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rqgnarok · 11 months ago

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leave a light on - nolan price

prequel for love you better now, but can be read individually

fandom: law & order, law & order special victims unit

wc: 4,735

warnings: canon presence of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, and hospitals. female reader.

summary: nolan's wife gets shot. he tries and fails to deal with that.

author's note below! masterlist / ko-fi / ao3

Nolan misses Liv’s call thrice before he calls for a recess.

The first two he’s stuck cross-examining a witness and doesn’t realize she’s trying to reach him until the third time she calls. He can’t answer– Judge MacNamara is lenient but not enough for Nolan to take a call in the middle of the day– but it goes to voicemail and his screen lights up with Liv’s other calls, constant and insistent.

He immediately knows it’s bad. And he immediately knows it’s about you.

His chest constricts with his panic, breath catching and refusing to enter his lungs as his brain catches up to the situation. The courtroom is suddenly too small and suffocating, his tie a noose around his neck.

It takes McNamara calling his name several times and the DA snidely wondering if the defense needs a minute for Nolan to somewhat snap out of it, pressing on Liv’s contact before the judge finishes adjourning for the day.

“Nolan,” she says, shaky.

Not Price, which is what he’d expect from his wife’s coworker. They’re all friends, sure, but during work hours they fall into the habit of keeping each other at arm’s length. Not right now, for some reason, and Nolan is tiptoeing the line between fine and about to crumble on the courthouse steps from a knock-out panic attack.

“What happened?” Because something must’ve happened. You have one of the most dangerous jobs out there, life-endangering experiences being the norm and coming home not-dead being a good day. But if Liv is calling– if Liv is calling and you aren’t…

Nolan has been psyching himself up for this day since you first told him about joining the police academy. He’s still somehow not ready.

He will never be ready for this.

Olivia hesitates for a second too long and Nolan’s fear gets the best of him. “Olivia. What happened?”

Her voice cracks when she says your name. Nolan grips his briefcase so tightly on the way to the hospital that his hand goes numb, nails digging into the skin of his palm until it’s red and tender.

The knot of anxiety in his belly doesn’t unclench despite the quick, easy ride to Bellevue. New York traffic seems to be doing him a favor, but it isn’t the physical distance he’s worried about. That one he’s able to cross but there’s nothing he can do if his wife is… if you…

Nolan finds himself amidst a sea of NYPD blue as soon as he steps into the reception, talking over each other as they watch over one of their injured own. None of them are familiar faces and his vision tunnels, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears drowning out doctors, officers, and detectives.

Suddenly, the sea of people parts. Olivia is in his line of sight and it gives Nolan something to focus on rather than the never-ending possibilities of what he’s facing here. She looks disheveled, shirt askew and vest still halfway on; hair out of place and expression haunted, but no blood. There’s no blood on her and it's an important distinction for Nolan to make when she seizes his free hand in hers.

“Nolan,” she says, and her voice sounds like static, just like it did on the phone. It isn’t the line but Nolan’s brain filled with noise, like cotton in his ears. “Nolan, are you okay?”

“What happened?” he asks now in person. Liv hadn’t explained, not really. She only told him that you were hurt and they were taking you to Bellevue. You should come too, she’d said, and should had sounded more like need, which did nothing to soothe Nolan’s raising hackles.

His breath stutters. Nolan knows what happened but can’t comprehend it. He’s still holding onto his fucking briefcase and his hands won’t stop shaking.

Liv only blinks at him, mouth open and no words coming out. “Liv. What happened?”

“We were chasing a suspect via foot,” and Nick’s there, too, by Liv’s side, like an apparition Nolan’s broken mind has conjured. His brows are furrowed, jaw tense. “We caught him mid-rape and separated to cover more ground. No one had mentioned a gun during their disclosures, he wasn’t supposed to be armed.”

“She caught up to him first,” Liv continues, shaking her head. “He– Shots went off but we didn’t know– he must’ve known we were onto him. Got his hands on a gun after the first wave of assaults.”

Nolan bites the inside of his cheek. He tastes blood, thinks of his wife. Stops.

“She was alone for two minutes tops,” Nolan wonders if Liv thinks she’s being reassuring. “She’d been shot, we called a bus right away.”

“Where?” Nolan asks tightly.

Liv stares, uncomprehending. Nick answers, “What?”

“Where, where in her body was she shot, how–” he struggles for a full breath and only comes out half successful. “How bad is it?”

Silence.

“Did you– did you not see her?” he wonders, biting. Nolan turns back and forth between his wife’s coworkers, losing his patience. “Were you there, was she– Jesus, Liv, how bad is it?”

“The bullet hit her chest,” Nick says, and Nolan loses all fiery, defensive passion right then and there. His own heart stops for a second, or at least that’s what it feels like when his chest is engulfed by a pressing ache that numbs him all over.

“They took her straight to surgery,” Amaro continues when Nolan finds no answer to that. “Liv rode with her in the ambulance but there wasn’t– it’s in their hands now. They’re taking care of her, pal, okay?” He reaches to touch Nolan’s shoulder, shake him a little. “She’s getting help.”

Where was the help when she was alone chasing a fucking criminal, where the hell were you, huh he wants to say; wants to shout and curse and make a scene, but the words get stuck in his throat and in the next blink he finds himself seated in the waiting room, still surrounded by cops.

God, Nolan thinks, pressing his fingers to his tightly closed lids. When in all your years together could he have seen this coming? The pretty girl in a law course elective that outsmarted half of the senior class still in his life decades later, bleeding out a couple rooms over and threatening to take his heart with her six feet under.

He remembers running into you after that final exam outside the lecture hall. He’d been catching his breath on a bench when suddenly you were there too, smiling as you crouched against the opposite wall, elbows on your knees. You’d nodded. “How’d you do?”

Nolan had stuttered back, flustered in your presence, “I’m, uh, not flushing out yet, I hope.”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“Ask me after I’ve slept some 12 hours,” he’d sighed, messing nervously with his hair. “Things usually seem less dire by then.”

“Would some coffee do the trick?” and Nolan hadn’t known it then, but you’d been nervous too. After all, you’d offered him what would be the first day of the rest of your lives together. No easy feat, but you’d seen something in him that deemed him worthy of you.

“Coffee can work,” Nolan, young and eager, had said slowly. He couldn’t stop grinning, high with lack of sleep and your attention on him. “You’re buying?”

“It’s only fair,” you’d shrugged, but there was something giddy about your expression that still appears in your features these days, bright and young. “You look like you’re about to drop dead.”

“And I still seem like worthy company?”

“I think we can pull a few good hours out of you yet,” a few hours, a few years; Nolan will be as sleepless as he was then on his wedding day out of pure excitement. You’ll have spent the night before the ceremony talking on the phone while in separate rooms since your friends were sentimental little fucks and wouldn’t let him even kiss you goodbye before the big day.

He’d described the few hours apart as agony in his vows, had made the crowd laugh and you cry with the sentiment, and now he wishes he hadn’t. He shouldn’t have said a damned thing, shouldn’t have manifested any sort of agony into your lives because now the illusion cuts off sharply and he’s back in the waiting room, a nurse calling your name while he fiddles with his wedding ring, staring blankly into the hallway.

Liv’s still there for some reason, as are some other officers and Amaro, while the others hunt down the man who landed you here. Munch had snapped at the Captain when he told him he couldn’t stay. Fin had to lead Amanda out by the shoulders, too stricken to walk out herself.

Liv and Amaro stand but it takes Nolan a few moments to return to himself. She tells them, gently, that you’re out of surgery. “She lost a lot of blood, but only some of the bullet’s fragments hit her heart. It was touch and go but the doctor was able to extract all of them.”

Nolan’s lungs open up and he breathes his first full breath since Liv called. He must make a sound, because the attention in the room shifts to him, suffocating and inquisitive. His vision blurs for a second, heartbeat pumping in his ears.

“She’s extremely lucky,” she continues, looking right at Nolan, like it's supposed be comforting. Like that’s what luck means, almost-but-not-quite bleeding out while your heart had to be stitched up back together. “Most people with injuries like this don’t even make it past the ambulance.”

Nolan closes his eyes in anguish. He presses his closed fists against his forehead, elbows on his knees, back hunched. It’s almost like he’s trying to disappear into himself, but the image of an ambulance opening its doors to his flatlining wife refuses to leave him.

“There’s still a long way to go,” she continues, softer, realizing she’s hit a nerve. She turns to Liv and Nick, who are paying rapt attention even as Nick walks close to him to put a hand on Nolan’s shoulder, firm and steady. “She won’t wake up anytime soon. Her body needs rest and to recuperate from the most acute injuries. And the doctor would like to talk about next steps once she does.”

Next steps, Nolan thinks. The only next steps he’s aware of are those that lead to your room. Olivia and Amaro trail behind him and the nurse like a couple of guard dogs, standing alert for any sign of Nolan backing out or collapsing into his grief.

He just might. He feels queasy, nauseous with exhaustion and worry. But then he sees you, and nothing else matters.

“Sweetheart,” he says, devastated, walking to your bed. “Oh, honey.”

Despite his eagerness to touch you, Nolan flails when you’re finally within arms reach. You look asleep for one blissful, hopeful moment, but then Nolan blinks and the light settles; the ashiness of your skin, the uncomfortable placing of your body, the blank expression devoid of dreams or nightmares or consciousness.

He’d usually be embarrassed to have witnesses to such a personal display of affection, but not even Liv and Nick standing at the door can stop Nolan from carefully cupping your face in his hands and kissing the apple of your cheek, lingering and gentle. He’s afraid of touching the rest of you, of jostling you too badly. But the steady noise of your heart rate monitor is a constant, loud reminder that you won’t fall apart that easily.

Liv and Nick linger behind him, talking quietly amongst themselves in sharp whispers. It might or might not be an argument. Nolan would kick them out if he could gather the energy to care.

Benson eventually takes a few apprehensive steps into the room, seemingly having lost whatever fight she and her partner were having.

“We’re on our way out,” she murmurs. “There’s a lead on our guy and Cragen’s calling us all back to the precinct. But if there’s anything…”

She trails off. Nolan doesn’t answer, studies instead the bridge of your nose and the shape of your brows, tries to count your eyelashes and catalog the bruises on your face. Liv sighs defeatedly and reaches for him.

“Whatever you need,” Liv says firmly with a hand on his arm. Still, her steady presence is undermined by the way she keeps looking at you like you’re already in a coffin. For that, Nolan wants her out, can’t stand her even if she rode with you to the hospital and kept you semi-conscious until the doctors took you off her hands. “We’re here for you, alright? All of us, Nolan. I’m serious.”

“Thanks,” he says, monotone, voice rough and cracked from swallowing down his panic and tears. He clears his throat but it does little to help. “Thank you, Liv. For everything.”

Her lips tighten in an unpleased line, but she nods and leaves the room with one last pat to his arm. He’s being ungrateful, he knows. Liv’s the one who found you, who held your hand in the ambulance before they drove you off to surgery. Nolan owes Benson his life.

The thought alone makes him so nauseous he has to clench his eyes shut, breathing shallowly. God, what would he have done? What will he do, if something happens to you? You aren’t out of the woods yet and if something goes wrong, if your body decides to cave in, if the wound gets infected, if there’s something they didn’t catch, if, if, if, if–

He lifts his head and catches his wife’s face, lax and motionless. Once again, the panic settles. He hasn’t gotten the chance to let it unfold the way it needs to.

“I finally got you on your own,” Nolan says, soft, careful not to disturb the semblance of peace in the room.You don’t answer, no matter how badly Nolan wants you to. “You’re very popular. A tough one to find these days, you know.”

You weren’t even supposed to be in today. Cragen had called mere hours after you’d gone to bed and Nolan had done his best to stay up while you got ready to go. You’d kneeled next to his side of the bed and Nolan had leaned in to kiss you without thought, an automatic notion he wishes he’d paid more attention to now.

I’ll call you when I can, you’d nudged your nose against his temple before pressing a kiss there. Nolan had already been half asleep at that point. I love you.

Love you, Nolan mumbled, eyes closed, jutting his chin forward blindly. One more.

He continues as if you had replied. “You’ve got half of the NYPD out there waiting on you. The nurses are rioting, but I don’t think anyone’ll leave until you wake up.”

Nolan’s voice loses the battle, it breaks right at the end of his sentence and so does his composure, eyes burning with tears that for some goddamned reason just won’t fall.

“Please,” he begs to the sky, to God, to no one. “Please, please, please. Wake up.”

He presses his forehead to his wife’s limp hand maybe a little too harshly. Even if your skin is cold and your grip nonexistent, the touch has him sobbing dryly.

An hour ago you were in surgery, out of reach and sight even if you were already getting help.

Three hours ago you were bleeding out in some alleyway in Queens, struggling for your radio to call for help.

Twelve hours ago you were kissing him goodbye, smiling against his mouth despite the dark nature of the case because Nolan kept pulling you in for one more kiss.

One more, one more, one more, his pleads now. Wake up and give me one more, sweetheart, come on.

“Please, honey,” he whispers, wet and nasal with emotion. “I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready yet, I didn’t– I don’t–”

The words don’t come. Nolan chokes, holds your hand in his own. Breathes, breathes, and breathes.

Days keep piling up. You don’t wake up and Nolan doesn’t cry. God knows why, but he can’t, his body on automatic while he solely focuses on your condition. The nurses know him by name and he makes record time to the apartment and back for showers and quick naps, some food for the little appetite he has.

He doesn’t even think to be offended when he’s placed on indefinite leave at work. Nolan can’t bring himself to care, he would’ve stacked up every sick day and vacation time available to stay at your side as much as he could anyway.

The squad offers to stand guard almost daily, which Nolan appreciates, but his object permanence has gone to shit. Whenever he doesn’t have eyes on you his panic rises again like a tidal wave, never quite crashing but dwindling when he sits in that Godawful chair next to your bed. His hand settles your ankle or arm or somewhere he can easily look for your pulse, weak but steady, and it keeps him wearily calm.

It’s desperate, he knows, and more than a little pathetic, but Nolan feels like he’s allowed. Until you wake up to tell him he’s been worrying over nothing he will do as he pleases.

He talks to you. Liv and Amaro have caught him more than once speaking quietly into the lull of the hospital room, holding your hand and drawing soothing motions with his thumb against your skin.

Mom drove into the steps again. The ones in the driveway? They were already loose from last time and now she has Dad driving through every Home Depot in North Carolina to find the right tile to replace them.

Jill sends her best. Last time I saw her she was talking my ear off about her kid’s college fund. Apparently her husband lost half of it during Tuesday night with the boys, whatever that means.

Munch says he owes you 20 bucks from the Giants game from two weeks ago? Which is weird, because you haven’t watched a full game since, like, ‘08. Not like you’re missing anything, but still, your accuracy to outsmart Munch in his own line of work is pretty outstanding.

It helps, though barely. Whenever he ventures over what you’ll do once you’re awake the illusion breaks and so does Nolan’s composure. He trails off, feeling foolish, the weight of his delusion pressing against his chest.

“It’s not silly,” Munch tells him during one of his visits, the book he’s been reading to you resting on his lap. “You’re talking to your wife. If I’d done more of that back in my day then maybe I’d still be married.”

“Which time?” Nolan asks, his lips tingling with the almost want to smile.

Munch points at him, managing a smirk himself. “Exactly.”

He’s so sure it calms Nolan more than you’d expect. So far he’s the only other person who talks about you like you’re still alive and thus, the only one who doesn’t make an indomable rage wash over Nolan whenever they’re in the same room.

He’s the one with him when you wake. You do so in a panic, waking Nolan up from his uncomfortable nap next to your bed. It’s a sudden flail after another as your heart rate monitor goes crazy and you don’t answer any call of your name, terrified and in pain.

It’s awful. Nolan doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how you almost tear your stitches mid panic while doctors and nurses gather around and kick him out with quick accuracy. There’s nothing he can do to help and he knows it, but he’s never supposed to be in a position in which he can’t help you.

He’s doomed to watch from a glass window, helpless, as you suffer without anyone to reach out to.

She woke up but had to be sedated, a nurse tells him after, it’s normal for patients to be unaware of their surroundings after waking up from long periods of unconsciousness. We still haven’t been able to determine neurological damage, so we’ll have to wait until it wears off.

“Kid, kid, hey,” Munch says, alarmed after coming back from the cafeteria with two coffees and finding Nolan sitting outside your room, crying into his knees. “What’s wrong, what happened? I was gone fifteen minutes–”

Nolan tries to explain but the words get caught up in his throat, his grief taking over his sense of logic. She woke up, he meant to say. She woke up and she didn’t know where she was and I stood by like an idiot watching her suffer.

After he’s talked down from a panic attack he says, a mere croak. “She woke up. They don’t know–” his breath hitches “–but she woke up.”

Munch sighs, visibly relieved as he squats next to Nolan, cupping the back of his neck. “Good. That’s good, hey– Nolan. That’s good, okay? That’s one step closer to getting her back. This is good.”

He repeats those words to himself like a mantra. This is good, this is good, this is good, and doesn’t dare to close his eyes for something other than blinking until you’re conscious. It’s hours later, deep into the night when you open your eyes again, groggy and disoriented, blinking into the dark hospital room.

“Honey,” he says, quiet and so, so relieved. You don’t appear to hear him and a flash of fear seizes his heart. He presses the button and calls for a nurse, edging closer to the bed. Nolan says your name, filled with trepidation. “Hey, honey, you with me?”

Arduously slowly, you follow the sound of his voice. You blink at him, gulping and saying, dry as the Sahara. “Nole.”

It’s the most glorious thing he’s ever heard. The smile that pulls at his mouth feels odd on his face, like he’s forgotten how to show joy. How to feel it. He goes to touch your face, hands shaky and reverent. “Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me.”

He offers you a drink and grips your hand all through the nurse’s examination, which you pass with flying colors. While she’s tinkering with your IV, you ask him, “Bellevue?”

“Yeah,” he says grimly, thumb rubbing soothing motions against your skin, trying to infuse some warmth.

“Shot?” you wonder next.

Nolan hesitates. “You don’t remember?”

“Guessin’,” you slur, tired, blinks getting longer each time you close your eyes.

The nurse pipes up then with the same explanations she’s given Nolan the past few weeks: the bullet to your heart, the long-lasting surgery, the even longer coma. You nod in all the right places but your head rests against the pillow and your expression is vacant, like you’ll forget all about it by the next time you wake up.

“Anyone… else?” you ask.

“No,” Nolan responds, watching some tension fall off your frame when he confirms this. He wishes he felt the same, though a selfish part of him would’ve preferred it to be someone else in this hospital bed instead of you; Liv or Amaro, Rollins or even Fin. It’s true, even if the thought is followed by guilt. “No, everyone’s fine, honey. Working their asses off and worried out of their minds, but okay. It’s just you.”

You hum and then promptly fall back asleep, breaths settling into an even rhythm. It’s then that his eyes water and his tears fall on the scratchy hospital sheets where you lay. Oh, Nolan thinks, almost surprised by them. So this is what it takes.

The next time he looks up, hours later, is because you’re reaching to touch his face, tender and shaky. He snaps to attention like a soldier called to the front lines, but there’s no trouble chasing after you, no bad thing happening for once. You’re both okay, safe in your hospital room while nurses and doctors and visitors keep passing by just outside the door.

