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raulesparzascheerleader · 7 days

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i loved this series. :) i can only imagine how difficult it is to find love with another person when carrying so much baggage. i enjoyed the ending. 💞

More Precious Than Rubies: Part 7a

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 5046

TW: Idiots in love; angst; hurt feelings and apologies; talk of cheating; talk of panic attacks.

AN: The prompt was "I came here to explain what happened, and I’m not leaving until you listen."

You weren’t sure if it was possible to feel worse about yourself, but over the next few weeks, you sunk to new lows. You were always so good about thinking before speaking – you always had a thoughtful, measured approach to your words. You knew that words could be a weapon. They could cut deep or hit with a heavy weight.

Your flippant, unkind comment to Barba had been like a cudgel. He hadn’t done a single thing wrong. He had looked so hurt when he left you that night, and you felt like a complete asshole.

You tried sending him a few texts – he read them, but never replied. You called twice and left voicemails. You knew this was probably karma for the way you shut Sonny out when you’d broken up. That thought – that Sonny had probably tried to reach out to you too, and you had ignored him – gave you fresh waves of shame.

You saw Barba a few times at the courthouse, but he pointedly ignored you. More shame.

All told, you were probably at the lowest you’d been in a while. You had a terrible case – a seventeen year old being held at Rikers who hadn’t even been formally charged with anything yet. Your father had called a couple times and you’d missed each call. You had a tension headache that hung with you for a week, never loosening its grip on you.

And you felt terrible about Barba. You could logic out a lot of why you’d been an asshole. First Jason, then Sonny – wonderful boyfriends until they just stopped loving you or wanting you. Barba had just been a fun hookup at first. When he tried to start a feelings talk with you, your stomach had dipped pleasantly for a split second before it twisted. If he was developing feelings for you, then it’d be a short journey from that to breaking up, hurting you.

In other words, Barba might have feelings for you now. In a year, he’d be out of love with you and cheating (like Jason) or out of love with you and possibly cheating (like Sonny). There was something about you that reeled men in, but they never stuck around. Why bothering signing up for future pain just for a bit of affection now?

Still, the guilt weighed on you. Barba was a good man, after all, and it would have been be all too easy to fall for him. You remembered how he had comforted you that day in SVU, when you’d seen a pregnant Rollins and assumed the baby was Sonny’s. You remembered how Barba hadn’t said a single snarky thing, taking you to lunch instead and being perfectly kind and consoling.

You remembered all the times you argued, but how he had smiled at you like he enjoyed it. You remembered how he used to call you “Girl Wonder,” but then took to calling you “Fordham law” until he found out about your other nickname - then how he’d call you “Sparky” with a wide grin.

You remembered how it felt when you danced with him at the swanky lawyer event.

You needed to see Barba. At the very least, you needed to apologize, and if he didn’t stalk away from you with cold fury in his green eyes, maybe you could explain yourself too.

*****

Barba felt like shit. He’d gone over to your apartment with the intention of broaching the topic of maybe being more than just hookup buddies. It had been getting harder and harder to pretend that it was just physical for him anymore. Even when you got dressed and left him, he spent the rest of the night thinking about you.

Every encounter, he managed to learn a new bit of information about you. You couldn’t cook, apparently. You had been training for a half-marathon but had abandoned it because of work. You didn’t sleep well. You lost pens at an alarming rate, which was why you just used cheap rollerballs instead of fancy fountain pens. You knew the best swear words in five different languages, because you had a weird aversion to swearing in English. You read your favorite book, ‘Possession’ by A.S. Byatt, once a year, usually over Christmas.

It wasn’t enough for him anymore. He wanted to sleep with you after sex. He wanted to fall asleep with you in his arms and wake up in the morning to wild hair and bad breath and multilingual swearing at the alarm. He wanted to go to dinner with you and get to know you better than the scavenging of facts that he was doing currently.

You did not feel the same way. You’d made a snarky comment about hate-fucking that cut him to his core, and he got out of there as quickly as he could. You’d stammered out some half-assed apology, and he wondered if you even realized what you were saying when you said it. Still, it hurt.

He ignored your texts and calls. When he felt you nearby at the courthouse – and he could: you were like a storm rolling in, making every inch of his skin hypersensitive to a changing weather front – he kept his gaze carefully ahead of him.

When you stopped calling and texting, he tried to put it all behind him.

-----

It was a Wednesday, late-morning. Barba was in his office and going through a stack of potential cases that McCoy may or may not want to take to trial. Barba took notes, summarized each case, and sent them up to his boss to decide, depending on which way the political winds were blowing. It was a quiet day otherwise.

Until it wasn’t. Barba heard you before he saw you. Clear as day, he heard you walk up to Carmen and ask if he was in and available, and when Carmen answered, you blew into his office without even knocking. You, better than anyone, should know enough to at least knock, but you were like a storm. Blowing up out of the blue like a summer squall.

Carmen was on your heels, but Barba stood and nodded at his assistant to let her know it was okay. Carmen shut the door behind her, and Barba looked at you with an impassive gaze.

You were in tailored pants and a cashmere sweater – the weather was colder and you probably didn’t have court today. Your hair was down, and the overall effect was that you looked more casual. But you also looked tired, except for your bright eyes gazing back at him.

“Before you kick me out,” you said, holding up a hand to preemptively silence him. “I came here to explain what happened, and I’m not leaving until you listen.”

“So explain,” he said. He sat back down and looked at his notes. He couldn’t bear to look at your face. It still hurt too much, your cruel rejection.

“I’m sorry,” you said, and your voice was soft. He glanced up and saw the remorse on your face, and he felt his own resolve weaken just a bit.

But only a bit. “I know,” he said, terse. “I got your texts.”

You hung your head, and your loose hair swung down so that you had to brush it back and re-tuck it behind your ear. “When I said…what I said, that evening…” you started. You took a deep breath before you continued. “I was judging you unfairly against…other people. Other situations. It wasn’t fair to say that. Or to treat you like that.” Another pause, another deep breath. “You’ve been nothing but nice, and I…wasn’t nice to you.”

Barba snorted at that last bit. “You’re lying. I’ve been other things that ‘nice.’ I wasn’t nice when I fled your place that first time.”

You gave him a small smile at that. “Well, true. You’ve been nice, but also frustrating and annoying.” Your smile slipped, and you added, “but more than anything, you’ve been nice.”

He didn’t say anything, so you fidgeted for a moment, picked at an invisible bit of lint on your sweater. Then you continued. “I like you, Barba. A lot. It’s just…I’m not very good at dating. I’m unlucky. I have…baggage…”

His stomach did a curious turn when you admitted that you liked him, but before you could continue or he could interrupt, his office door swung open to admit both Olivia and SVU’s new guy. Dodds. You turned, startled, at the intrusion.

“We interrupting?” Dodds asked, and Barba murmured a “no” while you shook your head. The two detectives watched you as you nodded first at Barba, then at them, then left the office altogether.

********

You had your chance to talk to Barba, and you had managed to apologize. You had even managed to explain yourself, a little, before SVU interrupted.

It would have to be enough.

You still felt terrible, but it was the best you could do. Besides, in the entirety of your bad feelings, you could only afford so much bandwidth to Barba. You had other things to feel badly about.

There was your father, locked up in Missouri. You kept missing his calls, and it wasn’t like you could exactly call him back where he was. You sent him a quick letter explaining that you were busy in court and not ignoring him – it was important that he knew you weren’t abandoning him. Everyone else in your family had.

