Part I: Just Another Night

Rafael's girl arrives home to find him more than a little stressed, and does what she can to help him relax.

Warnings: OC, language, implied sexual situation (not explicit)

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time. Listen. I'm telling you. The grand jury is not going to return a bill of indictment on multiple counts of… no, no, no. Listen. You're not listening. She can't alibi him, she admitted… yes, exactly. Yes."

I peered over the breakfast bar into the dimly lit living room. He'd been on the phone for over an hour, and that was only since I'd walked in. Paperwork was scattered all over the coffee table and couch beside him, exploding from his briefcase like lava from Vesuvius. His dinner was untouched, somewhere under a copy of the New York Ledger he had spread out over it, to see the continuing story of his case from the front page. His stocking feet were propped up beside it, obscenely expensive shoes kicked off beneath the table, suit jacket thrown over the arm of the couch, waistcoat completely unbuttoned, tied pulled loose. It had obviously been a hard day. Then again, he doesn't see too many easy ones anymore.

I was cleaning up dinner dishes; one of us had actually eaten. Having come off a twelve hour shift, I threw together a stir-fry that lacked in many areas - the chicken was as overdone as the vegetables were underdone - and I'd shoveled a bit down as I caught a kiss on the cheek, then broken tendrils of conversations about arraignment, press leaks, confessions, ex-parte conversations, victims, evidence…

Somewhere after that first hour, he had begun to wilt, head lulled back, spreading out on the couch, body over paperwork. The caffeine high was wearing off. It was after midnight. I was tired too, exhausted, really, so ready to get out of my scrubs, ready to go to that big comfy bed that awaited me and spread out, and sleep until next week. But on my way toward the hall, I took another look at him, looking like a little boy's toy lawyer doll tossed into a corner. I watched him a minute, his voice low and gravely from overuse but his words still coming as fast as ever. His mouth always seemed in a race with his brain, trying to get the words out as quickly as synapses fired.

I hadn't seen him in a week. Sleep could wait.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. You know as well as I do that… yes, let alone without the victim's testimony. I understand… Liv, Liv. I don't care. I don't care! Get… Just get it. No, don't put Fin back on. I'm done."

I'm done. I smiled at the magic words, and peeled my scrub top off, pulling my tank top back down around me as I wandered towards the couch. The only light came from the end table lamp, an ugly thing his assistant had picked out when he'd moved in. It threw the room and its explosion of contents into golden light and shadows. My bare feet padded over the cold hardwood, and I tossed my top onto his suit jacket on the arm of the couch.

"… okay? Okay. I've got 120 hours to indict. Get me more for the grand jury. I need a victim willing to come forward, I need more evidence, evidence that isn't going to blow away with the hot air from the defense attorney's mouth."

I came to stand over him, arms crossed, a smile growing on my face. I nudged his propped up leg with my own. His eyes stayed closed, phone still pressed to his ear. He shook his head, mussing his hair as his head lulled against the back of the couch.

"That isn't proof."

I pressed my lips together, fighting the smile. That cell phone might as well have been superglued to his ear. I nudged his leg again. He rubbed his face with his free hand, before tossing it into the air, a gesture I easily read. "No, no, it's inadmissible, how many times do I have to say that? Are you listening to me, or have we talked so long you're beginning to lose your hearing?"

I slid down on one knee, balanced on the outside of his thigh, and straddled him. His eyes stayed closed, but his free hand came to rest on my hip, automatically, habitually, naturally.

"That isn't an alibi." He was exhausted. And more than a little perturbed. I bit my lip, thinking it was time I drew his attention away from the sergeant on the other end of the line. My hand slid under his unbuttoned waistcoat, up the starched cotton of his shirt, warm with the heat of his body. My fingers came to the buttons of his shirt collar, releasing them quickly. I was practiced at this, and the buttons yielded without a fight.

"Have you ever heard the word 'hearsay'? Know what it means?"

I loosened his tie, working my fingers through the silk. I grinned as his hand squeezed my hip.

"I have the records, I've studied them like a God damned scholar at Alexandria, okay? We've been over this a thousand times, and that's just in the last forty five minutes."

The top button of his shirt popped open, the the next, and the next. I leaned in, and pressed my lips against his collarbone, kissing my way to the hollow of his throat. My lips started up the warm flesh of his neck, to the sweet spot there just below his ear. He cut off a sentence I wasn't listening to with a moan he quickly stifled. My smile grew against his skin.

"You know, Liv? Nothing is going to change tonight. I'm d-d-done. Done. Yeah, yeah. Good night."

He had barely hung up his cell when I had it in my hand, and tossed it over my shoulder, not looking - or really caring - where it landed. I got lucky, not hearing a crack of cell-phone-meeting-floor, but a soft thud that meant I'd hit the armchair. Making my aim look better than it was.

I leaned back, finally seeing those baby blue eyes open.

"Hey," I said, my arms threading around his neck, leaning so close our noses were brushing.

"Hey." Both his hands were now on my hips, squeezing, fingers slipping into the waistband of my scrubs.