“You haven’t slept,” you croak out as you drop your hand from where you’d been gently pressing at the bags under Nolan’s eyes, tired from that simple movement. Your chest rises and falls with breaths that are a little too labored, but your eyes are fixed on your husband, worried. “Nole.”

It almost makes him smile: how you worry about other people while you lie with a hole in your heart on a hospital bed. Nolan would laugh if he were sure the sound wouldn’t dwindle into sobbing. There’s nothing funny about this. Nothing.

“‘m alright,” he promises, croaky and wet from previous cries. You’re still a little too out of it, but your face contorts in weak disbelief. You don’t believe him for a moment. He amends: “I will be. And so will you. You’re gonna be okay, honey.”

happy new year!!! i wanted to start the year giving you a little something after being so absent the last couple of months and i've had this piece in my drafts for ages! it was originally waaay longer but i thought i'd end it on a happy note and maybe make a part two if anyone's interested?

anyway! i hope you guys enjoy what has become one of my favorite pairings to write and i hope you had a good time last night and a great 2024! thank you for reading!

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stefanmikaleson1864 · 2 years ago

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I’m here for you

Joe Velasco X Reader

A/N: I hope everyone enjoys this !! If you like my work please comment like and reblog it means a lot to see interactions on my work.

Y/N POV

Me and Joe had this will they wont they thing going on for a while now. You felt like the vibes were there but it was hard because he was a quiet guy.

You also were a little reserved so no one had the guts to talk to each other. But slowly by surely the two of you opened up to each other. Talking and texting every chance you got.

It had only been a couple of months and you were head over heels in love.

Lately thought he had gone through a rough patch and you were trying to be there for him without stepping on toes.

Olivia our captain was against me even talking to him. Which i personally didn’t understand.

I Mean I know what he was accused of but i think we all deserve the benefit of the doubt.

I mean just become someone decided to secretly record an interview we should all turn on him. I feel like he deserved to tell his side of the story.

I let everyone in the unit how I was feeling about the situation which was causing a lot of heat in the unit.

“Y/N what did I tell you about staying away” Captain Benson asked.

“All i did was text him to make sure he was doing that’s all” I said

“You disobeyed my orders i told you flat out no communication” She said

“I didn’t ask about the case or anything he’s my friend I ‘m not going to turn my back on him especially when he needs people now” I said in a defensive manner.

Cap just looked at me and I could tell she was trying to find the right next words to say to me.

“Listen to me I am saying this because you are a great detective and you have a great career ahead of you and you need to stay focused okay” She told me

The words she said to me kind of irritated me a little bit but i kept my composer and bit my tongue. I didn’t want to start a fight and cause more tension.

“I understand cap” was all you could muster out at the moment.

“Your dismissed the days over just go home and get some rest and think about what I said.” She said.

“Yes Ma’am thank you” I said

She put her glasses on and started pulling some papers out of her giant stack she had and started focusing on them.

Finn and Amanda both looked at me with worried look on their faces. I think when I walked out I looked a little mad and upset.

“You know she’s right you just gotta focus on you at the moment” Amanda said

Something in you broke a little and what ever you had been pushing down had worked it way up.

Because you looked over at them sitting in their desk and then spoke out

“I find that a bit ironic considering your history of dating you and Nick Aamaro and then getting pregnant by Lt Murphy who you were under by the way. Me and Velscao are friends and im finding it pretty messed up that were just supposed to turn our back on a friend” You snapped.

Finn looked surprised as hell and Amanda was taken back and not sure on what to say next. Which you didn’t even bother giving her the chance.

You quickly gathered your stuff and then headed out. In the background you heard Finn say

“Just let go and let’s go home” He said

You walked out the squad room and headed downstairs. You were to worked up to even wait for the elevator.

You ran down the stairs and then headed out the front door. The fresh air hitting you in the face made you instantly feel a little better. You just headed to the car and threw your stuff in.

You didn’t even think about going home you just began driving. You tried to clear your head to make you feel a little better. ]

Your stomach started growling and you decided to stop for some dinner. There was a local diner that Joe introduced you to.

You pulled up and got out and walked in . It was pretty quiet and you were thankful for not having to deal with people.

You sat in the booth you and Joe always sat in. You were looking at the menu but not really even paying attention.

You tried to push back frustration tears from everything going on. Suddenly a man wearing a hoodie sat across from you which scared the crap out of you

“Omg what the hell” You asked

You heard a familiar laugh and then calmed down immediately when you realized who it was.

“Joe what the hell are you doing here” You asked

You looked up at him he gave you a sad look.

“I guess i just wanted to see you” He said

“Yeah me to but how did you know I was here” You asked

“Because I know you I figured you were just getting off of work and was probably hungry so you came here and sat in our booth” Joe said

You blushed and smiled at him knowing you so well. Or were you that predictable you thought

“How are you with everything” You asked

“It’s been hard you know having to turn on Chilli and not also you know” Joe said

“ you know what” You asked

“Not being able to talk to you. You have no idea how long I have been wanting to talk to you and see you it killed me” Joe said

“It’s not fair that Cap thinks she can just dictate our personal lives you know I missed you to a lot I have been wanting to see you It killed me too not beng able to see you” You told him.

“I don’t want to bring you down with me” Joe said

“You wouldn’t do that I’m here for everything the good and the bad” You said grabbing his hand.

He took your hand and looked up at you and smiled and gave your hand a squeeze.

“I’m here for you always” you said to him

“I know and that’s the problem he said

Your face kind of dropped and it was hard not to feel hurt.

Joe noticed your face and took his other hand and grabbed your free one and squeezed both of them together.

“It’s not like that i don’t wanna drag you down with me I love you to much” He said

You gave him a surprised look followed by a smile

“You love me” You questioned

He laughed a little bit.

“I’m being serious” you said pouting

“I know me to I’m trying to tell you I love you. Like more than friends you know and I don’t wanna be the reason your career goes up in flames” He said

“Listen here Joe Velscao” you said

“Oh my whole government name it’s serious” Joe said smiling

“Shut the hell up and listen I love you so much and you are the best part of me and I am a better person and detective because of you know and I know it’s only been a couple of month but when you know you know and I just know” You said rambling towards the end.

Joe leaped towards you and kissed you hard. You kissed him back and you were both smiling in each other’s faces.

The kiss broke and he sat down.

“Listen Y/N i love you so much and like you said when you know you know and I do feel that way about you which is why I wanna protect you” Joe said

“I’m here i’m a big girl we are going to figure this out together but you gotta tell me the truth that stuff you said in the tapes was it true” You asked

“Yeah it is but to a point i’m clean I never touched drugs ever but with the dad and son Chilli covered my ass and I owe that to him to help and try and cover his” Joe said

“I know you feel like that but you also know what ever is going on in the past you gotta close the wound and it should be on your time not anyones else’s okay but you know what the right thing to do is” You said

“I know I know your right and i know what i gotta do i just don’t the accusations and the rush to judgement” Joe said

“I get that and I agree that’s not fair to you and you shouldn’t have to prove who you are after all the hard work you been doing. But this is where we are so you need to go and sit down and talk to Oliva and be honest with everything and let the cards fall where they do” You said

“Yeah you're probably right and I know it’s just hard actually doing it” Joe said

“I will go in with you tomorrow okay i got you. You won’t go in there alone.” You said

“Thank you” Joe said squeezing my hand

“Now let’s eat I’m hungry that’s the whole reason why i’m here” You said laughing

“Yes Ma’am” Joe said

The waitress came back over and the two of you ordered. Of course she knew what you were getting because it was the same old thing.

“So uh after this little confession is this considered a date” You asked

Joe’s face lit up red and he looked up at you and smiled.

“Nah trust me you deserve a much better place than this for our first official date” He said

“Oh you don’t know what you just walked yourself into. Because i am going to take you to the most expensive restaurant i can in New York” You said laughing

“Oh you the person who orders the most basic food ever you wouldn’t even eat the nice food so good luck with that” Joe said laughing

“Don’t worry about me” You said smirking.

You both couldn’t contain your laughter of that. Joe really loosened up and relaxed and you both dropped the work conversation after that. T

alking about everything from your favorite shows you would watch together.

The food came out just a little bit later and you both shoved your faces with food. It was either really good or you were really hungry.

The rest of the night you both laughed and talked. You also couldn’t help but wonder how Liv was going to take you defying her orders but that didn’t matter right now.

Because there is no one else you would rather be with than Joe. Nothing could keep the two of you apart from each other.

No matter what happed the two of you would always be there for each other

#joe velasco #joe velasco x reader #joe velasco imagine #joe velasco one shot #octavio pisano #law and order svu #svu imagines #svu x reader #svu oneshot #Olivia Benson #Amanda Rollins #fin tutuola #law and order special victims unit

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megalony · 2 years ago

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Reliving the dream- Part 4

I suddenly felt inspired to write for Rafael Barba and SVU again, I hope you will all like this part. Any requests and comments would be greatly appreciated.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @thereisa8ella @qardasngan

@a-brignac

Masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) and Rafael had to recover from losing their baby 2 years ago, but their lives start to change again when (Y/n) finds out she’s pregnant again.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A smile wormed it way onto Rafael's lips and he paused in his ministrations of undoing his tie when he felt a pair of warm arms securing around his middle. He shivered when he felt (Y/n)'s face pressing between his shoulder blades and her hot breaths fanning against his skin through his dress shirt.

"Hello mi amour," His voice was soft as butter while he threw his tie onto the bed and kicked off his shoes. He had only just walked through the bedroom door and (Y/n) automatically clung to him like he had been gone days instead of hours.

"Hi baby." (Y/n) closed her eyes and inhaled his scent before she tightened her arms around him, not wanting to pull away just yet. She could feel him chuckling quietly and he reached an arm behind him to hold her hip before he slowly turned around in her arms.

With a growing smile, Rafael cupped (Y/n)'s face in his hands and pressed a longing kiss to her lips and he swore she melted against him into a puddle. "How was your day?" He spoke quietly in between kisses and he slowly walked (Y/n) back until her knees hit the bed and she sat down.

Even though she had seen him this morning before work it felt like the hours had dragged until he walked through the door. (Y/n) wasn't ever so keen on being home alone, when they were both at work it was okay because she was busy and around people but if Rafael was working and she wasn't, (Y/n) felt at a loss for what to do. All she wanted was to be wrapped up in his arms lately and the moment he let her go she felt empty.

It didn't dawn on (Y/n) that she was only in her bra and underwear until she watched her husband rake his eyes over her frame and his smile turned into a catfish grin that made her stomach flip. She had been in the process of getting changed after a bath when Rafael came home.

A curious look came across Rafael's lips as he leaned over (Y/n) with his hands resting on her hips and his legs stood between her thighs. He watched intently as she took hold of one hand and moved his palm until it was pressed under her growing stomach. Silence enveloped them and he waited patiently and confused until he felt a small wriggle against his hand that made his face light up.

They were at twenty weeks now so it was about now that (Y/n) would start to feel the baby moving and soon she would feel them kicking and she knew the moment it started, everything would feel real. Up until now she still couldn't get her mind around the fact that they were going to have a baby. That she was going to have a baby.

All she could think about was their baby girl and a repeat of history that would render them childless again.

The chances of having another miscarriage or stillbirth were very slim and extremely unlikely but it didn't make it any easier. (Y/n) wanted to be the kind of woman who could go out and look at baby clothes and buy some in advance without panicking that if she bought even one outfit, she would tempt fate and then she would suddenly have a miscarriage. It didn't feel safe to buy anything or get the spare room set up and decorated, (Y/n) didn't want to do anything until their baby was almost born.

If she was being honest with herself, (Y/n) would rather not get anything ready until she'd gone through labour and was sure they would be able to bring their child home at the end of it all.

Going through labour and ending up with no child at the end didn't even come with feelings, it left (Y/n) and Rafael hollow. They were able to see, hold and cuddle their baby for as long as they wanted but it wasn't the same because they had to savour her touch because one touch had to last a lifetime without her.

"They know their Papi." Rafael smiled charmingly before he pulled back and began to unbutton his shirt.

At their scan next week they would find out if they were having a boy or a girl and though Rafael was excited, he knew (Y/n) was apprehensive. If they had a girl, it would feel like they were replacing Bella and he knew (Y/n) would just be waiting until the day she thought she would miscarry. If they had a boy maybe she wouldn't be so panicked but he wasn't sure.

He wanted her to enjoy the experience like last time, he knew (Y/n) had loved feeling the baby move and watching her body change to look after their baby. He would feel a lot better if (Y/n) was calmer and excited rather than panicked and worried.

"Your mum came round today," (Y/n) slowly rose from the bed with one hand rubbnig soothing circles over her stomach. She made her way over to the chair in front of the window and held out a box to Rafael.

"From mami?" He questioned befoe he took the small blue box from (Y/n)'s hands and set it down on the bed to take a peek.

His breath suddenly got stuck at the back of his throat and he felt himself tense for a few seconds as he looked into the box. Rafael's hands were subtally trembling when he slowly pulled the hand-knitted blanket out of the tissue paper. It was a lovely cream colour with rows in squares and two rows or purple and green bordering around the blanket.

"It's lovely, I cried when I opened it." (Y/n) couldn't speak without her voice breaking and it made tears well up in her eyes.

The blanket was beautiful and it was hand-made which made it all the more special but it hurt.

(Y/n) felt awful when her mother-in-law came round and gave her the gift because she couldn't help but cry when she looked at the blanket. It was touching to have something so lovely that must have taken hours to complete and it would be very special to her child when they grew older. But that was the part that made (Y/n) cry. She didn't know if the baby would be okay or even alive to appreciate this gift.

When they told his mother last time that they were pregnant, she had been over the moon and she made a similar blanket which was champagne white with pink flowers and pink ribbon sewn around the edging. She also made purple slippers for their baby as well but they had been made in vain.

"She's been dying to make some outfits since we told her." Rafael gently folded the blanket back and put it back in the box before he turned towards (Y/n).

"I know, and I want her to make them but we didn't even keep the last blanket she made, we b... I can't do that again."

(Y/n) rubbed at her tired, sore eyes before she sat down on the bed and flopped to lay on her side.

Deep down, (Y/n) wished she had that baby blanket his mother made for them. It might have been something she could hold onto and cuddle when she yearned to have their baby in her arms. It would have been a good source of comfort for them both but they didn't have it anymore. When they lost Bella, they had dressed her in the only outfit Rafael's mother had managed to make for her with how premature she had been and they wrapped her up in the same blanket she had made. Bella was buried with the blanket so she was warm and comfortable.

(Y/n) couldn't go through picking an outfit out and swaddling their next baby up in this blanket to be buried in the ground. She couldn't do it again.

"Querida, we won't have to do that this time." Rafael sat down on the bed beside her and moved his hand to smooth over her stomach. "You can feel them moving about now and we know they're okay. We're gonna have a baby who will be perfect."

A grin broke out on (Y/n)'s face despite the few tears still leaving her eyes and she slowly carded her fingers through Rafael's hair when he shuffled down so that he was level with her stomach. She wasn't sure what he whispered but whatever it was made the baby within her stir before he kissed her stomach.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey hun, you want something to eat?"

Amanda's voice broke (Y/n) out of her thoughts and she tiredly looked up, trying to look around for the blonde who was sitting on her desk across from (Y/n). She had a Chinese takeout pot in her hand and chopsticks in the other that she was clattering together like a crab's pinchers which made (Y/n) smile despite how rough she felt.

Nothing she had been eating recently had stayed down long enough to digest, everything came back up and (Y/n) was feeling worse for wear because of it. She just prayed that Rafael wouldn't come down to the precinct today because she promised him if she didn't manage to keep breakfast down then she would stay home. But she didn't want to be home alone, if anything happened to the baby she didn't want to be alone and work was the best place to be when she was around her friends. It wasn't like she was doing any hard work either when she was bound to desk duty for the foreseeable future.

"No, thanks I'm good." It was tempting, (Y/n) was always partial to some noodles but she didn't want to take the risk. It would be better to fast for the day and let her stomach settle than risk eating something and throw it up later.

"You sure (Y/n)? There's some rice or some plain noodles if you want." Carisi perched himself on the edge of (Y/n)'s desk and held a container out towards her with a bright smile and a fork in his hand because he couldn't work the chopsticks properly.

"No... w-what have you got?" (Y/n) couldn't help the way her lips pulled into a frown when the smell hit her nose like a truck.

It never normally affected her but even the simplest food seemed to smell so horrid to (Y/n) now she was pregnant and it was making bile rise in her throat. All she wanted to do was eat, her stomach was growling with hunger and it was making her head spin but she couldn't when throwing it up again later felt so awful. Her throat burned from the acid when she was sick and her stomach seemed to turn in knots.

Starving herself until she was better would work because she had tried to eat little and often but it only meant she was sick more often. Even water wasn't staying down recently either.

"Sweet and sour chicken, want some?"

The moment Carisi moved the container towards her, (Y/n) leaned back and held her breath so she wouldn't smell the food and she pushed it back towards him, hoping he would get the hint and move it away.

"Sorry Carisi but it smells, could you...?"

"Yeah, yeah sure, sorry. Why don't you try some crackers?" He could see she was feeling a bit queasy and he also knew she hadn't eaten anything for lunch yet. Going without wouldn't be the best idea, at least some crackers would line her stomach and be easier to hold down.

It felt good to eat a few prawn crackers, (Y/n) could feel the tension leaving her body and her stomach- and the baby, seemed to settle a bit more when she ate a few. It was so tempting to gorge out and eat the whole bag but (Y/n) knew better than to do that because it wouldn't help and it was daring to want to try some rice and noodles but she had to pace herself and take it slow. Maybe this afternoon she could try and eat something else.

That was a mistake.

(Y/n) pressed her palm to her forehead and closed her eyes, trying to take a few deep breaths but she could feel the panic bubbling up in her stomach. Eating had been a mistake and it had barely been twenty minutes since she had those crackers and they were churning in her stomach already.

She was going to be sick and she knew it. Pushing herself up onto unsteady feet, (Y/n) tried to smile and walk slowly but she broke out into a sprint for the toilets when she could feel bile rising at the back of her throat and bubbling up into her mouth.

She didn't make it to the toilets.

Her knees caved in next to the water fountain that held her weight for her as she clung to it and heaved onto the floor. Even the cup of water she had managed to have this morning came back up with vengence and everything spilled out onto the floor until she was coughing and spluttering. Her skin was burning against the cold fountain beside her and (Y/n) could feel her body beginning to shake.

"(Y/n)?"

"Fuck," (Y/n) choked on the word as well as the water that was still trying to escape her lips.

(Y/n) tried to lift her head to see her husband hurrying towards her but her head felt like it was suddenly full of lead and weighing towards the floor. Even her eyes burned when she looked up through hooded lashes to see a blurry image of Rafael coming at her at full speed.

"Querida, look at me." Rafael's voice was gently but full of worry when he reached her side. He dropped his briefcase to the floor and in an instant his arms were around her waist, keeping her to his side. "Come on, mi amour." His voice was soft and gentle and he let her lean her weight onto him and guide her slowly down the corridor to the toilets.

The moment they got into the toilets, (Y/n) felt like the room had spun on its axis and the only thing keeping her up when her legs caved in was Rafael's arms that swooped under her armpits and hoisted her up so she didn't collide with the toilet.