There was your case load, crushing in the best of times, but you had a case that was especially terrible. Your client was locked up in Rikers, and half the time when you went to visit him, the guards made it unnecessarily difficult: once your client was in lock-down, once he was put into a holding cell on the other side of the complex. And your client shouldn’t even be in jail – he was accused of shoplifting, but he was dirt poor and couldn’t make bail. You filed motion after motion, but you were low on the docket and in the meantime, your client was suffering.

There was your health in general: you weren’t sleeping at all. You couldn’t fall asleep because of your racing thoughts, and in the rare occasion that you did nod off before two in the morning, your dreams were unsettling. You didn’t have much of an appetite anymore, and you found yourself shaking from hunger sometimes, or nauseous from low blood sugar.

And your panic attacks had resurfaced with a vengeance. You tried to will them away, and then you tried to make an appointment with your doctor, but he couldn’t see you for three months. So you managed them as best you could, which meant that you found little hiding places all around the city, places that you could be alone and let the panic attacks tear through you without an audience.

When you went to SVU, there was a file room a floor up that you could hide in. Other precincts had other places to hide – cleaning closets, boiler rooms, ladies rest rooms in precincts full of men and, therefore, rarely used.

At the courthouse, there were the stairwells. Almost no one took the stairs, so you weathered your attacks there, mostly alone.

*****

Barba wasn’t sure where he stood with you after you left his office. He would have tried to reassure you – maybe call you “Girl Wonder” again to let you know that you’d lost ground but that he still liked you – but he didn’t see you. Your schedules were out of sync again: you seemed to be on a stretch with Major Crimes, dealing with assaults and a few burglaries and other minor, petty stuff.

You weren’t at the wine bar either. He went there more, hoping to see you, but you never turned up.

You had looked sad that day in his office, and if he were honest, he had forgiven you once you apologized. He knew the walls you had up, and he knew the baggage you carried from past relationships. He could have pointed out that it had been unfair to judge him against past boyfriends, but hadn’t he done the same in his life? How many subsequent girlfriends had suffered because of Yelina? How many relationships had ended because Barba assumed that he’d be cheated on eventually?

He forgave you because he had been exactly in the same spot you were in – but with less insight. If you had done some soul-searching and realized what you’d done, maybe there was hope for you yet.

If he saw you again, he’d tell you as much.

But the next time he saw you was at the courthouse. You were in your usual courtroom suit, but with thicker tights against the drafty building and cool weather outside. You shoved your way out of a conference room, and you half-walked, half-jogged towards the stairwell. You walked right past him, but you didn’t see him because your head was down.

He saw you though: your face was wan, and your hands were balled into fists along your sides. You shoved the fire door open to the stairwell, but in the moment before it slammed shut behind you, he didn’t hear your heels clicking on the steps.

He made his way over to the door and listened for a moment. At first, he didn’t hear anything – but he could feel you. You still carried that electric charge with you, and he swore he could feel it through the metal door.

Then he heard it – quiet sniffling, and shuddering, ragged breaths, like someone crying but trying to do it quietly.

Barba considered his options – he could leave you alone, or he could go to you. It wasn’t really much of a choice, though.

He pushed open the door carefully, and you were standing there on the landing, leaning against the wall. You were startled, and you looked up at him with glassy eyes. Your wan face was gone, replaced by a flushed lividity that didn’t look healthy. You were pulling in great gasps of air, and his first thought was that you were having an asthma attack. Stupidly, he reached for your bag, dangling limply from your hand. He thought maybe you needed an inhaler or something, but you slid down the wall into an awkward sitting position on the landing, and your legs were bent at an uncomfortable looking angle under you.

He knelt in front of you in alarm. “Do you need an ambulance?” he asked, but you shook your head.

Between your hyperventilating, you answered him. “It…will…pass.” Then he noticed your trembling hands, and he realized what it was. Not an asthma attack after all.

“C’mere,” he said, and he helped you move until you were sitting on the edge of the stairs. He laid a gentle hand on your upper back and guided your head to your knees, folding your body in half and cutting off some of the air you were hyperventilating on. Your breathing calmed, but you still trembled uncontrollably. Barba, for his part, just put an arm around your shaking shoulders, and he waited for your panic attack to pass.

It eventually did, and you raised your head to glance at him. “Sorry,” you mumbled, not quite making eye contact with him. Your voice was ragged. He kept his arm around you, and he gave a quiet laugh.

“Why are you apologizing?” he asked.

You gave a feeble shrug. “It’s embarrassing.”

He laughed again and gave you a comforting squeeze. “Sure. Wouldn’t want anyone to know that the Girl Wonder is human after all.”

You glanced at him again, this time with a small smile on your face. “Don’t tell anyone.” You turned to face him a bit, your eyes searching his face, and your smile fell. “Barba, I’m so sorry.” He knew, from the sorrow in your eyes and the way your voice cracked on the last word, that you weren’t apologizing for the panic attack.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, and he pulled you against him in a sort of side hug as you sniffled and hung your head.

“It isn’t. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“Well, I forgive you,” he replied. You sat together in a moment of quiet, the sounds of the courthouse muffled in the stairwell. “Luckily for you, mercy is sexually transmitted,” he added with a smirk.

“What?” You pulled away from him in surprise and turned to look at him.

“Turns out I caught it from a bleeding heart public defender,” he continued. He grinned as the woebegone look on your face was replaced by an expression somewhere south of scandalized. Then you laughed – really laughed, deep in your belly until you were swiping away fresh tears from your eyes.

“What’s the incubation period on that, exactly?” you asked, and your voice was shaky again, but at least it was from laughter and not panic or shame. “Is there a cure?’

Barba shook his head sadly. “It’s terminal, sadly. The best we can do is resign ourselves to a life of compassion and clemency.”

You smiled at him, and then you smacked him lightly on his knee. “How dare you make me laugh,” you scolded him. “I was committed to feeling maudlin for at least another month.”

“Don’t do that on my account. That’s an order.”

Your smiled widened. “You’re not the boss of me, Barba.”

He released his hold on you and stood up, and he went and picked up your bag from the landing. He held his hand out to you to help you stand, and he watched you brush yourself off and smooth your hair. Then he handed you your bag, and you murmured your thanks.

“I’m not your boss, but here’s another order: go home early and take it easy.” He hesitated, and added, “I know that panic attacks can wear you out.”

You looked at him thoughtfully and then nodded. “Maybe I will.” You started to turn to leave but paused, rethinking it. You turned back and surprised him by wrapping your arms around him for a sweetly chaste hug. He froze for a moment and then hugged you back, savoring the feeling of you in his arms. When you broke away a moment later, you ducked your head, almost shyly, and thanked him again. And then you left.

-----

He finished out the day with you in the forefront of his mind. He imagined you at home, curled up in your pajamas with a cup of tea, but then he revised the mental image. You and he were too similar.

What did Barba do after a panic attack? He went back to work. He would be willing to bet his paycheck that you had gone back to work too.

Your office wasn’t too far from his own, so when he wrapped up for the day, he took a slight detour to your sad office building. There was a lone light burning, and Barba swore it was yours. Probably.

He dialed your cell, and you picked up on the third ring. “Feeling better?” he asked, skipping over the formalities. “Relaxing at home?”

“Yes,” you replied. “And…yes.”

Barba smirked. “So you’re not at work?”

A pause. “No.”

“Liar. I can see your office light on.”

Another pause, and a disbelieving huff of laughter. “Creep. Are you watching my office? Do I need to call SVU on you?”

“It’s a good thing you’re not a prosecutor, Sparky,” he replied. “What a flimsy case you’re pushing here. Textbook circumstantial evidence.”

