, he is standing here, alone in a graveyard, and it is suddenly so very cold.
Two weeks later it is his turn, and he sees it coming. As Rafael gets into bed, wincing, and wondering when exactly he became old, he simply knows. It will be tonight.
As he closes his eyes, it is her he thinks of. Her hand on his forehead, her voice singing something soft in his ear. And Rafael knows that it doesn't matter that she died first. Because she couldn't really leave, not until he left too.
Nine.
The worst day of his life is when Rafael comes home to find her packing a suitcase.
He is hit with a wave of anguish so physical that he almost falls to the floor. When Olivia turns and tells him "it's only for a few days, until we figure things out," he realizes how far those words are from where he wants to be.
But he can't speak, can't voice what he wants to say, because if he tries he thinks he might cry. So instead he just kisses her, kisses her like he did on the day she showed him their daughter's first sonogram. He kisses her like he can't believe that there is a world in which he is hers.
"Don't," he says, half plea and half command.
The next morning, he schedules their first session with the therapist, and she throws out the suitcase.
Eight.
When they drop Sophie off at college, it is Olivia who cries the entire ride home. Rafael plays Cyndi Lauper full-volume, and sings along as terribly as he can to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." He asks her if she thinks Sophie will make it one week or two without coming home to do laundry, and by the time they reach Manhattan, Olivia is laughing.
The following Saturday, when Wait, Wait... Don't Tell Me! comes on the NPR station, Rafael finds he very much misses having another, young voice to yell, "No, not that answer, you idiot!" with. And so now it is Rafael who can't clear his throat properly, who slumps back into his chair, eyes suddenly too bright.
Olivia places her hand on his, and squeezes gently.
"She'll be home for clean clothes soon enough," she reminds him, smiling.
Rafael nods, and somehow, somehow manages the faintest of smirks.
Seven.
When Sophie's first high school dance comes around, Rafael feels a bit overwrought.
"You can't get through the entire New York penal code in the time it takes your daughter to grab her purse, love," Olivia has to remind him, ending his rather dramatic listing of the ways in which Charles Secter can end up in jail, if he hurts Sophia. Charlie shoots Olivia a grateful look, causing Rafael to put his hands on his hips and give him his worst "I will skewer you, criminal" look. Distantly, he wonders how he got here, to threatening his daughter's boyfriend with hard jail time. Then Sophie is down the stairs in a flash, and pulling Charlie out the door. Rafael feels his heart sink.
But seconds later, Sophie is back.
"Sorry, papa," she says. "I forgot something," and she hugs him, hard.
Rafael smiles into her hair, and decides it doesn't matter how he got here. All he knows is that he wants to stay.
Six.
At three, Sophie rules supreme, and Rafael is her obliging serf. It's a fact, plain and simple.
When he goes to pick up lunch from the Thai restaurant down the street, he can't figure out why the teenage girl at the register is trying not to giggle. Rafael gives his fiercest frown, but finds it doesn't work as well when he is dressed in t-shirt and jeans, instead of suit and tie. He's impatient, doesn't have work today, and so here he is, foot tapping, eye-brows raised, and all he can think about is how he wants to spend every minute of his day off with Sophie and Olivia—not here, being giggled at.
"Um, sir," the girl finally manages to squeak out, "you do know you're wearing a pink bow in your hair, right?" Shit. Rafael's hand flies to his head, feeling the little clip there. He removes it hastily.
"My, uh," he coughs, growing red, "daughter... she was playing hair-dresser."
Despite the embarrassment, he can't help but smile at the memory. Sophie's little hands twirling his hair, pulling a little too tight here and there, as she made tiny pony-tails and miniature braids with glee. Humming happily, her small body pressed up to his back, declaring, "Look daddy, I made you pretty!" and holding up a mirror for him to to see.
The girl at the counter is still giggling, but he decides perhaps the sound is not so grating after all.
"I think pink suits you," she says, smiling, as she hands him his change. He grudgingly chuckles.
"So do I," he replies, and he heads home to his girls.
Five.
Annoying Olivia is one of Rafael's favorite past-times. He especially likes to stick his head into the room when she is on the phone.
"Did I hear my name?" he always asks, grinning at the look of exasperation on her face. But he sees the smile she barely hides, too, and tells her, all-faux arrogance and exaggerated teasing, "I know you two were talking about me..."
What Rafael never tells Olivia is that it is because of his eavesdropping that he first asked her to marry him, that Sunday in Central Park. He doesn't mention hearing her conversation with George. Doesn't describe how he stopped, right in the middle of preparing to jump in and do his usual routine, and listened from behind the door.