"Fuck! Sweetheart, you still with me?" He wasn't sure if she had fainted or if her energy had dwindled but when she buckled, he held her back to his chest before he slowly lowered her down to her knees in front of the toilet. Sighing in relief when he heard a small whimper from her lips before her head flopped on the toilet rim and she threw up again.

With a deep breath left Rafael's lips before he kneeled down in the small cubicle with her and gently pulled her hair away from her face.

She didn't look well. Her skin was blotched with sweat and she was burning up and her tired eyes could barely stay open and even though she had been sick, her lips were clearly dry and chapped telling him she hadn't been drinking enough.

It broke Rafael's heart when (Y/n) started to cry mixed with choked breaths when she felt like she could barely breathe at all. If he'd have known she was this bad he wouldn't have gone to the office this morning, he would have stayed home with her and made sure she either ate something or went to the hospital to be checked up because this wasn't good.

"Alright sweetheart, it's okay let it out. I'll talk to Liv and take you to hospital."

(Y/n) didn't want to be like this, she didn't want to be or feel like a burden because she should be able to look after herself and the baby, Rafael shouldn't always have to come to her rescue but it was good that he did. She didn't know where she would be without him.

It took a lot of effort for (Y/n) to push herself away from the toilet and lean back into Rafael but she instantly felt better and relaxed when she leaned into his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. She could feel him kissing her damp forehead and muttering something in Spanish against her hair but she couldn't work out what he said, all she could hear was static in her ears. Her head snuggled further into his chest and a murmur vibrated against her throat but she didn't know what she was trying to say.

"What?" Rafael leaned his chest back and tilted his head down to try and look at (Y/n) to work out what she said but his body tensed and his muscles tightened when she went limp against him and her head lolled against his chest. "Oh, sweetheart."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Rafi?"

"How do you feel, Querida?"

(Y/n) leaned into his touch when his hand smoothed over her cheek and he moved to sit on the edge of the bed she appeared to be laying in. She stayed quiet for a few moments, trying to work out what was happening and remember what she was doing before she woke up here.

She could remember throwing up at the precinct and being in the car with Rafael but everything else was made of cotton wool and clogged up in her mind.

"W-what...?" Her hazy vision looked down at her hand but she shuddered when she saw a needle stuck into her vein on the back of her hand connected to a drip. What were they giving her?

"No, no Querida leave it in, please." Rafael was quick to grab both her hands and hold them on his lap to stop her from trying to take out the IV. He couldn't have her rip it out like he'd seen her do before, there would be blood everywhere and it would only serve to hurt her. It was there to get her fluids up and to get the anti-emmetics into her system so she could start to eat properly without throwing everything back up again.

"How long have we been here?"

"About three hours I think. I brought you to the emergency room and they brought you up here, you're on an IV for fluids and some anti sickness meds so you can start to eat soon. They want to keep you in overnight and make sure you actually keep something down before we go."

He hadn't expected her to remember what happened this afternoon, she had seemed very out of sorts the few times she woke up.

He managed to get her in the car with the help of Carisi and she briefly woke up and then again when they were waiting downstairs in the emergency room. When she woke up again when they moved her into this room Rafael had pinned her down so they could put the cathiter in her vein and since then he'd made a few phone calls and waited for her to come back around again.

"I don't want to stay, Rafi, baby please-"

"You can baby me all you want but we're not leaving until they say you're ready." The way he rose his brow and quirked his lips made (Y/n)'s stomach flutter before she suddenly moved both their hands to rest on her tummy. It only now dawned on her that something may have happened or gone wrong with their baby. "The baby's fine." It was as if he could read her mind and see all the worries floating around and he wanted to quell each one to make her feel better.

He would burn the world down if she asked him to.

His smile suddenly softened and (Y/n) could see his eyes glossing over before he leaned closer until theri foreheads were touching.

"They did a quick ultrasound to double check everything was okay... we're having a baby boy, Querida."

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba one shot #imagine #law and order #law and order svu #Olivia Benson #sonny carisi #Amanda Rollins

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winterstarfall · 8 months ago

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the fact we never got to see rollins and amaro make out on screen once is actually offensive

#not one kiss!!!!! just a shot of him in her apartment coming out the shower and her saying the baby isn’t his!!!#i wanted to see them sneaking around!!!#nick amaro #amanda rollins #nick x amanda #rollins x amaro #law & order: svu #m rambles

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anneowl2803 · 2 months ago

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THIS! There are so many parallels between Amanda and Olivia, but in the end, Amanda is the one with the least unresolved issues.

It’s because she learned how to love herself, which is so important for everyone who is struggling.

The sad part? Olivia was, in my opinion, one of the people who encouraged her to stand up for herself.

Amanda telling Liv that she taught her how to love herself when Liv still doesn’t love herself

#teya talks #oh those who can’t do much teach #law and order: svu #i wrote a whole one shot about this #i need to edit it though #olivia benson #amanda rollins #can’t wait to read it

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oneshotnewbie · 3 months ago

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Olivia Benson and Reader break up. Two weeks after that, they're distant towards each other even though Reader is working with the SVU. Two weeks after Olivia breaks up with Olivia, she sees Reader dancing with a stranger and she is jelly. Maybe she goes to Reader, takes her by the hand without saying a word and brings her to the next room or something and then... it's up to you! Fluffy, Angst and maybe pre-smut pls?

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes pre-smut and the plot is presented. That's why I only recommend reading it if you are over 18+. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

Authors note: Woah.. Lets say I got carried away. I had to cut out a whole section to keep it suitable for my younger audience, even though it hurt my heart to delete my work. There is still a bit of pre-smut like you requested. But I hope you like it anyway ♥

ᕚ---ᕘ

The hum of the neon lights on the ceiling and the roar of the air conditioning mixed with the muted clacking of computer keyboards seemed louder than usual in the busy Special Victims Unit. The air was heavy with unspoken words and broken promises. Everyone in the room felt the change, even if no one said it out loud.

The office was usually a place of hectic activity, where phone calls, keyboards, and hushed conversations formed a constant backdrop. But today was different.

You sat at your desk, eyes glued to the screen in front of you, the words of the report blurred before your eyes. Your mind was far away, on old memories of happy times before everything fell apart. On the woman who had broken your heart. Olivia Benson, Lieutenant and steadfast leader of the team, had been more than just your superior. She was your partner, your confidante, the love of your life. But now she was just your boss, and the distance between you was painfully real.

Since splitting up with Olivia, everything had changed. The dynamics in the office, the atmosphere, even the way others looked at you - everything was different. She had been your rock. Strong, determined, and unwavering. She had always held the team together, been a leader, and the one who never backed down, no matter how hard it was. But now there was something in her eyes that you had never seen before - a coldness, a distance that hurt every time your eyes happened to meet.

You only spoke to each other when necessary, and the times when you had worked as a harmonious team seemed far away. The rupture in your relationship was reflected in every aspect of your work. Cases that were once solved with ease now dragged on. Decisions that were once made instinctively and together now had to be laboriously and formally agreed upon.

Olivia sat in her office, the door only half open. She had tried to throw herself into her work to fill the emptiness in her heart, but it didn't help. Every time she looked up, she saw you - and every time you looked at her, it hurt. Your eyes met briefly through the glass before both quickly looked away again, unable to hide the feelings that still burned within you.

Detective Amanda Rollins, who was sitting at her desk next to Fin Tutuola, sighed quietly and shook her head in displeasure. She and the rest of the team had noticed the unspoken tension and cool politeness between the two of you. "Have you noticed?" she whispered quietly so only her partner could hear her. He nodded, his eyes fixed on the monitor. "Yes, it's hard to miss. It's as if a dark cloud is hanging over the office. Rain is pouring down on us."

"I thought they would stay together forever," she said sadly, more to herself, watching you with a sideways glance. "They were the perfect couple. Why did they have to split up?"

"Sometimes love alone isn't enough," Fin murmured, his voice heavy with life experience and knowledge of the complexity of human relationships. Amanda pushed her chair back and came to your desk, sitting on a corner of the wood, her arms folded under her chest. "What's wrong with you two? You're like two icebergs meeting in Antarctica." she began her conversation, giving you a questioning look.

You sighed and rubbed your eyes. "It's complicated, 'manda. It wasn't exactly a nice break-up. Just leave it, please?"

Amanda shook her head, her face showing compassion and understanding. "I know it's hard, but you both have to find a way to deal with it. It's not just a burden on you, but on the entire team."

You nodded, but you knew it wasn't that easy. The rifts that had developed between you and Olivia were deep and painful. It wasn't just a professional challenge, but a personal catastrophe that you both tried to overcome in your own way.

Meanwhile, Olivia had made her way out of her office, a stack of files in her hands. She moved through the room with her usual determination, but there was a certain rigidity in her posture. You could see her shoulders tense as she crossed the room to your desk. In the past, you would have known how to calm her down and take away her nervousness, would have known what words and gestures she would have needed. But those days were over.

"Y/n, I need you in my office," she said, not looking directly at you. She handed you a report, your fingers touching briefly before you stood up, your heart beating faster at the thought of being alone with her. The tension between you was palpable as you followed her and closed the door behind you. She sat down while you stood across from her, the desk as a barrier between you.

"We need to talk about the case, you're the lead investigator," Olivia began, her voice professional but cool. "The evidence is thin and we need a new strategy."

You nodded, trying to focus on the conversation, but her proximity made it difficult. "I agree. Maybe we should question the witnesses again and see if we missed something."

Your eyes met again, and for a moment everything else was forgotten. The attraction, the passion, the love - all of it was still there, just beneath the surface. But you both knew it wasn't that easy. Too many things stood between you, things that couldn't be overcome so easily. "We have to stay professional," Olivia said finally, her voice breaking. How she would love to hug you right now. "The team needs us to be strong."

You nodded again, your eyes heavy with unspoken feelings. "I know. But it's hard, Liv. Working with you every day and pretending everything is fine when it isn't."

"We have no choice," she whispered, visibly tense. "We have to find a way to deal with this. For the victims who are counting on us.“

The following days were torture for both of you. You worked side by side, your interactions brief and distant. Each of you tried to remain as professional as possible, but the unspoken feelings and the broken relationship between you and Olivia weighed on you.

One evening, when most of your colleagues had already gone home, you stayed late at the office. You worked on a strategy, trying to distract yourself. Olivia was still in her office, the light on, casting a lonely shadow in the large room you were sitting in.

Finally, you stood up and went to her. You knocked softly on the door and entered when she invited you in. "Olivia, we need to talk," you began, your voice quiet but firm. She looked at you, her eyes tired and sad. "I know, y/n. But I don't know what to say. It's all so... messed up."

"Just tell me it hurts you as much as it does me," you said, your voice growing more intense with each word. "Tell me you regret it."

"Of course it hurts," she replied, her voice shaking as she placed her sweaty and shaking hands on her lap, leaning back in her chair. "I still love you. That will never change. But you deserve better."

Tears glistened in your eyes as she reached out an arm to you, your hand enveloping hers before pulling you to her side. "I love you too, Liv. I don't need anything better, I need you."

Olivia hugged you, tight and desperate, as if she never wanted to let you go. In that moment, you both knew that the love between you was strong, but the reality of your situation demanded more than just feelings. She knew she had to find a way to balance your situation and your work so as not to put further strain on the team.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Two weeks had passed since Olivia Benson ended her relationship with you. Two weeks of stolen glances and feelings that remained unspoken. But life and work must go on, and so Olivia threw herself into her duties while you behaved just as professionally. The team continued to sense that not everything was settled between you, but no one spoke openly.

That evening, the team was at Club Delirium, a popular downtown nightclub, to conduct an undercover operation. The goal was to break up a human trafficking ring, and you had volunteered to act as bait. Olivia watched the scene from a secluded table, her eyes always fixed strictly on you.

The music blared and the lights flickered in different colors. You, in a tight, black, low-cut dress and perfectly styled hair, looked stunning. You were dancing with a strange woman whose hands were on your hips. Olivia felt a stabbing sensation in her chest. Jealousy mixed with the pain of separation burned inside her. A dangerous combination.

Every step you took, every movement, every smile you gave the stranger felt like a slap in the face. Olivia knew it was part of the mission, but it didn't make the situation any less painful. Her hands clenched into fists as she tried to keep her emotions under control.

The plan was simple: get the suspect, a ring leader, to give you information by gaining her trust. But Olivia couldn't focus on the details entering her brain through an earpiece while she watched the woman she loved give herself to someone else, even if only in appearance.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you gave a signal. The suspect had given up the information, and the team moved in to arrest her. The club turned into a chaos of flashing lights, loud music, and cops suddenly appearing. Amidst this chaos, Olivia kept her eyes on only one thing - you.

As soon as the mission was complete and the suspect was taken into custody, Olivia looked for you. She found you at the edge of the dance floor, away from the crowd. She walked up to you, grabbed your hand, and wordlessly pulled you into a side room of the club that served as a storage room.

You were roughly pushed inside, Olivia closed the door behind her and turned to you. Her eyes sparkled with unspoken jealousy. "What were you thinking?" she hissed, her voice lower but charged. You looked at her in surprise and confusion. "It was an undercover mission. I only did what was necessary."

"Necessary?" Olivia stepped closer to you, her presence overwhelming. "It looked like you enjoyed it."

Your eyes widened in shock and anger. "It was part of the job, Liv! You know that better than anyone." you said and she grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer, your bodies almost touching. "I know," she whispered, her voice rough. "But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt me to see you like this."

You took a deep breath, your eyes searching Olivia's. "I'm sorry," you said quietly. "I didn't know it would hurt you so much. After all, you broke up with me, remember?"

Olivia ran her fingers over your wrist, then your arms, until she reached your hands. "I don't want to lose you, y/n. I can't bear to see you with anyone else, even if it's just for a mission."

The tension between you was almost palpable as Olivia leaned even closer to you. "I need you," she whispered before pressing her lips to yours, possessive and desperate. You returned the kiss, your hands grasping Olivia's hair as the passion between you ignited.

In that moment, everything else was forgotten - the separation, the mission, the world outside that small room. There was only the two of you, your love, and the incessant longing that drove you to each other. Olivia pulled you closer to her, her kisses intense and demanding, as if to make up for lost time and broken promises.

You parted, panting, your foreheads leaning against each other. Olivia pulled back a little, her hand sliding to your neck, encircling it with a determined gesture. Her thumb gently stroked your skin while her dark, sparkling eyes searched your gaze intensely. "You're mine," she murmured, her voice deep and possessive.

You trembled under her touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips. "Yes, Liv," you whispered, the words full of desire and devotion. "Only yours."

Olivia pulled you closer again, her lips found yours once more, the kiss stronger this time, even more demanding than the one before. Her hands slid down your back, reaching for you as if she never wanted to let you go again. She pushed you against the wall, her body pressed tightly against yours.

"Tell me you want me," Olivia demanded, her voice dark and rough, gasping for air. "I want you, Liv," you answered, your pupils blown with desire. "I only want you."

Olivia's mischievous and dark giggle filled the small room and she continued to glide her hands over your body. Her lips found your neck, leaving hot kisses on your skin.

Your breathing quickened, your hands grabbed at her shoulders, holding her tight as Olivia continued to kiss and touch you. The world around you faded, there was only the two of you, your love and the burning desire that drove you to each other.

The intensity of the moment seemed to stop time, every touch, every kiss was a promise, a proof of her unbroken love for you. Olivia's hands slid down your sides, finding their way under the dress you wore, leaving a trail of passion on your skin.

"I need you," Olivia whispered, her voice hotter with pure desire. "Now." You nodded, your eyes closing as you surrendered to her. "I'm yours, Liv."

The heat between you was overwhelming, the passion you felt was all-encompassing. In that small room, shielded from the world, you and Olivia found yourselves again, your love and desire for each other stronger than ever.

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xoxo-author · 3 months ago

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Partners in Crime

Authors note: I know SVU doesn't get a lot of love here on Tumblr but I've been binge-watching and love Valasco so here we are!

Pairing: Joe Valasco x Reader (Fem)

Warnings: My god-awful writing, mentions of violence

"You're awake! How are you feeling?"

I tried to offer Rollins a small smile but could only wince as pain shot through my face, "Sore, very sore."

Amanda picked up a chair before setting it down next to my hospital bed and sitting down, "Well after the beating you took, sore is to be expected."

I close my eyes and let my head fall back, letting what happened flow back into my mind. Working the case, getting the tip that Barban was going to be at this warehouse meeting where he wanted to see new talent, him being interested in me and then losing it, the pain for his hits and kicks, his hands wrapping around my neck, and I'm pretty sure I remember Joe coming in but that's when things start to get a little fuzzy.

"Did we catch him?"

Shaking her head, Amanda let out a sigh, "After you were made, we rushed in. Velasco was the first one in there and by the time the rest of us got in there, Barban was unconscious on the floor next to you, and his face took a pretty hard hit. We get you into an ambulance and off to the hospital then we get Barban loaded up and off to the hospital. On the way to the hospital, his bus got ambushed and someone helped him escape. We don't know where he is yet."

"So I look like this for nothing?"

Amanda chuckles before reaching out and gently squeezing my bandaged hand, "We'll catch him."

I give her a nod before letting out a sigh, a feeling of uneasiness spreads throughout my body. Barban was the worst of the worst and having my cover blown was less than ideal. If he figured out I was a cop then he could figure anything out, he could figure me out. He could figure out where I lived, my family, what precinct I worked in, and who in my life meant something to me.

Letting my head lull to the right, my gaze lands on Joe who was passed out on the tiny green recliner chair.

"He hasn't left since you got here. We've tried to get him to go home, to shower, to eat, to sleep, to take a break but he refuses to leave your side. I have never seen him like this or how he was when you were in the warehouse."

Before I could say anything, her phone started to ring, "It's Olivia, I'm going to take this outside and tell your doctor that you're awake. You should wake him up."

My eyes follow her as she leaves the room, quietly shutting the door behind her, before letting my gaze fall back to Joe.

Slowly, I push myself up into a sitting position and gently move my legs over the side of the bed. Gripping the handrail of the bed and as soon as my feet touched the ground and I was standing, a whimper fell from me causing Joe's eyes to shoot open.

He was over to me in record time, gently grabbing my forearm, "What're you doing?"

Swallowing so maybe it wouldn't hurt as bad to talk, "I'm up, so you're up."

Joe tried to guide me back to sit down but I shake my head, "I want to stand for a little." He nods and his eyes take in my face before moving lower, no doubt checking the damage.

"I'm so sorry, this is all my fault."

I shake my head before tilting it to the side, "This is not your fault Joe."

"If I had been faster to get to you or if we had sent another UC in there with you, none of this would've happened."

Reaching as high as I could without wincing, I place my hand on his chest, "Joe, he figured me out, this is not your fault."

Leaning down, he gently places his forehead against mine, " When I got in there, he had his hands around your throat and you weren't moving and I couldn't tell if you were breathing. I thought I had lost you."

"But you didn't."

**********

"Everything is looking good, the swelling has started to go down and will only continue to do so. The bruises will take a while to heal due to how significant they are. You can take your brace off your hand to shower but I want it on as much as possible. Take your pain meds as prescribed. If there are no questions, I will leave your discharge paperwork, leave you to get dressed, and send transportation to help you. Take care of yourself."

Joe places a bag next to me on the bed before unzipping it, "I brought you some of my clothes because I thought you wouldn't want things rubbing against your bruises."