Another huff of laughter, and he continued before you could return his volley. “Wrap up and get down here. Coincidentally, I’m parked out on the street in front of your building. I’ll give you a ride home.” He paused and looked at the clock on his car’s dashboard. “If you get here in the next five minutes, I’ll buy you dinner.” He hung up.

He timed you – you were sliding into his passenger’s seat with a playful glare in all of three minutes.

*****

When Barba forgave you, you felt a massive weight lift off of you. You still felt the sharp sting of guilt, and maybe you’d always feel a bit of shame, but if anything, you hoped it would be a caution for you to always measure your words before you spoke.

His forgiveness also made you feel something else, unexpected: a slender bit of hope. You knew now that you had feelings for him – you were able to admit that much to yourself. As you sat across from him at the sushi restaurant he took you to, you allowed yourself to explore those feelings just a bit.

On the shallow side of things, he was painfully handsome. He was amazing in bed, and you readily admitted that the two of you had great chemistry together.

More profoundly, though: he was kind. He didn’t present that way – he came across as arrogant and snide – but it didn’t take much to realize that he was a good-hearted man. Maybe the arrogance was a sort of armor, or maybe it was for the benefit of his role as a hard-hitting prosecutor, but the reality was that he was unbearable thoughtful and gentle every time you fell apart in front of him.

If you’d had a panic attack in front of Sonny, for example, you would have probably felt more ashamed of it. But in front of Barba, there was a bit of embarrassment, but his arm around you had been comforting. And he joked with you – and implied that he had the same issue. That it wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about.

You wondered about his dating past. He seemed like someone who should have been snapped up and married off young, to a high school sweetheart maybe, but he led a pretty monkish life. Aside from hooking up with you, of course. Other than that, you didn’t know of a single girlfriend or boyfriend or casual fling, and you knew more gossip about New York lawyers than you cared to admit.

Now, at dinner, you ate and chatted like old friends. You didn’t even talk about work – he told you about his favorite book, his favorite movie, and asked you about your own. You realized that he was trying to get to know you better, and it gave you a pleasant, warm flush.

You realized that you were both Vonnegut fans, and you finished dinner and ordered dessert – a sampler of mochi that you split – and you argued over which Vonnegut was the best.

“Slaughterhouse-Five, hands down,” he said.

You shook your head. “No way. His essays are the best, and his short stories are a close second. Harrison Bergeron? Come on, Barba, there’s no contest.”

“His essays are so bleak,” he protested.

“And a book about reliving the firebombing of Dresden is a playful romp?”

You caught the smile he tried to hide as he raised his glass to finish his whiskey. “Are you going to argue with me on everything?”

“Stop being wrong on everything and I’ll stop arguing with you,” you retorted with a smile.

“Hmm,” he replied. “Let me think of something we can agree on. What are your thoughts on politics?”

You leaned forward. “The further left, the better. Anarchy and free rides for all.”

He snorted. “I’m further left than you give me credit for, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s probably even some overlap in our beliefs,” he added.

You spooned another scoop of mochi and let it dissolve in a wash of sweetness on your tongue. “So, here’s the question. As a New Yorker, the political quandary of our time: in the last mayoral race, did you vote for the Wall Street fat cat or the left-leaning pervert with child porn on his phone?”

His grin fell instantly, and you knew you’d overstepped, but you weren’t sure how. Your mind raced to figure out where you messed up – Alex Muñoz had been an SVU case, but you remembered O’Dwyer in all the press conferences when it went to trial. It hadn’t been Barba’s case…

“I wrote myself in on that ballot,” he said, and he tried to smile but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You sighed and laid your spoon down, your appetite gone. “What did I say wrong? I thought that was O’Dwyer’s case, and anyway, Muñoz pled out halfway through trial…”

“Alex was my friend,” Barba said quietly, cutting you off. “My best friend. We grew up together in the Bronx. I supervised SVU’s case against him in the beginning.”

“I didn’t know that.”

He nodded. “Well, there were some press conferences that called me out by name. You probably didn’t see them, or didn’t remember.” He winced. “But my family did. My neighborhood. And they have long memories.”

You tried to think back to that time. You remembered the press conferences, of course, because they were like any other press conference where a politician got caught being a sleaze: contrite but vowing to fight, with a stony-faced wife standing beside him because she had to. Muñoz had been the same, standing beside his gorgeous, disappointed wife. But that’s all you remembered – none of the content.

“I knew his wife too. Yelina.” The way he said it made you look at him closer – his face was downturned as he ran his finger restlessly around the rim of his empty glass.

“You grew up with her too?” you asked gently.

He nodded again. “Alex was my best friend. And Yelina…was my first love.”

“Ah.”

There was a long beat of silence. “She thought I was targeting Alex specifically,” he continued. “As revenge. Because she left me for him. Years ago. A lifetime ago.”

You reached out to take his free hand, the one that wasn’t fussing with his glass. You grasped it gently and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure she realized deep down that you were caught between a rock and a hard place, and her husband was literally caught with child porn…”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. She was always blinded by him.” He twisted his mouth into a sardonic smile. “Alex had the charm.” He looked down at your hands, intertwined as they were, and he gave himself a little shake. “Sorry. This isn’t how I planned on the evening going,” he said, and when he smiled this time it reached his eyes.

You cocked a suggestive eyebrow at him. “How did you plan on it going, counselor?”

He didn’t return the suggestive look, though. He replied earnestly, “I planned on asking you out on a proper date. I didn’t plan on rambling about ancient history.”

“Ancient history came up organically,” you said. You tried to ignore your heart hammering in your chest at Barba wanting to ask you out, properly. “You need to balance the scales, hear about my first love? His name was Wayne Crawford, it was the second grade, and when I tried to hold his hand during a school assembly, he shoved me and said I smelled like hot dogs.”

He chuckled at that, and you added, “there was no press conference though.”

But you felt…trusted, like a confidant, that Barba had opened up to you, even if it was unplanned. So you added, more seriously, “my first real love, though, was Jason. Undergraduate at Fordham. We dated for a couple of years, and I found out he cheated on me for most of it.”

You glanced up to see Barba staring at you, but he had a sympathetic look on his face. You felt uncomfortable to open up, like you were exposing a raw nerve that might get irritated, but he had opened up to you. Quid pro quo. Give and take. You had learned that much from your failed relationship with Sonny: you had to open up more, take more leaps of faith.

“Well, I’m not a cheater,” Barba finally said. You smiled at him, and he continued, a sly look creeping across his handsome features. “And you got that hot dog smell problem sorted out now, so we’re good.”

You plucked your hand from his with as much dignity as you could muster, and you feigned like you were getting up to leave, so Barba reached out to snag your hand again, holding you tight.

“Does Friday or Saturday night work better for you?” he asked, and while he still smiled at you, his voice sounded earnest.

You wavered before you answered. “Are you sure? Even after what I said?”

Barba flagged down the waiter for the check, and he handed off his credit card to settle the bill. “You don’t seem to understand ‘forgiveness’ as a concept,” he told you. You shrugged a little ruefully, and he kept going. “Firstly, you forgave me when I fled the scene our first night together. You didn’t make me grovel.”

He paused as the waiter returned his card, and you watched as Barba signed the slip with a flourish. Then he picked up the thread of conversation.

“Secondly, I have people march into my office all day, every day and say rude things to me. I’m always being accused of being too political or too cautious, or not smart enough to find legal loopholes. The Muñoz case? I got it as bad from SVU as I did from Alex. And I never get an apology. Not a real one, anyway.” He sighed, and you could see how his job did wear on him, much like yours did to you.