"No, I don't think we'll ever get married," Olivia had said. "I think he finds it a bit silly, and I don't really mind." She'd paused, listening. "I'm not really sure what last name we'll give the baby. Can't exactly do a hyphenated one, not with our names. Maybe some combination of the two... Barson, maybe, ha." Her voice becomes softer, as she continues. "Although, I... I always thought it'd be nice to have another Benson around."
He buys the ring the next day, during his lunch break. It is elegant and understated, like her, and he can barely make it the whole day without rushing home. He imagines he should be worried by how quickly he has decided, but he doesn't care. He hadn't realized he even wanted this, but now all he can hear is her voice in his head, and he thinks he'd quite like to be one of her Bensons.
She cries, when he asks her, and questions him every day for the next week about whether he's sure. Every time she asks, he becomes more and more convinced that he is.
Rafael's a bit surprised, but he doesn't get even a little light-hearted teasing about taking her last name. Evidently his demeanor of cocky superiority has payed off, because no one dares.
And finally, when their daughter is born, Rafael's first words to Sophia Benson are,
"Three makes company."
It causes Olivia to kiss him, hard, and he thinks this was the best idea he's ever had.
Four.
The first week after Olivia tells him she is pregnant, he goes to work like nothing is different. He offers her wine with dinner twice, and dearly pays the price of her ire for his forgetfulness.
He thinks he's supposed to feel something, but he doesn't quite know what.
The second week, Rafael notes that Manhattan seems to have been taken over by babies. Babies, fists waving from the confines of strollers and slings. Babies, in the bistro he goes to for lunch. Babies, in the elevator of their apartment. Babies.
The third week, he starts panicking whenever Olivia is late for anything. He can't stop touching her, and yet every time he does, he worries he will press too hard.
The fourth week, he comes home with two bags worth of baby books from Barnes & Noble. He reads them out loud to Olivia, one by one.
The fifth week, they decide it's safe to tell their friends, so they throw a dinner party to which far too many law enforcement people are invited. While they are getting dessert ready, Rafael asks Olivia if he can announce their news.
He shouts it to the whole table.
By the end of the night, he has given a summary of everything he's learned about pregnancy to each guest.
Three.
All evening, he can't stop looking at her. It's the NYPD Widows & Orphans Benefit, and it's their debut as an official couple. His transfer has been finalized, and now he can hold her hand—let their coworkers gossip all they like.
It hadn't sunk in, at first, that she would be wearing a dress. So when she comes out of the bedroom, dressed in clinging dark green velvet, he suddenly has a hard time breathing.
"I went shopping with Alex and Casey," she says, and for once it is her smirking. He knows she likes to dress up, knows she enjoys it much more than most people seem to assume, but he's never seen her quite like this.
"Green," he says, swallowing hard, "is definitely your color."
The entire party, he only half-listens to the conversations around him. He finds himself contemplating how long it will take to unbutton every one of the twenty small buttons running down the back of Olivia's dress. When they get home, he barely makes it through the apartment door before he pushes her against the wall, kissing, nipping, hands everywhere. She smirks, again, into his mouth. That night, Olivia lets him call the shots, a rare enough occurrence. He rather enjoys being under her control, but not tonight.
Ties, they decide, after some enthusiastic experimenting, are much more effective than suspenders.
Two.
Sometime soon, he'll tell her he loves her.
Rafael hates birthdays, and they've only been together for a month, so he thinks he can get away with not telling her. But the morning of, she shows up on his doorstep, a package of Twinkies in one hand (how did she even guess?), a cup of espresso in the other.
"I'm a detective" is her answer to his unspoken question. He sighs, and lets her in.
Later that night, as he's on the edge of sleep, he whispers, "Someday I'll tell you I love you," and she hums sleepily into his shoulder.
It's the best birthday he's ever had.
One.
He's heard about them, the one-six. When Harris tells him he's bringing over the unit's best detectives to meet Rafael, he's excited. He's quite aware of his own conviction rate, knows he's good, and the prospect of working with detectives just as competent is quite exciting. Perhaps this will mean fewer cops screwing around and messing up his cases...
But Olivia Benson is nothing like he expects.
Conversation between them is like a tennis match, one fierce swing in response to another. He gives up keeping score, when he realizes he's having far too much fun to care.
The first time she yells at him, he thinks she's loveliest when she's angry.
The second time, he thinks she might be right.
The third time, he's already agreeing with her before she can even finish the sentence.
So he's not surprised when he ends up on her doorstep, rain-soaked, in the middle of the night, because he can't get a case out of his head. He's not even scared, when he realizes that things won't be the same, not after this. And when she pulls him to her and kisses him with a hunger to match his own, he thinks that caring might not be so bad after all.