I pressed a kiss to his lips once, twice, three times, each a little slower than the last. When I leaned back, he smiled a tired kind of smile, his head lulling back onto the couch, my hands resting on his shoulders. I couldn't resist, he was giving me perfect access, so my mouth again found his neck, kissing a trail upward, feeling his pulse against my lips.

"I don't know how much longer I can do this."

"Hmmm?" I hummed, my lips, then teeth, finding his ear. I pressed a kiss to his sideburn-covered cheek, and kissed my way downward again. My lips had missed his skin.

"I don't… I can't… do this. These people, these cops… they've been working these cases for five, ten, fifteen years, some of them. I… I don't know if I can do that. I don't know how they do it. I can't, I… oh. Oooh. Baby. Mmmm."

I chuckled against his jawline, nipping at the stubble there. "I'm sorry," I said, pulling away, but unable to keep from smiling. "I'm distracting you." I gave his thighs a squeeze with my knees. My fingers laced through his hair at the back of his neck, one hand coming down to rest on the skin bared by his half-open shirt. "Talk to me."

He shook his head again, brow furrowing low, pursing his lips until they were practically nonexistent. "These cases are an entirely new level of sick."

Something in his voice worried me. The smile faded from my face, and I traced tiny circles against the smooth skin of his chest. His eyes were looking past me, not across the room but somehow looking far away. Fine lines formed between his eyebrows.

It took me a moment to decide on an approach. "It takes a lot to shake you, Rafi," I said finally.

He sighed, and I could feel the heat of his exhale on my skin. His hands fell from my hips. "It used to. Now… no lo sé. I don't know anymore. I just… can't think about this. Not anymore. Not tonight." He rubbed his face. The slump of his shoulders hurt me - I wasn't used to seeing him look so terribly defeated.

"Then don't," I whispered. "Don't think about it."

He looked at me then, a small smile quirking onto his lips, a ghost of its usual self. "Distract me?" He asked, and I smiled. My hands under his unbuttoned waistcoat, pushing it off his shoulders. The same with his suspenders. I finished loosening his tie, pulled it off, balled it up, and tossed it, like the cell phone, over my shoulder. My fingers then went to work finishing the job they had started before, popping open the remaining buttons of his dress shirt. All the while peppering kisses over his face. By the time I slid his shirt off, he was smiling his usual smile, albeit tired. After that, his lips had tasks other than smiling to attend to.

Later we lay on the couch, clothes scattered around the couch and floor like debris after a tornado. My bra had somehow made a perfect landing on that ugly table lamp, and I think his boxers were somewhere behind the couch. I pressed a kiss to the lines that had developed over these past few months on his forehead, as he breathed slowly, deeply, on top of me. I had him wrapped in my legs under the plush throw he'd managed to pull over us, and my arms were around him too, pressed against the bare skin of his back, still slick with sweat. His head fit perfectly in the crook of my neck. I held him tight, enjoying the pressure and heat of him, soaking in the calm that always came with being near him, a calm that was so at odds with the fast-talking, caffeine-chugging ADA who cruised around the city in shining shoes with perfectly coiffed hair. I glanced sideways, smiling at the unruly spikes now in that dove-soft hair. I wished I could take away some of his stress, some of his worry, and maybe if I held him close enough, I could. I kissed his forehead again, tightening my legs around him, my ankles crossed over him. He moaned softly - I loved that sound - and nuzzled into me, his fingers pressing into my skin. He always held me like I was going to slip away if he let go.

"Cariño," he breathed, voice rough. I could feel the words reverberating through his chest. "You're good at this."

I couldn't help the snort of laughter that bubbled up in my throat. "Um… thank you?"

"No," I heard the smile in his voice, and he pressed his lips to my chest, just over my still-racing heart. "I mean, yes, you're good at this… obviously. But I mean… you're good at… being good to me. You know… helping me… get out of my head, and… well…" He trailed off.

My grin couldn't be suppressed. I couldn't help myself. "What's this?" I asked with feigned surprise. "Mister Rafael Barba, assistant district attorney of Manhattan, noted master of both the English and Spanish languages, a man whose mouth has gotten uncounted criminals thrown in the prisons where they so rightfully belong - and gotten himself into more trouble than I'd care to recount - is speechless?"

He glanced up at me, grinning. "Yes, well… you may well be the only woman capable of producing such a phenomenon."

"Good." I said with a decisive nod, and meeting his lips as he brought them towards mine. "Good," I said again, as he settled back against me. I threaded my fingers through his hair as we drifted off to sleep.

Translations:

no lo sé - I don't know.

cariño - darling

A/N: Well, this is part one of a collection of nearly thirty completed drabbles from this POV that I've completed; hopefully someone will enjoy reading them, because I've enjoyed writing them. It's been ages since I published any fanfic: will publish a few more drabbles to determine if anyone is even interested!

I felt the need to publish these after our favorite ADA was so abruptly written off the show. It's just my little shout into the void, that Rafael Barba (and the incomparable Raul Esparza) have made a real impression on viewers, and have revved at least one imagination into overdrive. Hope you enjoy! - C