I smile up at him, "Thank you."

Reaching into the bag, Joe takes out a pair of sweatpants before kneeling to the ground. Joe gently guides my legs through the leg holes before pulling the pants up to my knees. I grabbed the waistband of the pants while he gently wrapped an arm around my waist to help me stand from the bed. I tied the strings while Joe grabbed a white t-shirt from the bag.

I take my arms out of the hospital's gown armholes and hold the gown to my gest. Joe tilts his head to the ceiling while I, as quick as I could, maneuver the shirt on. "You can look now."

Joe shoots me a smile before going to open the door so the transportation guy can wheel the wheelchair in. Walking back over to me, Joe grabs my hands to help me sit in the chair, "By the way, you're staying with me until we catch Barban."

I went to argue but the look on his face told me that there was no way he was going to budge so I simply nodded.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

#law and order svu #SVU #l&o svu #jose velasco #joe velasco #joe velasco x reader #jose velasco x reader #joe velasco imagine #Law and Order SVU x reader #Joe Velasco imagine #Law and Order special Victims Unit #law and order fanfiction

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nophunleague · 1 year ago

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Rafael Barba Appears at the 16th Precinct Again

Rafael Barba x gn!reader

warnings: angst, grudge holding.

You all but crash into the conference room at the 16th, anxious to tell the squad that Mickey Davis had gotten some hot shot attorney, that you had heard courthouse gossip about it. The door swings open and you're met by Kat, Fin, Rollins, and Rafael.

His green eyes almost darken at the sight of you. He's not shocked that you're here, it's just the shock of not having seen you in years that strikes him. Taking in the crowd in the room you barely blink before spitting out at Rafael, "oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, you just look like someone I used to know," before spinning on your heel and storming back out into the squad room. You don't even look up at Liv and the deputy chief as they pass you. Amanda follows after you after Rafael is pulled into Liv's office by the Captain and Deputy Chief Garland. You're sat at your desk, head up in a thousand yard stare.

"Well I think you definitely hurt his feelings, if that's what you were going for," you're broken from your gaze by her speech and you look up to her from your seated position.

"After what he put me through I think what I said was fairly tame."

"You might be right about that, but maybe think about what he's been through too. He nearly threw his entire career away and had to leave you in the process," she tries to reason with you but your eyes narrow as she keeps talking.

"He didn't have to leave me and he should have talked to me first. I showed up to work one day and he was gone. The man I loved left me without a single word. It felt like my life fell apart," you seethe. Amanda looks over your shoulder to see Rafael standing behind you.

"That's very mature of you," she says before walking away, he walks up behind you and gently lays a hand on your shoulder. But you hadn't notice him yet so as he makes contact with your body you jump to face him, hand on your holstered weapon.

"Woah," he throws his hands up, "its just me," you scoff but remove your hand from your hip.

"Just you? Just you?" You start to pace back and forth in front of him, searching for the words to tell him off. But deep down you're glad to see him, he looks healthy, the beard he's grown compliments him.

"We should talk."

"Oh you want to talk now? But you didn't want to talk four years ago when you left," you all but shriek, your voice sparking the attention of those in the precinct. "You pulled the plug on someone's baby, were charged with murder, acquitted, and then you left me. And you didn't talk to me about any of it. We were supposed to be together and you left me out of it," your voice continues to raise as you takes steps closer to him, ending up in his face. His eyes search yours trying to find the person who he had once loved, but all he find is someone who has undoubtedly been incredibly hurt by his actions. The tears are threatening to spill from you eyes but you stay strong. Your raised voice causes Liv to step outside of her office.

"Both of you, take it outside. Now," you glance between Rafael and Liv before turning on your heel and storming out with Rafael following close behind. You meet again in the elevator where this time you stay silent.

"I didn't know how to tell you I was leaving, so I just left," he says quietly. "It wasn't the right thing to do, you didn't deserve that, but I needed to leave here. I was suffocating," the both of you stare at the elevator doors, not daring to look at one another. You reach up and hit the elevator switch, stopping the elevator in its descent.

"No, I didn't deserve that," a tear escapes your left eye at last, but you don't wipe it away. "You threw me away like I meant nothing to you. I would have went with you if you had just talked to me."

"You meant everything to me. I just couldn't let you throw your NYPD career away to come with me on the campaign trail. You were just getting to the point of being on the precipice of making sergeant," his eyes are now glued to the side of you head while you keep looking at the doors. You take a second to think about what you're going to say before raising your voice and making direct eye contact.

"Yeah well I failed the sergeant's exam twice since you left so I'll only ever be a detective now," Rafael can feel the holes your eyes are burning in him, his breath kicks up and he's uncharacteristically speechless for a moment. You huff and flip the elevator switch again allowing it to continue its descent. The doors open on the ground level of the 16th and you start to take a step out when he speaks.

"The day I did what I did to Baby Drew I was meant to pick up a ring. An engagement ring," he hangs his head, not looking at you.

"Oh so one day you were thinking about getting married and then next you were throwing everything we had together away? I don't know why you came back, but I don't think there's any fixing this. Not right now anyway," you shake your head as a few more tears fall.

"Liv and Fin called me," he admits.

"Oh even better, you didn't even come back for me. Tell Liv that I'll be back in a little bit," you storm out of the precinct. Rafael runs a hand through his hair as a tear now escapes one of his eyes. He composes himself quickly then presses the floor number of the squad room to go back up.

"I really fucked that up," he says to himself.

#law and order svu #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba #svu #svu imagine #rafael barba imagine #raul esparza #special victims unit

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serenasoutherlyns · 7 months ago

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cherry baby

“I give them about a month before they’re dating.” “How would you know?” Asked Rollins. “Oh,” said Olivia, “I just do.”

calex. teen. ao3. For @allergictocanon-- I wrote you some fluff!

Sharing SVU was much easier than Alex thought it would’ve been. Casey, it turned out, was very easy to be around, and they’d clicked naturally. After a month or so of going out for drinks after work, they had taken to working at Casey’s on Friday nights, splitting a bottle of wine between them. A reward for the week, a tradition, cheaper and cozier than a bar. Things became so easy between them, passing papers, pens, glasses. Then they started to touch each other, casually, friendly. A squeeze of the hand, an affectionate pat on the thigh. It spilled over into work, it felt like they were in one another’s offices as often as their own. On some level, she had anticipated exactly the opposite to happen when they were both assigned to SVU. She knew Casey’s reputation, and she knew her own. Neither were known for their ability to share. Casey seemed determined not to let conflict happen, though.

April brought cold rain to New York. They rushed inside Casey’s apartment but still found themselves damp. Casey’s hair stuck to her forehead. She turned up the heat as the two of them shivered.

---

“They’re getting close,” Olivia remarked to Rollins upon leaving Alex’s office. Without hardly looking up from their work, Alex had handed them one warrant, Casey another.

“I’m glad they get along,” Rollins said. “It would be a huge hassle if they didn’t.”

“Yes,” said Olivia, “I think it’s a little beyond that.”

“Meaning?” Said Rollins.

“I give them about a month before they’re dating.”

“How would you know?” Asked Rollins.

“Oh,” said Olivia, “I just do.” Amanda caught the hint. That was interesting, she thought.

---

Casey sat down on the couch after changing into dry clothes. She gave Alex her nicest, yet still ratty, sweatpants and long-sleeved tee. She looked amazing casual like this. She even took her hair down. The rain picked up.

“I don’t feel like working,” said Casey. “I don’t have much to do anyway.”

“We don’t have to work,” said Alex. She opened the bottle of wine. Alex knew where her corkscrew was. “Do you want to order Thai food and watch a movie?” Alex stretched her arms above her head and Casey’s eyes were drawn to a sliver of exposed skin at her hip.

“That sounds amazing.” Thunder rumbled outside. Alex paled. “You okay?” Asked Casey.

“Fine,” said Alex unconvincingly. “I don’t like thunderstorms,” she admitted.

---

“Here, let me carry some of those,” Casey said, taking a stack of files from Alex’s arms. Olivia watched them from her desk as they entered the precinct. Alex gave Casey an affectionate look that Olivia would recognize anywhere. She wondered if the two of them had caught on to each other yet. She shot Rollins a smug look. Rollins rolled her eyes back.

“Counselors,” said Rollins. “We’ve got your suspect.”

“So we heard,” said Casey, “What room?”

“Five,” said Olivia.

“Got it,” said Alex. “Amanda, do you want to do the talking? Olivia and I can observe from outside, and Casey can sit in for the lawyer cred.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Amanda. She gestured to Casey to follow her.

Olivia knew Amanda had this under control. She turned her attention to her colleague, who seemed to be observing someone other than the suspect. Alex bit her lip watching Casey. Olivia remembered that well. It took a lot of self-control not to laugh.

---

They picked Pride and Prejudice, Casey’s suggestion. Alex wasn’t the biggest Austen fan, but she would’ve watched whatever Casey wanted. The storm didn’t let up the whole time. Alex did her best not to show it, but she jumped and trembled with every thunderclap. Casey noticed despite her best efforts and placed her hand over Alex’s white knuckles. That did not slow down her heartbeat.

“Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy,” said Matthew McFadyen. As the credits rolled, Alex realized she was pressed into Casey’s side completely. It would be so easy to simply turn her head, her lips would be inches from Casey’s. She coughed and made some space between them, slowly withdrawing her hand. Casey stretched her arms forward. It was almost nine o’clock, and still storming. Alex dreaded going out in this, even if she could call a cab right to the apartment.

“Another one?” Asked Casey sleepily.

“Yeah,” said Alex. “You pick.”

“Are you sure about that?” Said Casey.

“Mhm,” said Alex. “Whatever you want. You’re the one with the DVDs.”

“Good point,” said Casey. “Emma it is.” She grinned. “More popcorn?”

“Please.”

---

At drinks, Olivia was surprised the two of them weren’t making out at the table. Casey leaned into Alex’s space and Alex returned the favor. Olivia wouldn’t be surprised if they were holding hands under the table. She wondered if they had consummated the obvious sexual tension yet. If they hadn’t it would be a matter of days. This was so entertaining. Casey went to grab another pitcher and Alex watched her the whole way to the bar. They shared a carton of peanuts, ignoring the brushes of their fingertips. Casey whispered something in Alex’s ear, and they laughed, Alex tilting her head back. It couldn’t hurt to fuck with them a bit.

“Okay,” said Olivia, “Casey, truth or dare?”

“Oh, come on,” said Casey, “how old are we?”

“That’s something only boring people ask,” said Rollins, catching on to Olivia’s tactics.

“Truth or dare, Casey?”

“Fine,” she said, annoyed at having her attention drawn away from Alex, “Truth.”

“When was the last time you got laid?” Olivia asked. Casey blushed.

“Uh,” she said, “Three months ago.” Alex’s eyes widened, in surprise or jealousy, Olivia couldn’t tell.

“Damn girl, save some for the rest of us,” teased Rollins.

“Whatever, I’m busy. Olivia, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” she said.

“Kiss Rollins,” said Alex. Rollins reddened, but Olivia retained her composure.

“I’m her superior,” said Olivia.

“Who cares? It’s just a kiss.” Amanda apparently agreed. She shrugged and kissed Olivia herself. Damn, thought Olivia. That was fun.

---

When Emma ended, it was eleven. The streets were flooded, but the storm had stopped. Casey was relieved at Alex’s relaxation. But, like hell Casey was letting Alex go home in this.

“I should be going,” said Alex. Casey looked at her like she had three heads.

“What are you talking about? In this weather?”

“I don’t want to intrude,” said Alex.

“It’s not intruding if I’m inviting you,” countered Casey. She held Alex’s hand in her own. Alex looked at their interlaced hands.

“Okay,” she said.

“But,” said Casey, “Do you want to listen to some music?”

---

This was the fifth time Alex had brought up Casey tonight. At dinner. At the dinner where the two of them were supposed to be catching up. Olivia now knew that:

a) Casey was great at her job b) Casey was close with her mom c) Casey loved thriller novels d) Casey was a Godsend in the office e) Casey looked great in her softball uniform.

And Alex had the audacity to pester her about Amanda after that. She was almost ready to trap the two of them in a closet and wait for them to figure their shit out.

---

Casey put on the new Chairlift album. Alex liked it. It was time, Alex thought around track seven. If she didn’t do this now, she wondered if it would ever happen. Casey was saying something, and Alex was taking none of it in.

“Alex?” Said Casey. Apparently, it had been silent for a while.

“Casey,” said Alex, “I.” That was not a sentence with an ending. Casey looked at her wide-eyed, and Alex kissed her. She did what she had wanted to for months. It was everything she wanted and more, Casey’s muffled surprised sound before she kissed her back desperately. Their hands roamed. Casey pulled away.

“Finally,” she said, “finally.”

---

Olivia entered Casey’s office to find the two of them on the couch, equally focused. They were holding hands. Olivia doubted they even knew they were. Finally, Olivia thought.

#calex #casey novak #alex cabot #svu #svu fic #sficx

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yougotthat-write · 7 months ago

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Oui(ji) Had One Hell of a Party (Rafael Barba x Reader)

Word Count: 2,758

Warnings: Ouiji board, spirits, demons, language, alcohol consumption, dumb costumes for all yo faves lmao

Summary: You and Rafael host a Halloween party and it takes a demonic turn.

Author’s Note: This was started probably almost 3 years ago (big oof). I've lost the writing bug so I'm posting what was written and promptly unfinished, lol. Apologies but I still hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 here!

✶⭑✡⭑✶⭑✡⭑✶⭑✡⭑✶⭑✡⭑✶⭑✡⭑✶

Rafael Barba wouldn’t call himself a superstitious person.

He didn’t believe in ghouls, ghosts, and monsters in the typical way that small children would. He was an A.D.A. for Manhattan so he obviously came across fellow humans who did gruesome and unforgivable things, but when you had pulled out that stupid ten dollar Ouiji board that you had bought at the stupid Halloween store, Rafael may had sent a quick prayer up to whichever Lord was occupying the skies above him at that very moment.

His Catholic upbringing was trying to pound its way out of him and it made him down the rest of his scotch in one swallow before stepping over to his bar area to pour himself another drink. The low hum of your Halloween playlist mixed with the chatter of Rafael’s friends from the courthouse and your friends from the 16th precinct.

You sat on your living room floor, hunched over your coffee table, setting up the toy that would allow you to talk to those who had passed on. Sonny shifted on his feet as he stood next to Rafael. Remembering that Sonny was raised very Catholic as well, Rafael figured that this was making Sonny feel stupid for being uncomfortable with a children’s toy just as much as him.

The sound of your hands connecting together in a singular clap made Rafael’s grip tighten around his glass. He looked over at you and saw the “spooky” smile you were trying to give to everyone. The party had died down in the past couple of hours. Olivia Benson and Nick Amaro had gone home because of their kids. Fin Tutuola had gone home because “Halloween is whack! I don’t even like candy.” The rest of the guests had filed out after them in the passing hours.

Now, Sonny Carisi, Amanda Rollins, Rita Calhoun, and Trevor Langan were scattered around the living room. Sonny was next to Rafael, both of the boys standing farthest away from the direct line to demons. Sonny started to get so nervous that his fake mustache for his Sonny Bono costume wouldn’t stick to his upper lip. His counterpart and designated Cher was Amanda. She sat on the floor on the opposite side of you at the coffee table. She held the planchette in her hand, looking at the object with a smirk. Her long brunette wig was tossed to the side next to her.

Rita Calhoun downed another orange Jell-O shot before falling back onto the couch behind Amanda with a sigh. She pulled her long and obnoxious Devil tail from under her and held it in her fingers as she watched you read the directions for the Ouija board. Her Devil horns were slightly crooked on her head but she didn’t seem to notice or care.

Trevor Langan had ditched his obnoxious black cape twenty minutes into the party. He ditched the phony plastic fangs even sooner. His hair was quaffed upwards and if it wasn’t for the dark liner around his eyes and the fake blood on the corner of his mouth, he would look like he was ready for a day at work with his dress shirt, black slacks, and polished shoes.

Rafael would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a bit authoritative in his twenty dollar policeman costume, but he mainly did it to see the annoyed reactions of the 16th precinct detectives. Fin Tutuola had quipped, “Your badge is so cute and tiny, Barba. You got a fake gun too?” Nick Amaro had rolled his eyes so hard at the fellow Latino man that you thought they would roll right out of his pretty little head. Despite you being a fellow 16th precinct detective, you happily supported your boyfriend with finding the policeman outfit that fit his body in all the right places.

Trevor had rolled his eyes when you suggested pulling out the Ouija board but didn’t outwardly object to it like Sonny had. Trevor made his way over to Rafael and Sonny, grabbing a deep red Jell-O shot. He shot it back and then chuckled at Sonny’s uneasy face. But Trevor didn’t miss the uneasiness that was coming from Rafael.

“Scared boys?” The defense lawyer asked with a grin. Sonny scowled over at Langan.

“Shut up,” Sonny muttered. Feeling hot, Sonny pulled the brunette wig off his head. “I just don’t think we should mess with Lucifer and his minions.” Sonny’s Adam apple bobbed. “If Ma finds out about this, she’ll have the church exorcize me.”

Trevor stifled his snort with his hand. “It’s a kids game, Carisi. The box says ages six and up.”

Sonny grumbled under his breath before making his way over to the couch and plopping down next to Rita with a sigh. Rita pouted over at the detective, reaching up and pinching his pink cheek. “Don’t worry Sonny, the Devil is already here and she’s feeling pretty tipsy.” Sonny let out a nervous laugh before leaning out of Rita’s grip and rubbing his sore cheek.

Trevor’s attention was drawn back to the quiet prosecutor next to him. Rafael felt Trevor’s gaze as he lifted his newly poured drink to his lips.

One gulp. Two gulps. Three gulps.

Trevor leaned towards Rafael, “What are you so scared of Barba?” Rafael shot a look over to Trevor.

“There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“Exactly.” Trevor slapped a hand onto Rafael’s shoulder and pushed him over towards the coffee table.

Looking up from the directions, you smiled at Rafael as he was ushered into the living room by Trevor. The pair of fake handcuffs that hung off Rafael’s belt jingled when Trevor’s large hands pushed Rafael down next to you. Rafael swore under his breath in Spanish to the man before Trevor went and perched himself onto the arm of the couch next to Sonny.

“I think we have it set up,” you say over to your boyfriend. Rafael nods subtlety before catching the gaze of Amanda sitting across from him. She watched Rafael from under her lashes and the corner of her mouth twitched up. Looking more head on at the two of you, she slid the planchette onto the board.

The intricate piece of wood was shaped in a triangle with rounded edges. In the center, a small dome of glass made it easy to see whatever was under the planchette when it would be slid around the board.

Rafael wouldn’t tell you — or anyone in the room for that matter — that he did not and would not touch that thing willingly. You grabbed the planchette and placed it in the middle of the board. The intricate letters and numbers were bold and taunting. Rafael swallowed the jumble of nerves trying to push their way up his throat.

He jumped slightly when you touched his arm to motion him to place his fingers next to yours. Taking a moment too long, Trevor cupped a hand around one corner of his mouth and boomed, “Scared of some ghosts, Barba?” Rafael shot another look over to Langan before you grabbed his hands.