“So it was novel, getting a real apology from you,” he said. “And thirdly, I understand now why you said what you did, so I probably would have forgiven you even without an apology.”

You hung your head a little. “I’m so….”

“…sorry, yes. I got that,” he cut you off to finish your sentence, his voice dry. “So Friday or Saturday?”

When you took too long to answer (caught between wanting to see him on Friday, but worried that you’d be too tired from the work week), he casually added a third option. “Or both?”

Your broad grin, wide enough that it hurt your cheeks to smile that wide, was all the answer he needed. Both.

#rafael barba #svu #fan fiction #tropes and tales #🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

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raulesparzascheerleader · 1 month

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Ch. 60: The Waiting Game

Previous chapters // Montserrat’s masterlist

Fandom: SVU // Pairing: Rafael Barba x OC

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @averyhotchner @abzidabzy @hellofutur @foxesandmagic @xovalliegirlxo @sam-i–am @kmc1989 @midmourn @choosejoyangel

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message

When Montserrat woke up from her Nyquill-induced nap, she very quickly realized she slept way more hours than she intended to. It was past noon, almost four. Granted she was truly well rested but that was not the point. She still felt mentally exhausted and wasn't equipped for what had to come next. She had to finally call Lucia and tell her what happened — it was the worst conversation she ever had with the woman. Lucia was livid with Montserrat, to say the least.

"How could you not tell me before!? Why are you barely telling me!?"

Montserrat could barely give her reasons when Lucia went on a rampage in the Spanish and English language to the point where Montserrat couldn't dream of understanding. The only thing Montserrat managed to hear was that Lucia was on her way to the hospital and pretty much cut all ties with his son's girlfriend.

Great. That would be fun explaining to Rafael when he woke up. It was definitely about the last thing he needed in his life right now. After that, Montserrat soon found out that somehow Casey had gotten involved with the whole thing.

"Yeah, that was my fault," Kara said with a hand raised in the air. "I suggested it."

"Why?" Montserrat couldn't understand what a robbery had to do with her cousin at the moment. Then again, she was only really thinking with about a 50% capacity.

Kara understood her mistake too late and was left squandering for a reasonable excuse (otherwise this time Sonny would have a true reason to kill her). "Well, uh, Casey's another prosecutor and she'll maybe take the case? If they find the guy?"

"It's just not her case yet," Montserrat insisted, although it seemed like the heat was now going more towards the situation rather than Kara (or Casey for that matter). "Nobody's been murdered."

"And it'll stay like that," Kara jumped on the chance to provide actual support to her friend. It was hard thinking this could turn into a homicide case rather than attempted murder. "You'll see."

Montserrat would've been more convinced if she didn't have other things on her mind. She kept getting voice-mail for Lucia's number, only reiterating how angry the woman was with her.

"She'll come around," Kara kept insisting as well, "She's stunned, like you were when you first got the call. It's just different. She's his mother, after all. Give her some days."

Montserrat nodded only because there was nothing else she could do, but it didn't mean it wasn't nagging at her in the meantime. "I need to go back to the hospital," she told Kara after lunch. She did Kara the solid of sticking around for that mealtime but it was about all she would do now. She'd been away from the hospital for way too long.

"What are you talking about? It's only been a couple hours," Kara pointed out. She would rather Montserrat stay for a bit more until she was less anxious and stressed.

"It's past noon now!"

"So?" Kara would love to hear an adequate reason why the time even mattered. "Montserrat, you need to rest."

"I already did!" Montserrat exclaimed. "Way more than I planned!"

Kara's eyes flickered to the side for a moment. The nyquil was still under wraps. Her phone started ringing and seeing it was Sonny, she urged Montserrat to wait for another 5 minutes. "Just let me take the call and see what's happened, okay?"

Montserrat groaned. "Fine! But I am leaving as soon as you're done, with or without you!"

Kara nodded and hurried to take the call. Montserrat took the first seconds to try and calm herself down. She didn't want to actually fight with Kara, not with anyone for that matter. They were all walking on eggshells around her already, thinking she was a ticking time bomb. It was hard staying afloat not knowing what the next day would bring, or even the next hour. Tears stung get eyes just thinking about the uncertainty.

Hearing the knock on the door somehow startled her greatly. She went to open it, presuming it would be Sonny on the other side only to find her father instead.

"Dad!" She gasped, stumbling back a step.

"Montserrat, how — woah! What's happened to you?" Thomas of course referred to his daughter's face of anguish.

Immediately, Montserrat whirled around, eyes wide as she took a few steps away from her father. She tried wiping her eyes quickly. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"I got the day off and since it's been a while, I thought we could have lunch,, but..." Thomas trailed off, reaching forward for his daughter's shoulder. He gently turned her around and saw the same face as before, only this time it was slightly redder from the fervent rubbing at the eyes. "Now I'm seeing it's longer than I thought. Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Dad," Montserrat shook her father's hand off her shoulder. "Just a rough day, that's all."

"No, no, no," Thomas shook his head, "Don't try to kid me. I know you, Montserrat. You've been crying and it looks like it's been going on for a while. What's happened?"

"Nothing, sheesh!" Montserrat exclaimed. Of course she would've been more convincing if her voice hadn't shaken towards the end. How the hell am I a detective? "Look, I can't do lunch today. Can we schedule another day?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Thomas declared, crossing his arms, "It looks like you've got explaining to do, young lady."

Montserrat glared at her father. This was the last thing she needed right now. Despondence, anxiety, and anger mixed into one did not bode well for anybody in the room. "Dad, I don't have time for this. Can we do this another day, please?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow at his daughter. Usually it was all he needed to warn her she was crossing a line with him.

She still knew that.

But she didn't back down this time.

"You've got 5 seconds to tell me what's going on with you," Thomas warned. "Five…four…"

Montserrat gawked at her father with incredulity. "Dad, you can't treat me like I'm five—"

"Three…two—"

"Dad, seriously!"

"One—"

"I SAID STOP!" Montserrat unintentionally yelled at her father.

Thomas was dumbfounded with such a frantic reaction from his daughter. Tears were coming to Montserrat's eyes and though it was partially out of guilt, there was something deeper going on. "Montserrat," he tried again, softly, "Sweetheart, what's—"

"Can you just go? I'm actually leaving right now too," Montserrat gestured to the door behind Thomas. "I have to—"

"Montserrat!" Kara called from the hallway seconds before emerging. "Sonny says he'll be by in 15 and he can take us to the hospital."

"Hospital!?" Thomas exclaimed.

Kara's eyes widened. She had no idea they were no longer alone. "Oops…"

Montserrat let out a heavy sigh. "Dad—"

"Why do you need to go to the hospital!?" Thomas started demanding. "Are you hurt?" He went to check himself but Montserrat swatted his hands away.

"Dad, stop!"

"Why do you need to go!? Do you feel alright? What am I saying — it's obvious you're not feeling well! You've been crying!"

"She has," Kara agreed solemnly.

"KARA!" Montserrat said loudly enough to make Kara flinch. "SHUT UP!"

"Don't yell at Kara like that," Thomas reprimanded his daughter, "Answer my question. Why are you going to the hospital right now?"

"Because…" Montserrat racked her head for a good answer that wouldn't give away such a terrible situation.

"Are you hurt?"

"No!"

"Then why—"

"Oh, just stop!" Montserrat resorted to pleading, something downright shocking to her father. "Please! Just stop!" Tears rolled down her cheeks as the weight of each of her problems finally culminated into one heavy load on her shoulders. "I'm not hurt! At least not physically because trust me, everything else right now hurts! I'm going to the hospital because my boyfriend's there because he's been shot, okay!? He's been shot and he hasn't woken up since it happened and I want to be there when he does — if he does! Now please stop berating me and just—" Montserrat ran into her father's arms where she finally burst into tears.

Thomas was utterly stunned. For the first couple of seconds, nothing of what Montserrat said had sunk in so while she hugged him, his arms were awkwardly on either side of him. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, he met Kara's gaze. She nodded to confirm everything Montserrat had said. Her grim expression helped sell it too.

"When...when did you get a boyfriend?" Thomas looked down at his daughter but at the question, Montserrat only whimpered and retreated further into him, desperate to be hugged back. Thomas slowly did so, bringing one hand over her back and the other behind her head. "O-okay, um…that's...that's...bad..." He sighed. He was terrible when it came to things like these. Montserrat's teenage years had been quite an adventure in terms of boyfriends and dating but now at 30? He didn't know which age was worse. "I'm—I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he ultimately said, "Really. I — how did this happen?"

Montserrat pulled away to take a deep breath. Her face was stained with tears. "A robbery. The guy was trying to rob the shop Rafael was at and then he just shot...he shot…"

Kara remained absolutely silent and lowered her head. It killed her to keep the truth of the situation a secret from Montserrat. But if she knew the truth, it would make her feel even worse, she reminded herself.

"Okay, okay," Thomas cupped Montserrat's face, "Wipe those tears. We can go to the hospital right now."

"You'd come with me?" Montserrat sniffed. "You're not mad I didn't tell you—"

"It does not matter right now," Thomas said, "Besides, you're a grown woman — as tough as that is to deal with — and you can make whatever choices you want."

"I was going to tell you. That's why I asked about having dinner, remember?"

Thomas nodded. "Yeah, and I told you I was going out on a trip for a whole month. Okay, that was my fault then."

"Dad, you would really like him. I mean, he's sort of a smart-ass but then again so is Gael."

Thomas let out a low laugh. "Oh, is it just Gael?"

"Of course, why do you ask?"

Thomas barely held his next laugh in. "Right." He gave Montserrat a kiss on the forehead. "Are you ready to go?"

Montserrat nodded fairly quickly. "Yes, please, let's go!"

"Kara?" Thomas looked at the blonde behind them.

Kara waved them off with a hand. "I'll wait for my boyfriend. He was already on his way. Plus, I think there'll be a lot of talking done on that drive."

Thomas wholeheartedly agreed with her. His eyes drifted over to Montserrat who had the energy to appear more nervous than before. "Ready?"

Montserrat wasn't so sure anymore. Still, a ride to the hospital meant she would practically do anything.

~0~

Thomas started slowly, cautiously, and for that Montserrat appreciated but it didn't make things any less awkward nor tense.

"Dating your co-worker — isn't that against the rules?" Thomas wondered out loud. He stopped at an upcoming red light, giving him the opportunity to glance at his daughter.

Her tear-stained face was finally getting a glimpse of light. She had stopped crying for the moment — she just needed to clean her face.

"Not if you disclose," she answered quietly, "Which we did."

"Ah, okay, um...when was that?"

"Dunno, two months ago? Time sort of blurred…"

"Time 'blurred'?" Thomas let out a small chuckle.

Montserrat glanced at him, eyebrows knitted together. "What?" Her voice couldn't go any louder than a quiet tone. If not, she would've demanded the explanation.

"Nothing...it's just...usually when you feel like time has 'blurred', it's because you've been having a good time," Thomas explained. At the green light, he was no longer able to look at her.

Maybe it was for the best.

Montserrat shifted in her seat. She was not about to go into detail about her relationship to her father. "It's been different," she left it at that. It wasn't a lie but it didn't outright expose her either.

Thomas hummed. "I can see that. I've never seen you so distressed over someone like this."

"To be fair, none of my other boyfriends have ever been shot."

Thomas let out a small laugh. "True, but I also meant in general. I've noticed you've been more, uh, content lately. Because I don't know what made you leave behind your old job and place in Queens, but I know that you haven't been happy in a while. I like the change."

"I'm sorry for that," Montserrat mumbled, eyes downcast. However painful it was for her, she imagined it had to have been hard for her father as well. She wasn't the kindest to him in the beginning. She did what a victim typically does: push people away. She thought she did it perfectly. She left her old friends in Queens, her job. She put distance between her father, her brother, even her nieces, and Kara. She became a good liar, indeed.

"I wasn't expecting an apology," Thomas clarified, "And I certainly didn't need one. I'm your father. I just want to know that you're okay."

Montserrat smiled lightly. "I can tell you that before all of this, I was more than okay."

Thomas nodded. "I believe it. You were...happier, more than I'd seen you in a very long time. I would love to say that you were your old self again but it still isn't like that."

"Dad, I don't think I'll ever be the same as before," Montserrat said, figuring it was best to shatter that dream right now than let it keep going without a future. "But that's okay because the way I felt before all this, it was damn great." Her breathlessness was enough to take her word for it. It sounded like even she couldn't believe it.

Truthfully, sometimes she still couldn't.

It took very little for Montserrat to become accustomed to the idea of always feeling miserable on the inside and overall like she was simply floating through life. She had resigned herself to the idea that it would always be like that from now on. But things changed again and she couldn't be more grateful. It would be beyond cruel to lose it all again. Actually, Montserrat couldn't see herself getting past it all over again if she lost Rafael.

"No more tears," came Thomas' voice.

Montserrat snapped out of her thoughts to find there were new tears rolling down her cheeks. "Sorry," she sniffed, wiping the tears off with the backs of her hands.

"No need to be," Thomas told her, "I'm so sorry this is happening, sweetie. But let's have some faith that it'll be okay in the end."

"To be honest Dad…" Montserrat let out a low sigh, "I don't really do the 'faith' thing a lot anymore."

Thomas nodded silently. It wasn't much of a surprise. "The things you see at your job can't leave much hope in the world, I know."

"Mhm," Montserrat nodded. She could let her father believe it was all because of her job. It would be easier for him that way.

"But in times like these...who do you turn to for strength?" Thomas asked curiously. "People pray to God, or other saints or something. What do you pray to?"

"Nothing," Montserrat admitted. It had been a very long time since she turned to any type of religious prayer. She was non-practicing Catholic at this point. Don't tell Lucia. "Right now, I just think about Rafael and how he's strong enough to come back. You should see him in action, Dad. If I were that guy who shot him, I'd run. I've been on the receiving end a couple times and Rafael doesn't play. And I've only gotten a small taste of the real thing. He's scary. Ask Kara."

Thomas let out a small laugh. "Knowing you, you probably kept it going."

Montserrat nodded. "Hell yeah. He's not right until I say he's right." She shifted in her seat. "Although right now, I'd give anything to hear his smart-ass remarks. An argument. Anything."

Thomas stretched a hand out until he was able to find Montserrat's. "It'll be okay."

Montserrat didn't say much after that. She couldn't wait to see the end of the drive and be at the hospital again. Nick had tried sending her messages but it didn't look like the service in the hospital was doing so well. All his texts were coming in as 'incoming message'. It left Montserrat even more anxious. What if something happened while she was away!?

She practically ran through the hospital, leaving her father to do his best to keep up. "Nick!?" She called as soon as she saw the man in the waiting room. "Your messages weren't coming through! Did something happen?"