Your hands brought comfort to him. They were warm as you guided his fingers over to the planchette and when you lightly knocked your shoulder into his, you whispered out, “Don’t be scared, hon. I’ll protect you,” your left eye dropped down into a wink and while Rafael rolled his own at your retort, it did make him more relaxed.

You motioned for Amanda to do the same. She reached out both of her pointer and middle fingers and found a spot on one of the planchette sides. Amanda spoke quietly, “What should we ask first?”

Carisi’s mouth twisted as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. Rita let out a loud hum, twirling the end of her tail in her hand. “Don’t you have to ask if there’s anyone here in the first place?”

“Yeah, let’s see what we’re cooking with,” Trevor jumped in. He was able to reach over to the side table to grab another Jello-O shot, passing one over the top of Carisi’s head over to Rita who grinned devilishly.

You let out a shaky breath — which threw off Rafael for a split second — and said, “Is there a spirit with us?” While a silence fell over the group, waiting for something, Sonny’s lips moved quickly and quietly as he mouthed a prayer.

You spoke again, more firmly, “Is there anyone who would like to speak with us today?” Amanda’s eyes went from the planchette, to you, to Rafael, back to you, and then back to the planchette. Rafael’s fingers twitched on the planchette, wanting to bring them back close to him, to his body. Or even to intertwine with your own fingers.

Despite the mellow hum of your playlist, there was a long and still silence between everyone in the room. Rita had stilled her tail twirling. Trevor’s mouth straightened into a thin line, eyebrow arched up. Sonny’s hands were clasped together in between his thighs. Amanda had squared her shoulders and she could feel the hair on the back of her neck trickle. Rafael’s mouth opened to say something — he wasn’t sure what he was going to say — but then he felt it in his fingers.

Rafael’s eyes are hard and locked onto the planchette. His fingers twitched as he felt the piece of wood slightly move diagonally away from him and over to the corner of the board where an intricately drawn YES was. When the word made itself at home under the glass dome in the middle of the planchette, Carisi’s voice was shaking, “That’s not funny Amanda,” the Brooklyn man scolded his coworker.

A noise came from Amanda in regards to Sonny’s accusation and when Rafael’s looked over at you under his lashes, you were already looking over at Amanda with a furrowed brow. Amanda felt your gaze on her and when she finally looked up from the planchette, she rolled her eyes, “Fine…fine.” Her hands lifted up in surrender and she scrunched her nose.

“See, nothing to be scared of Sonny,” Trevor snickered, fingers coming to pinch the top of Sonny’s ear. Sonny shouldered the brunette away, brows furrowed in annoyance and mouth lopsided into a frown.

“Bite me, Langan.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Carisi,” Trevor shot back just before shooting back another Jello shot. This one was green.

Rafael was silently thanking Amanda from across the table. Hands brought back close to his being, Rafael let out the breath he was holding. He shivered when you scolded Amanda, “Gimme your fingers and don’t joke about, Amanda.”

Amanda let out a huff of air at your tone. “Alright, okay. Calm down.”

Amanda reached out her fingers again and settled them onto her designated spot on the planchette. You copied her and when Rafael didn’t follow suit, you and Amanda looked over at the lawyer. Rafael felt the room shift over to his attention. He felt stuffy in his cheap police uniform. Glancing over at you, he caught your eyes and he silently pleaded.

You didn’t react for a moment until finally, you silently let him off the hook with the smooth transition of reeling in Langan to put his money where his mouth is. Rafael got up from his spot, maybe a bit too quickly, and went over to where Langan was previously heckling from on the couch. Rafael’s legs were jelly and he was happy to plop down onto the couch, grabbing a Jello shot. He swallowed it down too fast to even acknowledge the color of it.

Trevor Langan dramatically rolled his eyes when you beckon him to substitute in for the demon summoning. But he gladly strolled his way over and sat down next to you on the floor. You had to scooch over a bit to make room for Trevor’s long legs and overall more lankier body. He rubbed his hands together and gave a grin before planting his fingers onto the planchette. “Let’s get this show on the road, ladies!”

Amanda and you exchanged looks before your fingers found their spots. The room went quiet again. Nobody noticed it, but the music had stopped in the middle of a song. Rita found herself needing to rest her eyes as playing with a Ouiji board doesn’t really help overly drunk people stay awake. Her head rested against the shoulder of a rigid Carisi. He didn’t seem to notice the extra weight on him.

“I’ll ask the questions this time since cops aren’t too good with questioning suspects,” Trevor quipped. Amanda glared over at the lawyer. You ignored Trevor and shifted your gaze over to the board. “Hello spirits, demons, and devils–” Rita mumbled out a noise of acknowledgement, eyes still closed, snuggling more into Carisi’s shoulder. Carisi fought the urge to shrug her off because he didn’t want to be rude but he wasn’t in a particular cuddly mood. Trevor continued, “Are you here with us?”

Rafael felt a coldness in the apartment. He noticed the lack of music as the group stayed quiet. Sonny felt his neck get prickly, the hair standing up and a shiver rolled up his back. If Rita was more sober, she probably could have felt it.

“Spir—“ Trevor’s voice started but it was cut off by a yelp from someone as the room went dark, the snap of electricity confirming so.

“Oh, Mother Theresa!” Sonny’s voice was sharp and trembling. Rita let out a hum in question before opening her eyes. The air was rigid and cold. Rafael was quick to jump onto his feet in one swift motion. You blinked quickly, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Slowly but surely, you were able to make out shapes in the room. You were about to call out to Rafael when there was a sharp shriek. It started out high in its caliber but then it morphed into something gruesome and growling.

“What the fuck–” That was Trevor. Then a small light shone in the middle of the room, like a little slice of heaven from above. Rafael’s blood ran cold. Carisi stood abruptly, stumbling over his large feet towards Rafael. Rita curled her legs up onto your couch, hugging the back of the furniture, as if she was using it to ground herself not only physically, but mentally.

Trevor’s hand shook, making the light shive as it shined over onto the blonde detective. You couldn’t believe your eyes. You were sure nobody in the room could.

Across from you, on the other side of your thifted coffee table that took you thirty minutes to convince Rafael to get with you, was Detective Amanda Rollins possessed by something. All of her fingers were bent harshly and weirdly, each one of them touching the planchette in some way. Her shoulders were stiff, but her chin was lifted slightly, mouth slightly agape as she moaned and groaned inhumanely.

Her hair seemed electric. The ends of her blonde strands were lifting at the ends very slightly, strands engulfing around her head. The part that made your eyes water and your heart pound heavily were her eyes. They were wide open and black.

“A-amanda.. This i-isn’t funny!”

Sonny’s voice seemed to shake to the same rhythm as Trevor Langan’s hand. You heard the lawyer mutter more curses under his breath as he stood. Rita was able to swing her legs over the back of the couch and her feet stepped softly towards the front door of your apartment. She paused when Amanda let out another shriek that morphed into a muffled, pained groan.

In the dull phone flashlight, Amanda’s head began to turn, peeking over her shoulder at Sonny. Sonny backed up towards Rafael more, shivering as the two men touched. Sonny’s hand grabbed Rafael’s wrist tightly. “Amanda?” The voice was crackly and harsh, like Amanda had spent her last thirty years smoking two packs a day straight. Her teeth snapped together and her tongue swiped over her lips. She let out a giggle. “Amanda’s not here to play, Dominick.”

#law and order svu #law and order fanfiction #law & order svu #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba drabble #rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fic #rafael barba fanfiction #spooky ooky #was supposed to be for Halloween lolol

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rqgnarok · 28 days ago

Text

a house upon the hill - nolan price

love you better now (sequel, original work)- leave a light on (prequel part 1) - this work is prequel part 2 but can be read individually!

fandom: law & order, law & order special victims unit

wc: 8,838

warnings: conversations about ptsd and ptsd episodes, aftermath of a traumatic event. canon presence of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, and hospitals. female reader

summary: after being shot and waking up in the hospital, the relief of your survival is short-lived.

ao3 / masterlist / buy me a coffee!

author's note below!

The relief of your survival is short-lived.

You’re tired and in pain, the doctors slowly wear you off the meds and your answers to how are doing? gets shorter and shorter to anyone who asks. Your grip around Nolan’s hand tightens further every time someone comes and goes, and by the time you’re leaving the hospital the bags under your eyes are prominent, your cheeks sharper than they were when you first got there.

Nolan, the trooper, writes down and listens carefully to all the instructions given to him about your care. He packs your bags with all the things he brought from your appartment and the get-well-soon gifts given by family and friends. He doen’t notice you shifting restlessly as he struggles to manhandle the wheelchair, regarding it with distrust.

“Okay,” he says faux brightly, hands at his hips and looking between you and the wheelchair. “You ready to get out of here?”

Your smile is brittle as you nod. That should be Nolan’s first clue, how you don’t rise to the banter at the first chance of it. “Alright, come here. The nurse will kill me if I let you pop your stitches.”

Your jaw tightens but you go, holding onto Nolan and digging your fingers into his arms when you rise off the bed and your body feels like it’s being lit on fire. You curse under your breath and Nolan catches it, tries to meet your eye while you struggle to conceal how much you’re hurting.

“If you need a second–”

“I’m fine.”

“Honey, you can’t push yourself too hard,” he reminds you as if you don’t know. “This type of thing doesn’t heal overnight. We can take as long as you need.”

“I just want to go home,” you say, and it sounds so much like begging it makes you sick, makes you mad. “Just– can you just help me out here, please?”

“You just gotta–”

Your reply is biting. “I know, Nolan.”

The room is engulfed by silence. His hands tense where they’re holding you but to Nolan’s credit, he doesn’t let go, even if his mouth is now set in an upset, even line.Your guilt rises like waves but your annoyance drowns it out, and there’s no apology made as you finally sit in the wheelchair, exhaling in relief.

Nolan doesn’t let go until you’re settled in nicely, and even then he remains close; gripping the handles of the chair and standing behind you where you can’t see him.

You’re buried under two sweatshirts and a coat, but the lack of touch leaves you cold nevertheless.

Your almost-month long stay at the hospital has left your home rotting in neglect. Your furniture lays under a thin layer of dust and the dishes from your last dinner together are still in the dishwasher. The dirty laundry hamper is about to blow.

Nolan appears sheepish when your eyes inevitably go towards the chaos, expression unreadable. He’s got his arm around your waist and his grip is tight as you make your way through the apartment. “I was hoping for time to clean up a little before you came home, but I’ll take care of it, promise.”

“It’s fine,” you say, monotone. Nolan can’t really read into it, unsure if you mean it or not. Halfway to the bedroom, you dig your nails into his shoulder, pulling him to a stop near the couch. “This. Here. Here is fine.”

Nolan frowns disapprovingly. “You should really lay down.”

“I can lay down here,” you say, stubborn as always but through gritted teeth. “I don’t wanna go to bed, okay, just– here is fine.”

Nolan visibly disagrees but relents, his mind still stuck in the way you’d snapped at him back at the hospital. You unclench slightly when he finally stops touching you, body limp on the couch. Nolan tries not to bristle.

It’s the first of many uncomfortable, tense interactions. You can’t move around the house on your own and stiffen whenever Nolan reaches out to support you. You’re quiet and short when you’re not, trying and failing to keep everything polite.

You drive each other crazy. Nolan works from home as much as he can and you don’t work at all. No matter how much you beg Cragen to send you some files, your day remains sans responsibilities. There are only so many reruns of Seinfeld you can stand before you’re making up a psychological profile for each of the characters just for the hell of it before you realize you’re losing your damn mind.

“What happened?” he asks one afternoon when you don’t come out for dinner. You’re lying face down on the made bed, curtains drawn shut. When you don’t answer, don’t move, Nolan’s voice turns sharp, calling your name. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” you snap, muffled by the sheets. Your sigh takes over your entire body, pushing yourself up to glare at him. “Nothing. Fucking nothing. Cragen won’t let me back without a therapist’s okay, alright? But other than that, everything’s perfect.”

“Isn’t that standard procedure?” he asks, sitting on the bed with a bowl of pasta on his lap. Your frown deepens like he’s the one who’s keeping you locked inside the house against your will.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Do you know how many people I’ve seen get shot in this job? I don’t see why this is necessary.”

“It doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” he says, quietly.

“You know how department’s shrinks are,” he has never heard you speak about psychological aid with such hatred. “But Stabler used to get a pat on the back and he’d be back to work within the hour. Go figure.”

“And look how that worked out for him,” Nolan says, the wrong thing to add, he can tell, for how you settle back into bed and refuse to face him. He sighs and speaks to your back. “What else did the Captain say?”

“‘You want back on the field, come to my office with discharge papers from Dr. Masters office,” you parrot in a poor imitation of Captain Cragen. “Other than that, he’ll be sending some paperwork my way. As if that’s the fucking point.”

Nolan lets the silence stretch, unsure of how to follow up. He flinches when you turn to scream into the pillow, raw and frustrated. You say, venomous. “Motherfucker.”

He leaves your dinner on the bedside table and leaves without a word like a chastised child, feeling like he’s walking away from something bigger than your wirldwind temper.

—

It gets better before it gets worse. There are days in which you don’t utter a single word and walk through the apartment like you’re haunting it; from bed to the living room to the kitchen, unaware or uncaring of Nolan’s presence. Others, you’re out the door as soon as you’re physically able, disappearing for hours on end, phone off to Nolan’s alarmed dismay.

He calls Liv, Cragen, Munch, anyone who knows you and has the resources to pull a nation wide man hunt until he realizes you always come back and it’s better to welcome you than drive you away by asking questions. Those conversations usually lead to one of you sleeping on the couch and your injuries are still a little too tender for Nolan to let you pass the night on that old thing.

One night he leaves the bedroom for a glass of water and finds you standing in front of the open window in just your pajamas. The air is chilly and your skin is covered in goosebumps, but it’s the look on your face that scares Nolan the most.

“Honey,” Nolan, bleary and confused, comes up behind you. You don’t even flinch. It wakes him up quicker than anything else ever has. Saying your name urgently, he wonders, “What are you doing? It’s freezing.”

“It’s fine,” you say, detached, not even there. You blink, staring dazedly into the night. You don’t snap out of it as he leads you back into your room.

When he asks you about it the following morning you just stare at him, blank-faced, without a single memory of the event.

To no one’s surprise, Dr. Masters gently refuses to sign your discharge papers after two months of leave and therapy sessions. Cragen takes one look at you and caves, albeit hesitantly, to reinstate you to a desk job as long as you follow the mandated breaks to talk about your feelings in an office that smells too much like lavender and vanilla.

You hate it. Absolutely abhor it. Dr. Masters, just like everyone else, wants you to talk about the shooting and nothing else. It doesn’t matter that your memory betrays you, keeping the event locked away in some faraway corner of your mind. According to her, refusing to acknowledge it is refusing to heal from it.

It leaves you short-fused. Home is a few curt words of polite conversation before you begin to snap, annoyed at Nolan’s placid attitude. Even the squad begins to lose their patience, you find yourself in Cragen’s office more often than not, glowering like a kid sent to the principal.

“Talk to me,” is all he says, not we’ve already been too lenient with you or shouldn’t you be over it by now? because he genuinely cares about you, which warms and enrages you all at once.

“What,” you say, purposely dense, arms crossed defensively.

“You’re biting heads off out there like you’re a suspect for a crime,” Cragen replies, no-nonsense. “You’re not in trouble here, I just want to know what’s going on.”

“It’s not on me that no one gets shit done around here,” you lean back against the chair, tense shoulders and sweaty hands. “We wouldn’t be so slammed if you all worried about me a little less. I’m fine.”

“Right,” Cragen says, waiting you out.

“You don’t need to walk on eggshells around me,” you continue, rough. “You can’t hurt me. I’m not gonna break, Cap.”

“Everyone keeps asking what I need– I need everyone to stop looking at me like I’m dead,” you say rushedly. You’ve started now and can’t bring yourself to stop. “I breathe a little funny and they’re on me, wanting to– to make me tea and give me casseroles that won’t fit in my fridge and ask me how I’ve been sleeping, I don’t need that shit–”

Cragen hums knowingly. Then, after a silence:

“How’s Nolan?”

You huff. “Fine. Fine, he’s always fine. Always looking for something to do. He’s cooked more these past few months than in our entire marriage, you know?”

“He’s only trying to help–”

“I know,” you snap. Cragen only stares as you pull yourself together, filled with everloving patience. It’s why he called you in, not to reprimand or punish but to let you breathe without people accusing you of doing it wrong.

“I know,” you say again after several exhales, closing your eyes and tilting your head towards the ceiling, avoiding his eye. “Just because he’s trying doesn’t mean it’s working.”

“Have you thought of telling him that?”

“Sure,” you snort. “‘Hey, honey, can you not ask me how my day went? I zoned out for thirty minutes at my desk and picked at my scar until I snapped myself out of it.’”

“There’s help for that, you know,” Cragen says. “I heard they call it therapy, these days.”

“Name it, I’m on it,” you reply, smiling wryly. “Physical, for anxiety, for PTSD. I should get a goddamned discount.”

The Captain doesn’t laugh. Neither had any of your therapists, for that matter.

“I don’t want to be like this,” you continue after a moment of silence, unsure if you’re allowed, but Cragen only nods. Decades on the job have made him wise beyond his years, sometimes even to his own detriment. “You– I know what you’re all thinking–”

“I’m not sure you do.”

“–but I don’t–” your breath hitches. “If I could be over it already, I would. This isn’t any more fun for me than it is for you.”

“No one thinks badly of you for reacting to something that happened to you,” he tells you, and it’s so close to absolution you could cry right here in front of him with all your coworkers at the other side of the door. You didn’t know it was something you were seeking.

“I can see how they look at me,” you say, quiet. “I know what they want, who they want. I just can’t give it to them.”

“What do you want?” he uses your first name and it disarms something inside of you. It’s an innocent enough question, but it reaches for your lungs and squeezes mercilessly.

“I want it to stop,” the niceties, people explaining your own PTSD to you. The racing thoughts, the breathlessness, the chest pains you haven’t been able to get rid of even if the doctor says there’s nothing wrong with you anymore. Not physically.

You sigh and it comes out shaky. Your eyes burn. “I just want everything to stop.”

Two days later, you mistakenly say this to your therapist, who throws the question back to you with interest. “What do you mean by that? What needs to stop?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, infinitely more annoyed than when you’d been talking about this with Cragen. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe you do know. And that’s what scares you, what has you lashing out over the simplest innocent things. Think about that.”

“Oh, so I’m supposed to do all of the work here? I thought you said this was a partnership.”

Dr. Masters sighs, keeping careful watch over her exasperation. She writes something down, tries again.

You leave the sessions sans any breakthroughs but with enough recommendations to implement at home in hopes of finding normalcy in your marriage once more.

Try doing something together, the suggestion has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Have a movie night or breakfast together before work, host dinners with friends. Make your home yours again, is what I mean.

You try. It’s not a relaxing endeavor. God knows your work schedules suck even now that you’re both working half time, tempers gone through the shredder more than once. Still, you mention it to Liv and she suggests a double date kind of thing, and suddenly you’ve got a full dining table while a migraine inside your temples builds and builds and builds and–

“How you holdin’ up?” Brian asks casually, cutting off your racing thoughts like a record scratching. Your hands tighten around your fork and knife as you swallow down the urge to scream that washes over you at the question.

You think about the sleepless nights and the anger that comes out of nowhere, the inexplicable lack of patience directed at Nolan despite loving him more than anything else. You wonder if Brian would understand, having been shot before. If this is a good as any place to let everything out.

The thought fades as soon as it forms.

“Working on it,” you shrug simply. “Everything hurts and therapy’s a bitch. You know what it’s like.”

Brian snorts. “Fuck yeah, I do. Last time I went down I was so restless, Liv was gonna shoot me herself.”

“Hey now,” Liv says, but she’s smiling behind her wine and has a hand on Cassidy’s knee that inches slightly higher as she teases him. “I will say, going to work sounded like a dream just to get out of the house. You’re get better, though.”

“Hey, anything for the time off, I guess,” you say faux-brightly, a cynical twist of your lips that resembles a smile. “Next time I’ll make sure they shoot me somewhere less tedious, though.”

Brian scoffs and Liv shakes her head, but no one laughs. Nolan clears his throat after an awkward pause, obviously upset. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and leaves it gently on the table as he stands, avoiding your eye. “Excuse me.”

He walks away and closes the bedroom door gently behind him, the living room falling into uneasy silence. You pipe up with dark humor, “You think I’d get more time of if I was stabbed?”

The fight after Liv and Brian leave is a massive, unavoidable bloodbath.

There’s relief in the heat of it all, in a fucked up way. All the pent up agression you’ve been harboring finally has an opponent, even if Nolan doesn’t know he’s bringing knives to a gunfight.

“I hate when you say things like that and you know it–”

“It was a joke, Nolan, for Christ's sake–”

“Well, it’s not funny. For none of us, Liv was there with you in the ambulance and I–”

“Oh, please, tell me how I ruined your life by almost dying,” you scoff, goading. “Please, honey, the floor is yours.”

“Stop,” he says, firm, but his voice wobbles, and his eyes fill up with tears. You hate the sight of him like this and you hate to be the one who causes it. Still, the part of you aching for chaos, for emotion, can’t help but to press at the bruise. “I’m not doing this, I’m not having this argument with you.”

“You don’t have any arguments with me!” you exclaim in disbelief. Nolan purses his mouth in discontent and look away. “You tell me how to feel, what to do, what this whole thing has been like but the second I try to have an actual conversation it’s like your eyes glaze over and you’re fucking gone–”

“You don’t know what it was like for me,” Nolan snaps, tear stained cheeks glittering against the warm light of the bedroom. He hasn’t stopped crying ever since you came home. You hear him sometimes when he locks himself in his office or in the bathroom in the middle of the night. “Getting Liv’s call, the hospital, watching you like that–”

“This didn’t happen to you, Nolan!” you scream. The world has taken a sharper edge after the shooting, and all you can do is attack it likewise. “I laid in my own blood hoping someone would notice I was gone. I wasted away in the hospital for weeks, I am living a life where not a damn thing is right!”

“I’m drowning here,” your voice breaks, losing all its volume and vehemence. “And all everyone keeps telling me is how they feel about it, how I’m supposed to be getting better. I’m not. I’m not, Nolan. For the love of God, can we make this about me for half a second?”

“You,” Nolan begins, but it gets caught up in his throat, dissolves into nothing before you can hear what it is. Nolan shakes his head, adamant. “I’m not doing this.” He gathers his things all while you desperately call his name. The door closing behind him echoes through the apartment not unlike a gunshot in your ear.

That same week, Nolan goes to therapy.

He doesn’t tell you about it, just like he hasn’t told you about the past couple of months worth of sessions. He doesn’t tell anyone, actually. It starts when a victim’s husband loses it mid trial and lounges at her killer right in front of God, the judge and a panicking Nolan. He’s sure he conceals his feelings well, yet his boss takes one look at him and stops by his office at the end of the day.

“Someone recommended him to me,” he says while Nolan traces the dark blue letters of the contact card he just handed him. “I haven’t been to him in years, but he’s good. If you don’t think he can help you then I’m sure he’ll find you someone who can.”

“I–” Nolan begins and leaves it at that. It’s such a quietly kind thing to do for him that it renders him speechless.

“It can’t be easy,” he continues when Nolan doesn’t, endlessly patient, oddly personal. “What she went through, what you’re going through. I’m sure you’re both doing the best you can, but if you ever feel like you need more, well. It’s good to have options available.”

Everything that’s been offered the last few months; the casseroles and the rides to work, home, the hospital, a shoulder to cry on– it’s all been about you, for you. Nolan appreciates it but there’s something conditional about the whole thing, like he’s not worthy of help unless it’s somehow related to his wife.

He loves you. By God, he loves you with everything there’s in him to the point of ruin, but this– this is for him. His boss is offering him a lifeguard he so desperately needs, and it has both everything and nothing to do with you. He gets to be selfish about this one thing, and the thrill of it drowns out the guilt he feels about leaving you in the dark.

“Thanks,” he says, choked. Nolan clears his throat, hoping it comes out with at least some of the gratitude he’s feeling. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

The older man smiles, already at the door and saying his goodbyes. “See you tomorrow, Nolan.”

So Nolan goes to therapy. His first time on Dr. Rhymes’ couch he begins to weep before he can introduce himself. When he resurfaces from his grief, the man is offering him a box of tissues without a hint of judgement in his gaze.

He gets now why you come back frustrated more times than not after a session. It’s like pulling teeth, no matter how badly he knows he needs it. But it helps more than he hoped it would and the nightmares about your death slowly lose some of its gore. His once rusted instincts coming back to its brilliance in court after a week’s worth of full night’s rest.

He gets better. Starts to, anyways, but not you. In your dreams, you still bleed and bleed and bleed.

No one comes to get you. Liv misses the alleyway and chases after the perp, Nolan doesn’t call to wonder when you’re coming home, your gut pulsates with pain until there’s nothing but numbness, nothing but darkness, nothing left of you.

You wake up and don't know where you are. Your flail is purely instinctive, and despite the sharp pain that pulls at your chest you do so again, eyesight blurry, panic rising sharp and quick. Your entire body’s on fire but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter because you don’t know where you are and the perp is getting away, and Liv is still blocks away and, and, and, and–

Bleeding. You’re bleeding, bleeding out and your radio’s too far away and you can see the perp running but can’t hear his steps, there’s only your heartbeat echoing in your ears and the wet taste of death in your mouth as the world fades to black around you–

Sometimes you wake up from nightmares so quietly that Nolan doesn’t notice. Your eyes are closed and then they’re not and that’s all the movement your body can produce even if your heart is hammering against your ribcage. Other nights– nights like this one– you’re drenched in sweat and sprinting to the bathroom before your stomach returns the dinner you ate mere hours ago.

You hear Nolan fussing in the bedroom and picture him as clear as day in your mind; hair rumpled from sleep and eyes bleary, creased pajamas and worry lines on his features like he was supposed to grow into them. And he’s looking for you. Always, always looking for you.

You hate doing this to him but you hate having to go through it alone more. When you feel a cool, protective hand soothe up and down your back where your shirt sticks to your skin, you sob through your gags.

Nolan only says let it out, honey, I’ve got you, just let it go in different variations until the panic subsides. You focus on the timber of his voice, the roughness of sleep coating his vowels and the tilt of his consonants.

The bathroom tile is rough against your knees and your mouth tastes like acid, arms shaking with the effort of keeping you upright against the toilet seat. When you’re done, you fall back to the floor and Nolan is there next to you, ready to catch you.

He cradles you almost like one would a baby and you nestle against his chest, exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” you croak against his heartbeat. Nolan’s hand finds the sweaty nape of your neck and massages the tension out of it, hairs sticking to his fingers.

His soothing reply is automatic but no less honest. “It’s alright. It’s just a dream.”

“Not for this,” you correct, panting against his cotton grey shirt and reaching to hold it in a tight, shaky fist. “I mean– yes, for this, but for before. Everything. In the hospital and for fighting, for not… For everything. I’m sorry I’m like this.”

“Don’t be,” he defends, awfully vehement for a man who’s been awake for less than 10 minutes and is sitting on his bathroom floor at 4 in the morning. It’s the most emotion he’s shown since your last fight and you could weep with the relief it brings you. “Never be. You’re in pain. I’m allowed to want to help you when you’re in pain.”

“I’m tired of being in pain.”

Nolan’s chest shudders and you unclench your fist to lay your palm against it, the beat of his heart fluttering despite his calm demeanor. He shifts his hand to brush his thumb against your cheek, calming. “I know, honey. I know.”

He doesn’t say it’s okay or it’ll get better because as much as you know Nolan hopes so, it’s not the kind of thing he can promise. You wouldn’t want him to.

The sun rises through the horizon. Nolan holds you, holds you, and holds you.

“It’s stupid,” you say against your hands, hours later in your emergency session with Dr. Masters, wet and high-pitched. “It’s so fucking stupid.”

You don't elaborate. She gently goads. “What is?”

“It’s so simple,” your voice drips with disbelief, muscles coiled tight. “It’s so– it was one bullet. One second, and I’m– I can’t let it go. Why can’t I let it go?”

No answer, but you don’t need it. You’re already on a roll. “I’m okay. I’m alright, I recovered. I have my job and my husband and my life back then why am I like this? Why–”

Your voice breaks, a sign of weakness you’re done trying to hide. “Do I not want it? To get better, do I not want it enough? What am I doing wrong?”

“You have to understand, this isn’t something you did,” she sighs, leaving her notebook and pen to lean in closer. “Are you listening to me? This is something that happened to you, not because of you. Healing isn’t linear, isn’t that what you always say to the victims you encounter at work–”

You sniff, sharply wiping at your nose. “Yes, but–”

“But it’s different,” she finishes for you, leaning back against her seat. “Why? Because it’s you? Because you know better since you’re a cop? Because you’re not allowed any moment of weakness in the face of adversity?”

You’re rendered quiet, almost but not quite pouting after being called out so thoroughly. Masters continues. “You keep punishing yourself for reacting to trauma in an unpredictable way. Even that in itself is predictable. There’s no rulebook for this.”

“I know,” you say like you’ve done so many times since this whole thing started, but this is different. It’s not angry or sarcastic. It feels like a tipping point.

“This happened to you. You didn’t chose it,” your therapist says. Then, carefully, like she too is aware you’re on the cusp of something that you might be, finally, ready to hear. “But what you do with it– that is up to you.”

“You got handed this ugly, terrible thing,” she continues. “It’s yours now. And you can let it take over your life or you can take it in your hands and mold it into something you can live with.”

“That’s awful,” you say; tired, honest, terrified. Why should it be up to you? Why is it your job to fix what someone else broke? Master smiles.

“It is. It’s all work,” you say. “At least at first. And then, piece by piece, you make a life with the fragments from before. You get new ones. It’s not gonna be the same, but it’ll be yours. But work. It’s the only way out.”

It’s all work.

The session hollows you from the inside out and the day at the office is a blur. You get home much, much later, weary and exhausted. The sun is already deep behind the horizon and your head is filled with statistics and suspect heights, ethnicities, possible sightings…

Your eyes hurt and Nolan is already in bed, bent over his book with his glasses perched low on his nose. A lifetime ago he would’ve joked they made him look old, and you would kiss him senseless until they went askew and tell him he looked distinguished. It’s such an old, nice memory, both distant and right there for the taking. You get a little breathless just thinking about it.

He looks up to greet you when he hears you come in, tired but genuine. You think mold it into something you can live with and make a decision.

“Hey,” he welcomes you. “How was work?”

“I…” whatever your apprehension is, you visibly shake it off before focusing on Nolan with a sense of determination he hasn’t seen from you in a very, very long time. “I would like you to come with me. To therapy.”

“You… would?” he hates that he sounds so surprised. He places his book on the bedside table, taking his glasses off.

You look as uncomfortable as he feels, but aren’t backing down. You lessen the chasm between you, sitting on your side of the bed and laying your palm flat on the sheets. Realization hits Nolan like a slap to the face.

Here you are, the strange shape that is his wife after hell and back, reaching.

“I think… there are so many things I want to tell you,” you continue slowly, the way you do when you’ve rehearsed before speaking in court as a witness, presenting the case. “that I don’t know how. And so many things you have to say that I haven’t… wanted to hear.”

“But I’m ready,” you nod, grave. “To put in the work. Or– I want to be. And I’d– I’d like you to be with me, when I am.”

“We can go to Dr. Masters or– or I’m sure there’s some names she can draw up. Couples therapy,” you rush to say when Nolan doesn’t answer, desperate for his support. “Or– I mean, maybe you wouldn’t be comfortable with that, but I was really hoping we could–”

“Okay,” it comes out quiet. His nod, though, is resolute. “Yeah.”

You blink, a little startled and hesitatingly hopeful. “You– Yeah?”

“Yes. Okay. Yes, of course.”

“Okay,” you say, relieved, as if he’d ever say no to you. You laugh a little, deflating, running a hand through your hair. “Jesus, okay. Okay.”

A beat, two. Then you say, fragile as a baby bird, breaking the silence. “I’ve been so unfair to you.”

That finally gets him moving. He says your name, devastated. He opens up his arms, surer than he’s been in months. “Come here.”

You sigh out heavily, shakily. Standing, you move to his side of the bed and fall into his arms, work clothes and all.

“We’re alright,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I love you. I’m coming with you. We’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize anyways, crying into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, too,” his voice breaks and his arms tighten. There’s a kiss pressed to your hair that only makes you cry harder. “I’m so sorry, honey, for so many things. But we’re gonna be okay.”

It’s all, all work.

…Mostly.

“The files are on my desk,” Nick nods dutifully as you rattle off instructions, making sure your hair isn’t messed up by your coat. “Fin knows my notes backwards and forwards, if he tries to convince you he doesn’t it’s because he’s lazy, and I already let Cap know–”

Nick laughs, saying your last name knowingly. “It’s okay. Everything’s set, there’s nothing you’ve forgotten. Go have fun for once, will you?”

“Yeah, let us live vicariously through you,” Rollins pipes up as she passes by, an overflowing evidence box in her arms. “I’d kill for a hot date with a hotter lawyer right now.”

“You’d bite his head off before the appetizers came in,” Amaro smirks at her cockily, and you roll your eyes when Rollins predictably rises to the challenge. Behind them, Fin stares at them like he’s regretting all the life choices that led him to work with these people.

“You know what, Bernardo–” Rollins begins.

“Speaking of the devil,” Much pipes up loudly before Rollins starts humming the notes to the West Side Story score at Nick. You shoot him a grateful look but your attention is soon refocused on Nolan, who looks tall and sharp as he enters the precinct. “Good to see you, kiddo.”

“You too, old man. Hey, everyone,” Nolan smiles as he greets everyone else, though it turns shy when he acknowledges you, suddenly unaware of the rest of the room. “Hi, honey.”

“Hey, handsome,” you can’t help yourself, feeling young and foolish. “You look good.”

“Had to match you, didn’t I?” he gives you a once over, long and interested, and you’re so into it you can’t even hear your coworkers making fun of you. “You ready to go?”

“Born ready,” you wave everyone goodbye and then, as soon as you’re out of ear shot, you admit sheepishly, “I’m actually a little nervous. Is that weird?”

Nolan’s laugh is tender, relieved. “No,” he says, looking more relaxed by the admission with his arm poised while you loop your own around it, keeping him close. “I am, too. I haven’t felt like this since you kissed me for the first time.”

“I’m sorry, I kissed you?” you reply. “I very vividly remember being cut off mid sentence about serious crimes punishable by law because someone couldn’t help himself.”

“Our study sessions always were interesting,” Nolan agrees, grin boyish. “Ivery vividly don’t remember hearing you complain about it.”

“Only that it took you so long to do it,” you quip.

“Well,” he tells you as you go into the empty elevator and the doors close behind you, already drawing you in. “Who am I to keep you waiting now?”

Some other weekend, the day is bright and gorgeous and neither you nor Nolan are able to to stay in. You move your slow weekend routines out of the apartment for once, going out for brunch and bringing reading material that doesn't involve case files or suspects statements for once.

You walk around the city with a wonder rarely available to you lately and hold each other close. Halfway through the afternoon Nolan disappears across the street in search of your favorite coffee cart, telling you to stay put with a loud kiss to your cheek that leaves you giddy long after he’s gone.

“Hey, sorry,” he says breathlessly when he comes back, carefully keeping both coffees from overflowing. “They had to make a fresh pot just now.”

“‘s alright,” you say after a beat, smiling at him with an unusual shape to your mouth. It makes Nolan pause.

He asks, endearingly concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s–” you begin and then cut yourself off. You look around, calculating. You shake your head, hoping to drop it. “No. Sorry. I just thought–”

Your breaths come out short despite your best tries to keep the previous atmosphere going. Nolan places the coffees on the sidewalk and stands back up, already reaching. He tries to keep his tone even. Calm. “Honey. Is it okay if I touch you?”

“You– yeah,” you blink, almost surprised to see him. The words rush out of you with relief, like you weren’t sure you still had it in you to be verbal. “Yes, please. Please.”

“Come here,” it’s a relief to him too, both your answer and permission. He draws you in with a protective hand on your back and you shudder into the touch, breathing in and out slowly like Dr. Masters taught you. “Great, you’re doing great. I got you.”

“Sorry,” you says again after a while, back in your body. “I thought it was the street where…” you admit. You’re embarrassed, Nolan doesn’t have to see your face to know it. “For a second, I. I saw the alley and it’s– it was literally just that but I was sure…”

You don’t finish your sentence, drifting off, but Nolan knows you too well. Understanding dawns in and he holds you tighter, protective. The perfectly harmless landscape of the city suddenly shifts before his eyes and he starts to panic. He can’t get you out of here fast enough, but maybe if he tries… an Uber would probably be quicker than walking home…

“Nolan,” you cut off his racing thoughts, oddly comforted by the fact that you’re not alone in your freak out, even if Nolan has been rendered useless by his own agitation. “It’s okay. I was wrong, it’s not the street. I’m good.”

“We can go,” he offers, terribly disappointed that your day is about to be cut short but willing to do that and more for your wellbeing. This? In the grand scheme of things this is nothing. You were gonna spend today in bed anyways. “Or– is there something you need, do you want to call–”

“I want to stay,” you say, sure, cupping his face. Your touch helps him breathe, unclogs his throat and opens up his lungs. “I want to be here with you. I want to keep living my life even with… this. It doesn’t get to win.”

Nolan’s eyes burn, but his grin is too big for his face. He kisses you, long and deep and careless of who’s watching. It’s New York, its streets have seen far worse things than a man knee deep in love with his wife. “It doesn’t get to win,” he affirms, catching his breath. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

You grin, shaky, bright. “You’ve told me so once or twice.”

Hand on hand, you pass by the alley. The day is beautiful.

One night Nolan gets out of the bathroom to find you already in bed, frowning at your book. He passes a towel through his wet hair as he asks, “Is it any good?”

You only keep frowning. “It’s– I mean, yeah, but I. I don’t know.”

“What?”

“Have I read this before?” you ask him, showing him the cover.

Nolan squints, mouthing the words, then his expression clears. “Oh, I know. Did Munch give it to you?”

“Yeah,” you sound surprised. You hadn’t told him about John’s offhand gift, a tattered copy of a book he lent to you the other week. “ How’d you know?”

“He was reading it to you,” Nolan begins, then shrugs and seems to hesitate before he continues. “At the hospital.”