"Yeah," Nick nodded, eyes flickering past Montserrat to her father.

"That's my Dad," Montserrat said dismissively. She had no times for introductions right now. "What happened!? Is Raf—"

"He's awake," Nick thankfully cut Montserrat off. He presumed that she had assumed the worst with his answer.

The relief that washed over Montserrat was monumental and yet so short-lived. Nick didn't understand why.

"I wasn't here," she whispered, eyes falling, "I wasn't here for him. God — I told you people I shouldn't have left!"

"Montserrat, you needed to rest," Nick said, "Besides, he woke up like 15 minutes ago. His mom's in there with him right now." Apparently, he'd something really bad because Montserrat's face had paled to a ghostly shade.

"What?" She asked, sounding like she'd lost air as well. "N-n-n-n-no, tell me she just got here too. Please."

"Uuh…" Nick was utterly confused but he still had to answer with the truth and it was not what Montserrat wanted to hear. "She got here an hour ago."

"Crap," Montserrat let out a heavy sigh.

"Montserrat, what's wrong?" Thomas asked her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You should be happy!"

"I am," Montserrat clarified, "But you don't understand. Lucia got very upset with me because I didn't call her immediately when this happened. I called her this morning instead because I thought there was no reason she should lose sleep when I was already here, waiting to hear how the surgery went. She didn't agree. She thought she should've been notified immediately."

"Okay, well, that was then, this is now. Things will change now that Rafael's awake. She was probably very scared too."

"I bet she was," Montserrat agreed, "But she's Rafael's mother. Where do you think he gets his temper from?"

Nobody would answer her. It was better to stay quiet and to help move things along, Olivia arrived shortly afterwards. She'd gotten the call from the doctors themselves as was protocol.

"Is he capable of answering?" She asked the two detectives.

"He might be too tired to remember things right now," Nick said, "I was with him for 10 minutes and he barely said anything about what happened."

"Maybe he doesn't want to talk about it," Montserrat said. "And he shouldn't if he's not ready."

Olivia nodded with her. "Yes, but it's worth asking, don't you think?"

The detective in Montserrat would make her agree but the civilian side of her made her shake her head. That was the part of her that wanted everyone to stay the hell away from Rafael until he was all better.

"There's his mom," Nick said when he saw Lucia emerging from the hallway.

Montserrat immediately pressed her clothes down as if Lucia were going to point them out and add to her fuel against Montserrat. She made herself front front center when Lucia joined them.

"How is he?" She immediately asked the older woman. "Is he — is he talking? Does anything hurt?"

"He had a bullet in his body so yes, he is in pain," Lucia answered sharply enough to have Montserrat wincing each time.

"Excuse me," Thomas cut in just as Montserrat was about to go on. He moved around Nick and Olivia to stand beside his daughter. "There's no need to be that kind of rude. You're both stressed and frightened."

"And who are you?" Lucia demanded, eyebrow raising.

"This is my father," Montserrat said hastily, truly wanting to avoid any kind of confrontation.

"Thomas Novak," Thomas introduced himself, "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't speak to my daughter like that."

Lucia didn't appreciate the tone used on her either. "Lucia Barba," she introduced herself in the same tone as Thomas, "And your daughter knows exactly why I'm upset." She crossed gazes with Montserrat.

"I'm sorry," Montserrat reiterated, sighing. "I didn't want you to go through a sleepless night. You nor Catalina."

"Don't take decisions that don't belong to you," Lucia retorted, "When it comes to my son, I need to be informed about everything that happens to him. I don't know why I didn't get the call in the first place. Do you?"

Montserrat lowered her head. She preferred not to answer for the moment.

"There's no need to argue," Olivia stepped in as well, "We all want the same thing, don't we? For Rafael to get better?"

"Of course," Lucia said incredulously. How dare they think otherwise?

"Okay," nodded Olivia, "Then I'd like to see him right now. I think Montserrat as well."

Montserrat nodded fervently. "I do," she said.

"Don't bother him with the unnecessary, please," Lucia warned as the two women started walking around her.

"I would never," Montserrat said sharply. "But I do want to catch whoever did this to him. And I will."

She followed Olivia down the hallway, preferring not to look back. She couldn't take whatever look Lucia must be giving her right now. She didn't have the head for it either.

"Montserrat," Olivia called twice before she was heard, "Forgive me for intruding but, have you taken some time for yourself with all this going on?"

"Are you kidding? I slept way more than I should have!" Montserrat exclaimed. "He woke up and I wasn't here!"

"I don't mean that," Olivia shook her head. "With this kind of stuff, I presume you would want to go see your therapist?"

"I don't have time for that!" Montserrat said dismissively. "I need to be here!"

Olivia suspected that mindset long before she got the courage to ask Montserrat. "It's important that you take care of yourself first. I'm sure Rafael would say the same thing."

It honestly didn't matter to Montserrat right now. She just wanted to reach the damn room herself and see with her own eyes that Rafael was awake. That's all she wanted. Olivia must have seen it because she didn't mention therapy again for the rest of the walk.

They didn't make a sound when they finally entered the room. If Rafael was really asleep, neither wanted to wake him. Questions would wait. But, as soon as they were in sight, Montserrat saw Rafael wide awake. He seemed a bit dazed but lucid enough to recognize them.

Montserrat forgot all about her conversation with Olivia and rushed forward. "Hii…" She said breathlessly, "You're still awake! You should be sleeping."

"I've done enough sleeping," Rafael muttered, sounding a lot more like himself than Montserrat (and Olivia) expected. He was definitely irritated enough to be himself.

Montserrat grinned widely at his response. She absolutely loved seeing him act like he usually would — it meant he was getting better! She reached for his hand, immediately gripping it. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up. I-I should've been, I know, but…"

Rafael watched Montserrat in a more dazed manner again — his mind went in and out with all the meds he was on.

This, Olivia presumed and since Montserrat seemed too upset with herself to notice, Olivia decided to cut in and help them both out. "Now, Montserrat, I think it's okay," she started slowly, watching Montserrat lower her head out of utter guilt, "You had to go home and rest too." Olivia looked at Rafael who was still trying to make sense of Montserrat's long ramble. "She was here all of last night and Carisi and Amaro and sent her home to sleep and eat."

"Well — why are you apologizing then?" Rafael glanced at Montserrat, eyebrows knitting together with confusion. "It's not like I noticed, right? I was in surgery. At least that's what my mother told me?"

"Is that all she told you?" Montserrat asked rather curiously and slightly worried. She grabbed a chair and sat down beside the bed.

"She said a lot of things but honestly, I tuned her out," Rafael drew in a breath, "The mess might be a blessing in disguise, you know."

"Ha…" Montserrat smiled lightly. That sounded a lot more like him. It truly relieved some of her anxiety. "Still, I'm really sorry. I did want to be here but I…I sort of overslept and…"

"I promise you that I am okay with that," Rafael said, smiling for the first time. "I don't want you forgetting about yourself because of me."

"I'm good, I promise," Montserrat assured, nodding her head fast. She brought their interlocked hands to her mouth, kissing his hand. "I just want you to be okay now. I've been a little crazy."

"A little?" Rafael's smile widened.

"Shut up," Montserrat said hushedly, letting out a small chuckle. She missed this so much. All the nerves were washing out as a familiar warmth flooded her insides.

At the same time, Olivia's phone started buzzing. "I'll be back," she told the two before taking the call.

Montserrat scooted her chair closer to the bed. She held onto Rafael's hand, still keeping her smile. This is all she wanted. Rafael was awake, seemingly recuperating and already taking jabs at her. In all her thoughts, she missed Rafael studying her. He noticed something he truly wished he hadn't. It led to his question.

"How are you?"

Montserrat blinked at first, puzzled with the question. "What — me?" She laughed. "Môj drahý, I'm fine. I'm absolutely fine."

"I'm on some strong medication but I assume you just spoke Slovak but even then…I don't buy it," Rafael said, shaking his head. "You went crazy over me."

"You were shot," Montserrat said, still frazzled having to say that. "What did you think I would do? Happily pass the night with your scotch?"

"Did you save me some, by the way?"

"Rafael," Montserrat warned him not to play jokes right now. "You were shot. It's not funny."

"Oh, I'm not laughing at that," agreed Rafael, "But I am trying to lighten the mood here. I don't want you to worry about me."

"Not right now," Montserrat shook her head, "Don't ask me not to do that when you're here. You have no idea how scared I was when I got the call."

"They called you…" Rafael said, as if realizing something.

"Um, yeah…" Montserrat cleared her throat, "Why did the hospital call me first? Your mother, uh, she was pretty pretty confused about that too."

"Yeah…" Rafael nodded, "Uh…I was going to tell you sometime…definitely not here but…"

"I don't think I've ever heard you ramble so uselessly…" Montserrat laughed almost immediately after saying that.

Rafael deadpanned her for a straight minute while she laughed. "I think I deserve to be cut a little slack, right?"

Montserrat nodded as she did her best to sober from her laugh. "Of course, dear."

It was too late as Rafael was already properly annoyed. "You're my emergency contact," he said in a huff.

Montserrat gasped lightly then, eyebrows raising with pleasant shock. "Am I really?"

"Yes, but you're making me regret it—"

"No, no, I promise I'm good! That's nice to hear, I…" Montserrat could feel the familiar spread of butterflies in her stomach. "When did you…when did you decide to do that?"

"I don't know, a bit back? Is that — are you okay with that?"

"Of course! Yes!" Montserrat was a smiling mess, a deep difference from the past day. She leaned over, carefully, and pressed a kiss on Rafael's lips. "Thank you for that trust in me." There was something else she wanted to desperately say to him but she felt the timing was off and perhaps even imprudent on her part.

Even if Rafael said nothing of it, Montserrat still noticed the subtle scrunch of his nose and the twitch of his mouth every now and then from the pain he obviously felt. He just didn't want to tell her about it — it wasn't shocking for her. He barely got used to the idea of asking her for help in far less serious situations so this situation would require a lot more effort from his side and she wanted to make it as easy as possible for him.

"Do you need anything?" She asked him, "I don't know, like a drink or something? And by that I mean water, of course."

"Damn, and I was just about to ask you for some scotch…"

"I would smack you right now if you weren't hurt!" Montserrat sighed and shook her head. "So listen, I really hate asking you this right now but I need to help so…about that night…"

Rafael already started turning his head away from her. He knew exactly what was coming.

"Do you remember what happened?" Montserrat wanted to be as cautious as possible for his sake. It was physically painful enough and now he would have to deal with any mental trauma he suffered from that evening.

"...a little," he did answer albeit in a low mutter.

"Okay, um, well there is that cashier — Clara?"

At the mention of the young woman, Rafael immediately looked back at Montserrat. "Is she okay!?" He truly didn't remember much after hearing the sound of the gun firing. He was in and out of consciousness but he did have slight memories of the young woman terrified in the shop.

"Yes, she is," Montserrat nodded, smiling lightly. "Did you know she's a med student? I was told she helped keep you stable while the ambulance got to you guys. She called 911. I absolutely love her."

It was Rafael's turn to smile. "Should I be worried?"

Montserrat let out a weary sigh but her broad smile defeated any attempt to sound annoyed. "Shut up."

"I want to tell her thank you," Rafael said a moment later. "She was so scared. I may have yelled at her."

"Lots of people react differently in situations like those. It's a flight or fight thing — you chose fight, she chose flight. All involuntary of course. But please, don't ever choose to 'fight' with a robber."

"Oh, but you can?" Rafael countered on the spot. His smirk didn't help. "You carry — you do that for a living. The way you feel right now is what I always feel about you..."

"I know, I know," sighed Montserrat. This was a conversation she didn't like having because Rafael always had the right. His concerns were right, his points made sense.

Rafael gripped Montserrat's hand as much as he could, which wasn't very much if Montserrat was honest with him. She wouldn't tell him. "I'm not arguing, I'm just telling you this is something we can't control," he told her. "I'm sorry I worried you. I didn't…I didn't see the guy getting up…"

"So you do remember some things, then?"

"Yes…but it's still mostly fuzzy…" If there was one thing Rafael didn't want to do right now, it was having to lie to Montserrat. His gaze lowered to their interlocked hands, which fueled his reasons all over again. "I don't know what they put in my body but I couldn't even tell you my birthday right now."

Montserrat smiled sweetly at him. "I'll make a full list about you when you get home. We can go over it together." She scooted her chair even closer to the bed. "Because when you get out of here, you have two choices about what's going to happen."

"Oh, do I?" Rafael blinked, bemused with the revelation.

Montserrat nodded. "Yup. You have a bullet wound and you need to take care of it. You won't be able to move around so easily — you won't be working," she said the last part as a full on threat in case he had the idea of even discussing the matter. "So, when you get out of here, you can either come home with me where I can help you out."

"Not happening," Rafael said on the spot. "You live with Kara and by extension Carisi. Haven't I been through enough already?"

Montserrat deadpanned him for a short minute. She was honestly expecting a response like that. "Then your other option — and your only other one — is that I come stay with you at your place for a while."

"You'd be willing to do that?"

"Yes, of course. I want to help you and I can't do that if I'm at my own place."

"Montserrat, that's sweet of you and I appreciate it but I don't need help —"

"Yes, you do," Montserrat nodded. This was also something else she anticipated and was well prepared to handle. "Raf, you can't live by yourself right now. Until you can go up and down the stairs on your own, I will be staying with you."

"It's not that the idea of having you around isn't pleasant — because it is — but I don't need you giving up your time just to take care of me." Even as he said it out loud, Rafael thought it was ridiculous. "I can manage on my own. I always do."

"Tough luck because it's not just about you anymore," Montserrat countered with a wry smile, "To your misfortune, and mine, I like you very much. With all your sarcasm and hard attitude, but I like you."

Rafael rolled his eyes at Montserrat. It was, of course, nice to hear something like that but it still didn't take away the feeling of impotence either. There were many things out of his control and Rafael was not used to it.

"Montse—"

"Let me do this, please," Montserrat insisted earnestly. "You're right. I was dead worried about you and, yeah, I want to be close to you for the next couple days because of it. I promise I'll try not to bombard you, okay?" She squeezed his hand in hers. "Please?"

This was a battle he had already lost and Rafael knew it. For all he knew, half her things were already in his apartment. That's not the worst thing that could happen. No, no it absolutely wasn't. Rafael sighed. What he would have given for this conversation to be part of a much better situation than the one they were in right now.

"You can go back home anytime, alright?" He said, instantly earning a beam from Montserrat. "You don't have to stay more than you want and you definitely don't have to do anything for me."

"I don't understand how you graduated from Harvard. You're seriously so stupid," Montserrat said quite honestly, which prompted a hard deadpan from Rafael in return. Montserrat let out a laugh in the next second. "But I want you just the way you are! I missed it all!" She leaned over to give him another kiss. "I missed you," she whispered afterwards. "I know it's insane to say that when we saw each other — what, yesterday? — but I really did miss you so much."