You make a face like you just tasted something sour. “Oh.”

“A part of you must’ve heard,” he continues, softer, searching your face for signs to shut the hell up. Other than the initial realization, he finds only pensiveness. “Must remember.”

“I don’t know,” you say, thinking of days so far away and so present still, sometimes laying between you in bed. “It’d be silly, wouldn’t it? That my brain chose to retain bits of a book I heard while unconscious rather than… you know.”

Nolan breathes in deeply, holds it, and lets it out. He tries feeling comfortable in the silence you’ve built as he thinks his words through. His therapist told him once that if he expected a fight to start out of a conversation then he’d start fighting before he realized what he was doing. He’s trying to be better.

“What do you remember?” he dares to ask. You tilt your head towards your lap, fingers running over the edges of the book to ground yourself in the movements. “About the hospital?”

Your smile is brittle and you don’t look at him when you say, “I didn’t even remember what had happened at first.”

“When I first woke up after– after. I still don’t, mostly,” He watches you, patient and encouraging even when you can’t meet his eye. “Like, you know what happened. I got shot and spent weeks in there, but I don’t– It’s pretty much a blur.”

You sigh deeply. “But I woke up and I was afraid anyways. Like my body caught up to the situation before my mind did and I just– I was in pain, and I needed to get out,” you retell.

There’s barely a memory there; of Nolan’s hand in yours and the sheer relief in his voice, the smell and sounds of a hospital that are too familiar in your line of work.

“Sometimes,” you begin, and that’s where you cut yourself off, turning to him and smiling, fixing the facade back on. Nolan rushes to stop you before you completely hide from him, cupping your face tenderly.

You meet his eye and you look afraid. Nolan can’t blame you, it hasn’t been long since he stopped physically fleeing the room whenever you even hinted at the shooting. But he stays rooted in his spot, even if just to prove you both wrong.

“Sometimes?” he goads, braver than he feels. You look at him intensely for what feels a very long time, then begin to relax against his touch.

“Sometimes,” you say, slowly, like you’re still expecting him to make an excuse and leave you to your feelings. “Sometimes I feel like I’m still there,” you admit, lip wobbling. “Just. Lying there. Waiting for someone to find me. To realize something’s not right.”

Nolan’s throat closes off. You’re not talking about the hospital, he realizes as his stomach drops. You’re talking about the alleyway.

“It’s what I dream about, usually,” you sniff. Talking about the nightmare is better than having it, but it makes you nauseous nevertheless. You breathe in and out, deeply, a couple of times before you find your words again. “I’m lying there and it takes forever for someone to find me. Sometimes no one ever does and I wake up thinking I haven’t left that alley.”

That’s where Nolan’s perspective comes into view. He watches you wake, though only sometimes because there are nights in which you refuse to bother him despite how adamant he’s been about waking him up when you need him. He watches you wake and draws you back from the metaphorical cliff into his arms and your bed.

You’d never told him about the dreams. This is definitely a first.

He does his best to breathe, to keep eye contact. He meant it, the silent vow he made to himself when you came forward and asked him to go to therapy together. He’s through running away from this. If he keeps leaving you every time you feel like this, what makes him any different than the man who left you in that alley, fighting for your life?

He does his best. “I don’t know if I can help,” he admits shamefully, out loud for the first time but for the thousandth time to himself. “But I’m here.”

You shudder with a sniff. Shifting closer to him, Nolan takes your weight effortlessly, like this is what he was meant for. That, he’s never doubted.

“We found you,” he continues, a comfort that works for him as he hopes works for you. “We brought you home. I know exactly where you are.”

You lose the fight and bury your face in his shoulder, shaking in Nolan’s arms for a long, long time. Crying, he can tell, but quietly. He doesn’t tell you to be loud about it if you want to. He’s done telling you how to live through your grief.

“I kept thinking of you,” you admit later, much later, into his shirt. Nolan closes his eyes, wrecked. “Of who would call you, or if you… If you’d have to… to come claim a body.”

You feel him tighten his grip around you.

“You were the first thing I recognized,” you continue, quiet. You’re toying with his shirt, soothing your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. “When I woke up, amidst all that panic, there was you.”

You huff a laugh against him, breath warm. “I don’t know if I’ve thanked you for that lately. Calming me down. You’ve always been good at that.”

“I don’t feel like I’m doing much,” he admits shamefully.

He feels the way you shake your head, unwavering in your truth. “You do everything. You’re everything.”

“Right back at you, honey,” he says, and you hold each other for a very long time.

Halfway through getting your life back, almost nine months after the shooting that shattered your life to the ground, the team finds and collars the perp.

The same gun he used on you shows up in CODIS for another recent crime and you get a warning text from Fin less than ten minutes before he walks in with the suspect. Rollins is stone-faced by his side, both of them holding on to him despite his very obvious lack of struggle.

He barely even looks at you before he’s glancing away, bored. You remain unrecognizable to him but his features spark a flash of awareness deep in your unconscious and you’re excuse yourself to go dry heave in a bathroom while he gets processed.

Your thumb shakes over the screen of your phone, right on top of Nolan’s contact. You should just call him, you know it. You’ve done it before, and your husband would cross the city during rush hour and bend time to his will just to be by your side and hold you through the panic.

You know, but you can’t. You’ve been doing so good lately, finally; after the year from hell your lives are finally getting a glimpse of normalcy, and this– this is a Setback. Capital S setback, and after everything you’ve put him through… God, you can’t keep doing this to him.

You won’t do this to him. You call your therapist instead and hate every single second of it, hate even more that it works; forty minutes on the phone with her and you exit the bathroom with bloodshot eyes but with your chin held high and hands steady.

Amaro is the first to notice you and he catches your stare immediately, but he only nudges a tower of paperwork from his desk to yours and says, “You snooze, you lose, partner.”

“Dick,” you answer, your voice only a bit nasal. You’re so incredibly thankful for him that you could weep again right there and then.

You sit to get back to work, perp nowhere in sight, and bite the inside of your cheek in thought before you pull your phone back out, sending some rapid-fire texts.

Hey

I love you

You sigh and leaf through the papers, looking for where to start. Working through an equally ridiculous amount of files in his office across the city, Nolan’s eyebrows lift in curiosity at your texts.

I love you too

Is everything alright?

The three dots signifying your reply appear and disappear over the course of a few moments. After a while, his phone chimes again.

Rough day. Just wanted the reminder.

But I’m okay, I promise.

I’ll tell you all about it at home tonight.

Nolan sighs out slowly, and trusts you. Because of it, he watches you grow into your own skin again.

Your visits to Dr. Masters get less and less frequent and the damned paper finally gets signed. The nightmares, though not gone, lessen and don’t make you sick to your stomach anymore as you trace Nolan’s features in the dark to soothe yourself back into a slumber. You tell him everything, become more lenient with your resurfacing memories and in return, you hold Nolan as he talks about those days at the hospital and cries until he physically can’t anymore.

It’s so familiar and so, so new. You’re who you’ve always been and yet Nolan finds himself staring at you sometimes, amazed at the differences– a woman reshaped entirely by trauma and victorious over it nevertheless. Victorious because of it.

When you drag him away from the kitchen sink where dirty dishes sit after dinner, he barely puts up a fight. Nolan eagerly follows you to the couch and sinks into your embrace when you tangle your fingers in his hair, shivering against your welcoming touch.

You’re making out like teenagers– like you used to when you were in college– with no specific purpose until Nolan starts to forget himself. His hands are around your waist, squeezing unconsciously while you, on top of him, swallow his sound of elation and run your tongue along his teeth, wet and dirty.

Jesus, Nolan thinks unabashedly, and wants, wants, wants–

He nudges his leg between your thighs, pants uncomfortably tight, when you call his name. You’re pulling away suddenly, bringing him back from a daze, a hand tangled in his hair. Your fingers twitch with restraint as you look him over, pensive.

Nolan sighs, leaning his temple against yours and trying to get his breathing back into a less agitated rhythm. All he gets is a whisk of your perfume and the warmth of your skin, his efforts useless.

“Right,” he murmurs, voice velvet quiet. He’s still trying to preserve the moment even after your new set of boundaries. “Right. I’m sorry.”

You haven’t gone that far since– Since. Nolan can’t recall the details of the last time you were together, one random night the week you were shot. He didn’t think he’d have to, but now he wishes he had committed the night to memory; your skin under his hands, the sounds you made, how you reached bliss together–

“Don’t be,” you say equally as lowly, pupils blown, gaze ardent. “I want…”

You drift off. It’s suddenly urgent, imperative that Nolan knows what you’re asking for, needs to give it to you immediately.

“What?” he murmurs back, thumbing at your bottom lip, bruised and kissed. Your breath is hot against his skin. “What, honey, what do you want? What can I do?”

“Kiss me again,” You say. Then, before he can comply– “Don’t– don’t stop. I don’t want you to stop.”

“You…” Nolan says, shaking his head to pull himself together, attention still hazy around the edges. Your name tastes so sweet when he says it. “You mean…”

“Please,” you whine, and Nolan’s body reacts to the sound all on its own, hips subtly canting up towards you. You press your mouth to his jaw, tongue barely caressing the skin. “Please, Nole, please keep touching me.”

Nolan curses, both at your words and the realization he might not last as long as he’d like if you keep saying these things to him. “Sweetheart. Oh, are you sure?”

Your breath hitches. “God, Nolan, more than anything else.”

“Come on. Come here,” Nolan insists, turning to kiss you so thoroughly he almost forgets the point he’s trying to make. “I’m gonna do this right, okay? We have a perfectly good bed in the other room–”

He scrambles up and takes your hand, taking you with him. You surrender to him and he kisses your hand, the crook of your elbow, your shoulder and neck, in a rush and yet wanting to make this last as long as possible.

You laugh amidst your urgency, rich and lovely, cupping his face and kissing him soundly, rubbing against him. Nolan is a weak, weak man.

“I love you,” you say while he buries himself inside you later in bed, sheets pooled around the both of you, and looking up at him like you can’t believe he’s real. Nolan’s on top of you and he’s got your fingers tangled together; your hands pinned against the sides of your face. They’re points of steadiness as the tension inside him threatens to snap with each thrust, however small. “I love you, Nole, I love you so much–”

He’s not ashamed to say he’s crying when he finally comes, and you cup his face in your hands with a wounded sound when you realize. You kiss him as you finally let yourself go and it tastes like victory. Like work; like blood, sweat and tears. It feels like being yourself, added scars and all, Nolan’s warmth a steady, sure thing against your side.

started this over a year ago and it's finally yours!!! sorry i've been so absent, i've been having the worst writer's block of my life lol but i hope you love this as much as i do! let me know what you think and i hope you see more from me in the next months! thanks for reading <3

#nolan price x reader #leo writes #nolan price #hugh dancy #law & order #law and order #svu #svu x reader #reader insert #olivia benson #nick amaro #amanda rollins #john munch #donald cragen #fin tutuola #svu imagine #one shot #law and order x reader

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ltxoliviabenson · 6 months ago

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Falling In Too Deep || Olivia Benson & Amanda Rollins || @writtenxbeginnings

Captain Olivia Benson's heart damn near stopped when she heard that Amanda had been shot while on assignment to protect a victim. She hadn't been able to get to the hospital until everything was squared away at the scene, and the time it took seemed to take forever. Seeing her was the only thing that had calmed her nerves and fears. She couldn't stop thinking about having to tell Jessie and Billie that their mother wouldn't be coming home.

This job had always come with risks, but it wasn't until she'd had a child of her own that she realized just how detrimental those risks were. She hadn't thought for a moment to give up her job. Her work was too important, but she understood those that did get out of the line of duty after having children. She didn't blame them one bit. Especially when something like being shot or a near miss happened. It affected everyone differently. And to be honest, she was terrified that it would take one of her best detectives, not to mention one of her best friends, away from the job.

She pushed all of that aside as she quietly walked down the hall to Amanda's apartment. Noah had decided to stay with Lucy instead of coming with her to visit Amanda and the girls, and while she was disappointed, she understood. She knocked softly on the Rollins' apartment door with her free hand. In her other hand, she had takeout from Amanda's favorite Italian place with enough food to feed all three of them for a couple of meals.

#t; falling in too deep #writtenxbeginnings

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noellawrites · 2 years ago

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Isolation - Yandere!Rafael Barba x reader

requested by @detectivebarba

summary: After you are shot while on duty, Rafael manipulates both you and the SVU squad to get what he wants.

warnings: shooting, bullet wound, reader is hospitalized, angst, lying, manipulation

A single shot rang out, causing you to turn your head towards where the commotion was coming from. Your service weapon was drawn, but you didn't have time to shoot. The bullet hit you right below your chest.

You slammed into the ground with a groan. Pain ricocheted through your body, but you knew you were lucky. Your vest had caught the bullet.

"11-41, we got an officer down. I need a bus to Irving and East 17th ASAP," you heard Sonny call over his radio.

Liv was on the ground next to you in a flash. She had pulled your vest off and was examining the damage.

"It looks like the vest caught most of the damage. You're going to be fine, (y/n)," Liv assured you.

You watched from the ground as Amanda and Fin apprehended the shooter and wrangled him into the backseat of the squad car.

"P-please c-call Raf," you rasped, and Liv nodded. Your breathing sounded erratic and you were coughing and wincing in pain. Sonny turned around, bending down to the other side of you.

"I think you've got a punctured lung, (y/n)," Carisi explained.

Your eyes widened and tears threatened to spill from them. You couldn't speak, so you only shook your head vigorously.

Liv stood up and dialed Rafael's number. She wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to him, as he was extremely protective of you.

"The vest caught the bullet, but it looks like they have some broken ribs and they're having trouble breathing. I know, Rafa. We'll meet you at Mercy."

—

Everything became a blur once you were loaded into the ambulance. Liv rode with you while Sonny drove the squad car to Mercy. Fin and Amanda were booking the shooter and finishing the paperwork, but promised to come to visit as soon as they could.

A flustered Rafael was already sitting in your room once you were brought back from your emergency surgery. He stood up as soon as he saw the nurses wheeling your hospital bed back in.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, concern thick in his voice.

"Better, now that I can actually breathe. Hey, where is everyone else?" you asked, looking around your private room. There were already four vases of flowers, but no one else was there besides your boyfriend and the two nurses hooking up your IV bags.

"They'd only let one person in at a time, so I told them I was your husband. I'll go out and tell everyone that you're awake and out of surgery, though," Rafael promised.

He leaned over, kissing you on the forehead and smiling at you before he exited the room.

—

Rafael was stunned at just how many NYPD employees had showed up to support you. He walked into the lounge and guessed there had to be at least thirty people. There were lots of beat cops, mostly people he recognized as old friends and co-workers of yours.

He spotted Liv and Sonny standing in a corner with Chief Dodds and IAB Captain Tucker. Rafael approached them and took a deep breath.

"They're out of surgery and conscious. They don't want any visitors, though. Any idea why that son of a bitch would do this?" Rafael said, clenching his jaw in anger.

"Fin and Rollins are workin' on it, but we got nothin' so far," Sonny explained.

"No visitors? Any idea why?" Liv asked, narrowing her eyes.

"They said they didn't want to see any of you. I'm pretty sure they're planning on leaving the squad after this. I'm sorry."

" Well, give them these if you could, counselor. It's from all of us down at 1PP," Tucker explained, handing Rafael a bouquet.

"I will, thank you," Rafael nodded, taking the flowers.

"And these, my ma made an emergency cannoli batch when she heard," Sonny added, shoving a Tupperware container into Rafael's other hand.

Rafael couldn't wait to get back into your room, take your phone and block each and every one of them. He would take care of you and nurse you through your recovery without the squad to bother him.

He was quite proud of this plan he'd set into motion. He paid the shooter handsomely, as he would be serving a few years in prison. It was airtight, nothing could be tracked back to him. And now, you were all his.

—

You woke up from your nap and turned to your left side, where Rafael was sitting. He was texting something on his phone and hadn't noticed you'd woken up.

"Rafa?" you mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"Hey, baby. You have a good nap?"

"Yeah. Did anyone come by to visit?" you asked. You wanted to see your friends more than anything.

"Just Tucker to drop off some flowers," your boyfriend explained.

You frowned, glancing out the window at the New York skyline. You got shot, broke two ribs and your lung collapsed, and your friends couldn't even bother to come see you in the hospital?

"I'll call Liv, I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding. Maybe they think I'm still in surgery or something," you said, grabbing your phone from the tray table beside you.

You clicked on Olivia's contact and tried to press the call button, but your call was immediately rejected.

"That's weird," you remarked, and tried again. Again, the call rejected.

You narrowed your eyes and tried Sonny's contact. Then Amanda. Then Fin. All rejected calls. You turned your phone off, tears welling up in your eyes. Why would they ice you out like this?

"I'm sorry (y/n), but they don't want to hear from you or see you. I tried to call them earlier and only Liv answered. She said you're off the squad. I'm really sorry," Rafael explained, standing up from his seat and moving to stand over your hospital bed. He wiped the tears from your eyes and looked at you with an expression of pity.

"Why would they do this?" you sobbed, covering your eyes with your hands.

"Once you get out of here, I'll move you into my apartment. I'll take care of you, okay? I promise," Rafael said, smiling at you and bending over to give you a hug. He would always protect you, and you would never have to know the truth.

#rafael barba x reader #law and order svu x reader #yandere rafael barba #yandere law and order svu #rafael barba #law and order svu #law and order svu imagine #svu x reader #barba x reader

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broughttoyoubytheletterf · 5 months ago

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I'm sorry but when Olivia says to Fin about Amanda

"I appreciate you having your partner's back. Get her in here now," in that no-nonsense I'll deal with you later tone.

It's golden, *chef's kiss,,* perfection.

You know Cragen said almost the same thing to Olivia about Elliot and to Elliot about Olivia.

And Olivia sighs later that night when she's alone. And writes a letter to Elliot about it.

It's a bad habit she picked up not long after he left. Writing him letters he'll never read. Her version of a journal. Her version of a "healthy coping skill.* She has too many unhealthy ones to count but she's been trying to be better, the borderline reckless sexual decisions and the throwing herself into danger version of "coping" has to be in the past. She's a mother now. So she writes to Elliot.

"I felt like I was talking to myself today El. The always cover for her partner no matter what me of ten years ago. I swear to god I would take our badges for the things we pulled on Cragen if any of my squad pulled crap like we did."

I miss you Elliot. Even after everything. Even when I think about how you left me, how you have never come back. Even though I don't know if I'd punch you or kiss you if I ever saw you again.

It was Fin. I was having to lecture Fin about blind loyalty."

She pauses in her writing and laughs. Because Fin's loyalty isn't blind, and what he did doesn't compare at all to what her and Elliot did. She shakes her head, she needs the comfort of the lie even here in something no one will ever see. She needs to believe that her and Elliot were nothing but friends, but partners.

"Fin was covering for Rollins. Rollins is a good detective and I like her, but......."

Olivia finishes the letter and closes the notebook she writes these in. She tucks it away and she survives this case and then the next case. And she gets shot at and held hostage a few more times. But she survives. And she becomes a Captain and her little baby grows into an almost middle-schooler. She writes to Elliot now and again, but it slows down and then one day she realizes she hasn't thought about him in over a month. And this might be healing. Until one day she sees him again through that haze of smoke and police strobes and he tells her someone tried to kill Kathy. Then it's like she never healed. She never got past him.