Even while saying it, she still sounded so afraid like he would fall under again. Rafael felt so guilty even while knowing this was way out of his control.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he insisted for her sake. He wished he could get up from the stupid bed and show her — ease her fear and worries. "I don't want you worrying anymore, okay? Calmada."

"I cannot be calm when you're in this situation," Montserrat promptly huffed. "You went ballistic when I had a scratch on my back! I have every right not to be calm about this. Who did this to you? Do you remember anything about the guy?"

Rafael's mind was slow with all the medication, so coming up with a good excuse was even harder than usual. Luckily for him, Olivia returned at that moment.

"Sorry, that was Rollins," the Sergeant said, "She and Fin are going through some possible witnesses." She approached the foot of the bed slowly, both hands in front of her. "Do you think you can give your statement right now?"

Rafael shifted, and in doing so felt a jab of pain on his side.

"Or we could wait…" Olivia said, mistaking his shift for uneasiness.

"I'm good," he said immediately. He glanced at Montserrat, and a moment later he was asking her: "Maybe I do need something after all."

Montserrat nodded. "Anything," she encouraged, "What do you need?"

"A damn glass of water," he said, "They pump meds all night and day and I don't get to eat anything. I'm so thirsty."

"I'll go see what I can do," Montserrat smiled slyly, "Flash my badge and all."

Rafael smiled at her. He knew very well that she would. "Thank you."

"Of course." Montserrat gave his hand a pat then stood up, turning to Olivia. "Keep an eye on him?"

"Oh yeah," Olivia pressed a finger to her cheek then pointed at Rafael.

Montserrat still left with some reluctance, especially when Olivia mentioned that Lucia was asking for her.

"My mother's still here?" Rafael asked, eyebrows raised.

Olivia nodded. "Oh yeah, she's made it clear she's not stepping away for a while."

"She should go home, like you all. I don't need babysitters," Rafael said, shaking his head.

"Oh no, you're not paying Montserrat with that coin when she's had to deal with your mother."

At Olivia's words, Rafael turned his head slightly. "What do you mean by that? Has she been giving Montserrat a hard time?" He wouldn't put it behind his mother given the situation.

Olivia reluctantly nodded. "Yeah. Novak made the call to inform your mother about the situation earlier in the morning. She didn't want Lucia going through a sleepless night like her, much less your grandmother. Lucia didn't like that."

"Is she kidding?" Rafael snapped, not at Olivia but at the situation. "She just told me she hasn't told my grandmother anything about this." He loved his mother, he did, but sometimes she could be a…

"Montserrat didn't tell you?" Olivia assumed with Rafael's reaction. "She probably didn't want to add to your stress."

"Of course," groaned Rafael, although he soon stopped when he discovered it hurt him. "I'll have a word with my mother."

"Sorry," Olivia said guiltily, "I didn't mean to…you know…"

"No, I'm glad you did," said Rafael sharply, "Because Montserrat wouldn't tell me." Nobody would make her life harder than it had to be, not if he could help it. "Don't even tell her that I know."

"Understood," nodded Olivia. "So, about the case…"

"I need you to do something for me," Rafael said out of the blue, startling Olivia.

"Uh, yeah, of course…" Olivia nodded slowly, "What-what do you need?"

Before answering, Rafael's gaze flickered to the door. Montserrat would be away for a while, hopefully. "I need you to close this case."

"Excuse me?" Olivia tilted her head, presuming she heard wrong.

"You heard me," Rafael said, meeting her gaze. "I want the case closed. Cold case, if it must be."

"I don't — I don't understand…" Olivia rubbed her temple, "You want us to…"

"Close the case, yes," Rafael nodded. 'That's exactly what I want you to do. It's my case, and that's what I'm asking for."

"Why?" Olivia never thought she would have to have this kind of conversation with him. If there's anyone who always said what he wanted, it was Rafael. This made no sense. "Are you still processing what happened? Do you need —"

"I already processed it and this is what I need to happen," Rafael said, sounding very sure of himself. "I know what happens next and I'm not doing that."

"Because of a trial? Rafael, you know that's the natural order of thi—"

"I know," Rafael cut Olivia, his sense of impatience growing. "Believe me, Liv, I know what happens next. I know that you will eventually catch this guy and it will go to trial. I know that their defense attorney will start playing tricks and turn things around for their benefit."

"So you're afraid?" Olivia guessed. "That's also normal…"

"I'm not afraid," Rafael clarified, "I would gladly go along with every part of the process but this isn't about me. It was never about me."

Olivia was utterly lost. She rubbed her forehead relentlessly, leaving faint red marks on her skin. "You're going to have to explain this a little better because I'm not understanding. You don't want us to proceed with the case, you don't want a trial, but you're not scared?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Rafael confirmed, "And you, as my friend and more importantly the Sergeant here, need to help me."

"Why? Why do you want me to do that!?"

"Because that man worked for someone I get the feeling has been watching us for a while now."

Olivia presumed that the struggle she saw in Rafael was for himself. His hands balled into fists on either side of him. His lips pursed together enough to scrunch his nose automatically. But once again, Olivia was wrong because as Rafael had said earlier, this wasn't about him.

"He's been watching Montserrat," he spat darkly. The idea sent him into a frenzy and the only thing stopping its full fledged form was the aching throb he felt on the side of his stomach.

Olivia looked at Rafael both curiously and alarmed. "Why…why would you think that?"

"Because that man told me," Rafael replied, giving the impression that he remembered exactly what happened last night.

Olivia raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?"

"You and I are the only ones who know what happened to Montserrat before she transferred here, so this should be easy to understand," Rafael said, only taking a moment because he abhorred what he had to say next. "That man who hurt her — he's watching her. I don't know how, I don't know when, but he's still got eyes on her."

Olivia was keenly aware of the rising noise from the machine beside the bed. One of them was connected to Rafael's finger — a blood pressure measure. "I think you need to—"

"It makes sense now, what Little Tino told Montserrat when we visited him in jail. He told Montserrat that there was a rule in place…"

The beeps got slightly louder.

"Raf—"

"Nobody lays a finger on the redhead," Rafael repeated the words he now hated himself for. He completely missed them at that moment. A deep scowl marked his face. "He has rules, Olivia, about her, about Montserrat — in his eyes, she belongs to him. I can't — he's just—"

"Rafael!" Olivia snapped to get his attention. She moved to his bedside, urgently motioning him to calm down.

"Liv, we can't let him keep watching her," he told her, finally sounding what he truly was: frightened. He was scared, but not for him. "We can't let this keep going. He's—"

Olivia nodded and once again motioned him to calm down. "You need to take it easy. You have stitches. They can burst," she reminded him. She grabbed Montserrat's chair to sit down. "Okay, you're going to have to walk me through this so that we're on the same page about what happened. Only then we can decide how to proceed from here."

"Fine, whatever, but you can't tell Montserrat anything about this."

"I can't promise that but we can work together to come up with the best solution," Olivia said.

It wasn't good enough for Rafael. He needed to hear it out loud…but he knew he was asking the impossible from Olivia. He'd been on that side plenty of times. It was hypocritical of him to be asking the same thing he denied so many times before.

Yes, he was being hypocritical.

Yes, he was being unreasonable.

But he just didn't care.

He didn't care about anything, not even the frikin stitches throbbing on his side right now. The only thing he cared about was currently outside, getting something he asked her for. She was all he cared about. So damn everything else.

#great work :)#rafael barba #oc: montserrat novak #svu fan fiction #🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

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