He finds the notebook by accident a year after she finally runs out of luck around guns and ends up with a hip full of buckshot. He's back and they want to try to make this work, to be friends for real again. To meet up for dinner. And have coffee and not dodge each other's texts and calls. And then he reads one of her old letters to him. She sees him and he apologizes, he hadn't meant to pry. But they talk instead of running away, and she lets him read all of the letters. Because if they are every going to be anything real. even if it's only friends, he needs to know how much he hurt her. So he reads them all and that, that's how real healing happens.

#svu #17x5 if you're wondering #the one where kim comes back to fuck more things up #olivia benson #meta #i have thoughts

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moirai-moros · 1 year ago

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bar none · chapter one; wednesday (ao3 link) - pairing: rafael barba/dominick "sonny" carisi jr. rating: t, later prob. m+ words: 3672 summary:

“You’re really intending to sit the bar next week? In the condition you’re in?” “Yeah? I mean, is that so hard to believe? I’m just a little roughed up is all.” “Roughed up?” The counsellor repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You were shot by an assailant. You have a head wound. And you think that putting yourself through a bar exam is the correct way to recover from that?” With a sigh, Sonny sank back into the pillows on the bed. “Look, I appreciate the concern, Counselor, I really do. But I know you’ve worked really hard for things you’re not willing to give up on, even when the odds weren’t in your favour. Maybe it’s a dumb idea to assume I can think straight enough to pass the bar after hitting every stair on my way down, but I don’t want to… not try. I’ve put a lot into this, and I’m not givin’ up, not now. Not so close to the finish line.”

tl;dr; an A.D.A. helps a Fordham Law student revise for the bar from a hospital bed.

When Sonny came to, he immediately regretted regaining consciousness.

Everything burned, everything hurt, everything was too loud and too bright. Eyes adjusting to the offensive brightness of the hospital fluorescents and crisp linen bedding, his mind spun its wheels aimlessly for a moment - two - as he tried to regain his bearings. It felt like he’d been reset, roughly turned off then on again like the vending machine in the break room that was always on the fritz, and he certainly felt like he’d had the shit kicked out of him just as much.

“Carisi?” A voice spoke from somewhere beside him, one familiar enough to force him to focus his eyes and try to gather himself together enough to rejoin reality again.

Canting his head to the side - Christ, his head hurt - the image of an overly-concerned Rollins swam into sharpness. Brow furrowed, she looked like she hadn’t slept in some time judging by the rings underneath her eyes, one hand reaching forward and clasped around his own forearm - and dimly, Sonny realised where he was.

“Rollins.” He was aiming for that trademark Carisi-family confidence in his response, but to his dismay it came out as more of a grating croak. Ugh. “Hey, you look awful.”

The concern on her face was quickly replaced by surprise, then bemusement as she scoffed. “Obviously you haven’t looked in a mirror recently, but thanks for the compliment. Charming.” She pauses briefly, expression softening as Sonny looks around the room sluggishly, trying to piece the mess that was him in this hospital bed back together. “How are you feeling? Y’know, you gave us quite a scare back there.”

Back where?

It’s Sonny’s turn to frown as he turns his head back to rest position on his pillow, the effort too much to both keep up an appearance for Rollins and try to figure out what had put him in here.

Last thing he remembered… think, Sonny, think. Okay, so he’d been at work - that much he could remember, because he can remember Fin putting in their evening takeaway order (two chow meins, a bag of prawn crackers and a large fried rice from the Chinese joint two blocks away); he can remember them being interrupted by the Lieutenant as the prawn crackers had just been broken out, sending Sonny and Rollins over to check out a suspicious call placed by a witness on a case they were currently working; he can remember Amanda making snarky comments about his driving on the way there, and he can remember the just as snarky rebuttals he’d made in response (“Yeah, well, I can’t drive, but you can’t boil water without settin’ it on fire.��).

They’d turned up to the apartment block what, perhaps nine? Nine thirty? It was dark out and New York was sporting a classic miserable winter’s evening, because Sonny remembers being cold as all hell as he didn’t remember to bring his thicker jacket. A witness had called SVU in a relative panic, babbling into the phone incoherently about being afraid and paranoid, and “please, just come quickly”. The call had been so non-specific and hard to understand that the actual problem wasn’t really apparent, so Liv had sent him and Rollins to do a welfare check, especially since this was the only witness they’d managed to convince to stay on their rolodex for a potential testimony further down the track.

The case itself was a sticky one: hard to tie together and lacking a lot of concrete evidence, but flush with consequential evidence and obvious lines to draw together. The perfect combination to give the entirety of SVU and the DA’s Office a collective migraine, hence the overtime, hence the late night, hence the prawn crackers and quickly cooling tupperware of chow mein that had sat at Sonny’s desk. An elaborate front of high-school tutors - all young women, all decidedly underage, all listed like they were in a catalogue on an innocuous looking website - had been circulating the depraved underbelly of the city, money changing hands in legitimate-looking ways to solicit teenagers for exploitation. TARU had their work cut out for them, and no hard evidence had floated to the top of the bucket of scum yet. They had been attempting to ply overseas domain providers with warrants and as much pressure as SVU could put on, but aside from identifying some local girls involved with the ring, their work the whole week had come up with a big fat nothing.

That might’ve been why Sonny hadn’t really expected the way things played out that evening. The welfare check, by all ticks and balances, should’ve also been a bit fat nothing. But, as he’s starting to remember as his head threatens to tear itself into small pieces, it had definitely been a bit fat something.

The entire situation had felt off as soon as the lady had answered the door. Small things, that Sonny simply catalogues as a second thought now - the wobble of a voice, the watery look in her green eyes, the fact that she would only open the door a crack to show a sign of life to the people she’d called over just twenty minutes ago. Exchanging a look with Rollins as they stood out in the apartment corridor, Carisi had asked a couple of standard questions - was she safe? (“yes,”), was there anyone else at home besides her? (“no- … no.”) and then the fatal, could we come in for a moment?

Hm. Yeah, he could remember why he was here now.

The question had shot such fear into the woman that she’d fatally faltered in her act, eyes darting off to the side to some unknown player in the room behind her - and then, a flurry of action had unfolded. The door swung back on its hinges hard enough for the wood to scream as it slammed into the inside wall, a large man pushing his way out and essentially bowling over the two detectives standing outside, sending them staggering for balance as he made a run for it down the corridor. Sonny had already had one hand on his gun at the fearful glance from the witness, drawing it as he and Rollins took off down the corridor after him.

“Stop, NYPD!” He’d yelled in full sprint, handgun still trained on the figure as they rounded a corner to the stairwell. Of course, he wasn’t stopping but instead trying to jump the stairs three at a time, the detectives thundering after him and managing to actually close a lot of the distance despite the cramped quarters - and it’s when they catch up to the same flight of stairs that the man stops for a second and raises his own weapon.

“Gun!” Rollins shouted with urgency, turning to the far side of the stairwell’s wall to take cover. Sonny, already a third down the flight, had no such cover to turn to and faced with an aggravated suspect, he froze midstep and squeezed the trigger.

It all happened so quickly - the familiar pop of a gunshot, or gunshots? ripping through the air like a knife through canvas - and, well. Now?

Now, Sonny was here.

- hold on.

“Wait, I got shot?” He asked incredulously, voice tinged in disbelief. “I thought I shot him.”

“You got shot,” Rollins confirmed politely. “And, you fell down the rest of the stairs.”

“God,” Sonny’s voice came out as a mumble as he attempted to raise his hands to summarily bury his face in, but the pain that shoots up his right arm when he does so makes him swiftly reconsider. “You’re kidding. Ain’t no way I’m gonna live this down.”

“What, that you got shot in the line of duty? Are you serious?”

“And, I fell down the stairs. Is that why my head feels like I’ve gone twenty rounds in a ring with the Hulk?”

“Well, if you want the laundry list: you have a fairly major concussion, a gunshot wound in your right shoulder, and a sprained ankle.” Distantly, Sonny’s aware that Rollins was trying to keep things light, but even concussed he could pick up the underlying worry in her voice. “Let’s just say you’re not getting discharged tonight, and the doctor says you’re banned from - uh, how did he put it? - ‘any phones and whatnot’ for several weeks.”

“Several weeks,” Sonny repeated, eyes slipping closed as he desperately wondered just who the hell he’d pissed off upstairs to have eaten shit so hard while simply pursuing a suspect. “Several weeks.”

(There’s something important, something critical in his head that conflicted strongly with the idea of taking off ‘several weeks’, but the what, the why was too difficult to sort from all the pain and brain-fog. Too much effort.)

“Yeah. Look, I’ve got to go tell Liv that you’re awake - she’s been worried sick about you all night and I’m pretty sure she’s still hanging about. Actually, I’m pretty sure most of the crew are still hanging about.”

He’d roll his eyes at that, but his head hurt too much. Denied the pleasure. “Gloating?”

“Oh, shut up.” Rollins admonished, slowly drawing herself up from the hospital chair with a stiffness that belied sitting in it all night. “You might’ve taken a fall, but you got the guy too. You did good.”

Ah.

“Dead?” He croaked, cracking a tired look back at Amanda.

“Not dead.” She corrected. “Incapacitated. Luckily, incapacitated enough not to shoot at us anymore.”

Oh, fuck. That’s right, what an asshole he was being right now - “God, Rollins, I forgot to ask, are you-”

“I’m totally fine.” His question was cut off before he could finish it, but from what he could make out of Amanda’s face, she looked reassuring. Warm. Not shot. “Thanks to you, for really taking the brunt of it.”

Carisi laughs at that, a dry empty chuckle that makes him instantly wish he hadn’t. Everything burned. Everything felt like shit. But at least it had been for something, right? Even if his pride hurt as much as his brain did right now?

“You’re welcome,” He settled on as Rollins headed over to the door, eyes following her as closely as he could manage. Punctuating her exit with a tired grin; “Though if you feel real grateful, consider the large stack of overdue paperwork on my desk.”

All he hears is Amanda scoff again, and then the room is quiet.

He must’ve drifted off after that, because the next time Sonny wakes up it’s the morning, and the nurse informs him there’s more visitors.

Normally he’d be thrilled to be the center of such adoring attention, but he’d been having the most awful nightmare just before waking. God, it was terrible; to think that he’d dreamed that the bar exam was in a week, and that he’d put himself in a position where he’d injured himself so stupidly and so thoroughly that it’d be near impossible to -

Oh, sweet Mother Mary.

Draping his good arm over his face, Sonny swears under his breath at the sheer stupidity of the universe and all of its creations, yes, even those ones. So deep is he in his current Defcon-5 that he doesn’t realise that the nurse had let two people into his room, and those people had started to repeat themselves louder to get his attention.

“Carisi?” Olivia repeated, strongly enough that it gets him to lift his right arm to look in her direction. Standing at the side of his bed was the Lieutenant, and, strangely, A.D.A. Barba. He - what was he doing here? “Are you alright?”

“Fantastic,” Sonny quipped, his voice still hoarse. “Really great. I think I’ll put in for the New York marathon next week.”

Olivia simply gave him a look that said in no uncertain terms that she could now relax; he was being Carisi, and therefore, he was actually fine (in a relative sense). “Yeah? Noble, but I might hold off on that, actually.”

And right now, it’s easier to just maintain eye contact with the Lieutenant than try to figure out why Barba had tagged along, much less perceive the fact that he had. Here Sonny was, having flown down fifteen stairs and eaten the vinyl floor of a barely-liveable Harlem apartment, looking his worst, feeling his worst, and literally prostrate in front of the one person he only ever wanted to see the best of him. It was absolutely, thoroughly embarrassing right down to Carisi’s core, that he was lying in bed like a dumbass for being a dumbass right now in front of - him.

Him.

If only a giant sinkhole could’ve swallowed the entire apartment building up with him, then this could’ve all been easily solved, but unfortunately the sinkholes in New York never appeared where you wanted them to.

“Rollins gave me an update last night, but the doctors recommended that you got rest so we decided to leave you to it.” Olivia continued. “The squad sends their well wishes, though Fin passes on that he’s ‘commandeered your leftovers.’”

A dry chuckle escaped Sonny at that - and some mild regret. It was good chow mein.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure today?” Carisi asked with an attempt at light-heartedness, glancing up between his two visitors - especially since Barba had yet to say a word. Unnerving, and far too much stress for his battered head to handle. “The Lieutenant and the A.D.A.? Am I getting told off?”

It’s Barba’s turn to scoff quietly, and if Sonny knew any better, he’d say that the counsellor almost looked - concerned?

“Believe me, if that were the case, I would’ve done it already.” Barba stated, his gaze as piercing as ever. Unfair, Sonny thinks, because he’s already been pierced through-and-through by one thing in the last 24 hours. “Actually, I came along with Olivia to check on the suspect’s status - the People can’t prosecute the dead.”

Oddly, Sonny’s heart dropped slightly at the selfish thought that Barba hadn’t simply come down to the hospital to see how he was doing - but yeah, why would he? Better things to do.

“And?”

“You’ll be pleased to know he’ll make a full recovery.”

“Great,” Sonny replied flatly, allowing himself to close his eyes again if only because it was easier than witnessing this entire situation.

“I agree; he’ll be held accountable to the full extent of the law. A huge amount more satisfying than indicting a corpse.”

“Is this your attempt at bedside manner, Counsellor?” The detective groaned. “It could use some work. Like, a lot of work.”

Somewhere down by the foot of the bed, a quick inhale made it sound like Barba was about to retort but Olivia quickly cut whatever it was off with her own question.

“And how are you doing, Carisi? How are you feeling?”

“Yeah, fine,” Attempting to brush it off, Sonny looks back up at Olivia like it’d definitely convince her. It did not. “Honestly. I’m stuck here for a bit, but y’know. Gotta make the best of things. It’s not like I can un-shoot myself.”

Olivia sighed knowingly, her arms crossing over her chest. “Okay, well, is there anything that we can get for you while you’re holed up in here?”

“Nah.” - is his automatic response, because Sonny’s so used to looking after other people that the idea of being asked what he needs is so foreign that a thick, Staten Island-accented ‘nah’ is his go-to - but.

“Actually -” He started again, shifting up in bed slightly. The pain of doing so was apparently evident on his face, as he notices Barba’s eyes flick towards him as he does so. Unreadable, as always. “Could I trouble someone to grab some things from my apartment?”

“Sure. Clothes?”

“Nah, books. There’s a big stack of ‘em on my coffee table, but please ignore the absolutely-everything-else that’s lying around. Haven’t had a chance to clean recently.”

“Oookay.” The look on Olivia’s face suggested that she thought clothes were a far better, far more useful option in Sonny’s situation. “Anything specific?”

“Yeah, just - anything that looks like a law textbook. Uh, I wasn’t going to tell anyone because I don’t think it’s good luck before you know the outcome, but my bar exam? It’s in a week. I kinda need to catch up on study.”

The ensuing silent pause in the room was deafening.

“Carisi, do you really think that’s such a good idea?” Olivia replied softly, in the way that she did when she saw someone in the squad doing something monumentally stupid with their well-being, or their relationships, or their anything. “You’ve just gone through a traumatic shock. Perhaps it’d be better to just… put the exam off until you’re in a better condition.”

The frown creasing Sonny’s brow did more explaining for him than his words needed to.

“Nah, nah, that’s not an option. I’ve been working real hard for this, real hard, and I don’t want to miss the final exam just because I fell down the goddamn stairs. Jesus.”

“Got shot,” Olivia corrected.

“However you wanna put it,” Sonny replied instantaneously. “Just. Please, I’m going to go mad in here with the five cable channels they’ve got, anyway. I need to do something with my time, and it mayaswell be somethin’ useful.”

Raising her hands in mock defeat, the lieutenant shook her head with a faint smile on her face. “Okay, I understand. Look, I’ll get Fin or Rollins to go over to yours and get your stuff sometime today. In the meantime, you should get some more rest before you think about doing anything academic.”

“Yeah, yeah. Promise.”

Moving to leave the room and give Sonny some space, Olivia looks expectantly at Rafael, still standing stoically by the foot of Sonny’s bed. And now, Sonny’s looking at him just as expectantly.

“Counsellor?” The lieutenant queried as she opened the door to Carisi’s room. To both of their surprises, Barba raised a hand up briefly.

“Give me a moment,” He murmured in Olivia’s direction in a way that would make shivers run down Sonny’s back if he weren’t so worried about twinging his shoulder wound. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

And with a nod, the Lieutenant is gone. It’s just them, having an awkward, quiet stand-off in Carisi’s hospital room. Pity, because if he were in a better condition, Sonny would’ve made it a loud one.

At least the noise of him running his own mouth would take the edge of this situation, because now they’re alone, all he can hear is the thrum of blood in his ears and Sonny’s not a doctor but, y’know, he’s pretty sure that’s not a sign of his concussion. Unfortunately, things always got this way when they were in close proximity, and Carisi had been dismayed to notice it getting worse as time went on and they crossed each other's paths more frequently. What had started as an initial attraction when the A.D.A. had strolled into the precinct on his first day had developed into much more of a headache, which was even shittier when he now had an actual, splitting headache to contend with.

It was a sordid, shameful one-two punch of being both extremely attracted to someone in a physical sense and a professional sense, and for someone already feeling fairly sore, Sonny didn’t know if he could do this today.

“So I’m in trouble after all?” Sonny attempted to break the silence, a hand drifting towards his wounded shoulder. “Knew it.”

Barba ignored the deflection. “You’re really intending to sit the bar next week? In the condition you’re in?”

“Yeah? I mean, is that so hard to believe? I’m just a little roughed up is all.”

“Roughed up?” The counsellor repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You were shot by an assailant. You have a head wound. And you think that putting yourself through a bar exam is the correct way to recover from that?”

With a sigh, Sonny sank back slightly into the pillows on the bed. “Look, I appreciate the concern, Counsellor, I really do. But I know you’ve worked really hard for things you’re not willing to give up on, even when the odds weren’t in your favour. Maybe it’s a dumb idea to assume I can think straight enough to pass the bar after hitting every stair on my way down, but I don’t want to… not try. I’ve put a lot into this, and I’m not givin’ up, not now. Not so close to the finish line.”

“It’s not giving up,” Barba said quietly, his gaze meeting squarely with Sonny’s in a way that makes him want to curl his toes. “It’s doing it later.”

“I’m doing it now.”

The detective’s response comes out much firmer than he’d intended - not in an aggressive way, but in a way that made Barba’s shoulders relax slightly, as if he knew the battle he was waging was a lost cause. Of course, there’s an expression the counsellor’s wearing that is absolutely inscrutable, though if Sonny had to guess, it would be that he clearly thinks he’s an idiot.

So, imagine his surprise when the corner of Rafael’s mouth quirked up into a half-smirk as he crossed his arms across his chest, a combination that made the breath catch in Sonny’s throat.

“Very well - then I suppose the least I can do is make sure you’re ready. Fordham Law needs all the help it can get.”

- and the jab at his school goes completely unnoticed as the detective all but gaped at the unsolicited offer of help from the guy he’d never ask it from, but the one he’d want it from the most.

Want, well, a lot of things from the most, but -

The door closes, signaling Barba’s departure, and Sonny simply sits there staring at it.

#barisi #rafael barba #sonny carisi #law and order svu #fanfic #svu #l&o svu

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