A/N: Since we're thus far the only ones to upload any Barba/Benson AKA Barson fics, it makes sense that we'd team up to write one! :) We have been working very hard on this, including spending an hour trying to decide on just the title. Hopefully our efforts pay off.

Quick note on the story: With this one, we're just going to pretend that Olivia and Brian broke up a while back. We both like Bensidy just fine, but this suits our story better. Everything else, we'll try to work into the story itself. :)

Enjoy! Please let us how you feel about this story!

Somewhere along the line, without either acknowledging it, the post-court drink had become habit. On days when the verdict went well, they invariably ended up someplace nicer- the Thai restaurant they both loved, or the expensive French bistro Rafael had insisted on dragging them to after the Gabby Shaw case. He'd insisted on paying, too. "I pick, I pay. No discussion," he'd said, and she wasn't about to argue against the four-star prices.

Sometimes Nick came as well, sometimes Fin or Amanda. But on other days, when Rafael had to dig his fingers into his palms to keep his expression from changing as the foreman issued one "not guilty" after another, when Olivia had to turn to the hunched victim beside her and try and find words to explain... On those days, they always ended up here.

O'Riley's. One block from the courthouse, and cheap. Perfect for when the thought of being someplace where the waiters smiled and the corners were well-lit felt wrong, too wrong.

So here they were. Again. Rafael, with his two empty scotch glasses, Olivia sitting silently with a glass of water in front of her. She never drank when she lost, and Rafael was smarter than to suggest it.

"I can't believe it." Olivia's voice was hoarse, and she didn't look up as she spoke, instead tracing the lip of her glass with her fingers.

"It was a bad case to begin with," Rafael said, but the words seemed to leave of their own accord, sluggishly, and he didn't expect a response.

Olivia shrugged listlessly, looking down at her drink. "Tell that to Randi," she muttered.

Rafael cringed a little. "I didn't mean it like that," he said. He marveled, briefly, over the way working in this unit had changed him so much. When had he ever felt the need to explain himself before this? When had he ever cared how his words were interpreted?

"No, I know," Olivia assured him, sighing. "It's different for us than for them, and it's more different for you than the rest of the team. You don't do the footwork like we do."

Rafael nodded, thinking about the work the detectives put in to each case, imagining the frustration he felt when he lost a case and multiplying it to compensate for all the extra effort he would have had to make if he was a detective instead. No doubt about it; he would get fed up quickly.

And if he were one of the victims...

He gave a sigh of his own, taking a sip of scotch. The burn of it on his throat felt strangely comforting. It was probably more from the familiarity of it than anything else. He wasn't anywhere near being an alcoholic, of course, but he liked a good drink every now and again.

He looked at Olivia for a long moment, wishing there was something, anything he could say to make her feel better. But there was no hope of that happening- if he was this upset, there was no way anything was going to comfort Olivia.

The bond between the two of them was one of the most versatile he'd ever experienced. Sometimes it was warm and bubbly. Other times, like tonight, it felt weary and tired, just two people with the weight of the world on their shoulders, struggling not to collapse under the pressure.

Not that he'd ever actually admit he was anywhere near that point. But around Olivia, he'd at least admit to some of his emotions, which was more than he'd do for anyone else.

"You almost done?" Olivia asked softly, grabbing her purse.

Rafael thought for a moment, then shook his head. "If you're ready, you can go ahead, though. I've got the bill covered."

Olivia nodded, and put her hand on his shoulder. "Thanks," she said, mustering a slight smile. "Don't drink the whole bar."

Rafael stayed a little while longer, nursing his scotch. Somehow, it just wasn't helping tonight. Everything seemed... flat. This was the way things worked, he knew that—you fought your hardest, and sometimes you won, but sometimes you didn't. When that happened, you just had to move on to the next case. Easy. Or that's what he'd always figured.

Sighing, Rafael paid the tab, and walked out of O'Riley's. It was late, almost midnight, and cold. Shivering, he wrapped his scarf tightly around his neck, and walked as quickly as he could to the subway station.

It was just a bit of bad luck, really. Rafael wouldn't have stopped in front of the alley, not if the latch on his briefcase hadn't decided to break at that moment. But it did, causing his papers to flutter out onto the dingy street. "You have got to be kidding me..." Rafael growled, bending down to try and gather them.

"Don't. Move."

He wasn't sure what startled him more; the shock of the cold metal suddenly pressed against his throat, or the man's voice.

"Wallet. Now."

Rafael was torn between thinking he must have fallen asleep and woken up in a stupid nightmare, and cursing over and over again in his mind. Part of this felt so surreal that he almost wanted to laugh it off, but part of him was, quite honestly, terrified.

"You think I'm playing?" the man hissed, voice quiet enough not to draw attention to their blind spot, but loud in Rafael's ears. Accenting his point, he pressed the knife harder against Rafael's throat. Rafael felt the sharpness, felt the slight tenderness on his skin that told him that blood would start flowing if the knife got any closer.

"Alright," Rafael managed. Some part of him felt pleased that his voice hadn't cracked, but he was mostly too afraid to care. He swallowed hard, reaching into his pocket, and...

And came up with nothing.

Of all the nights to have left his wallet behind, it had to be tonight, he thought, and once again he fought the urge to laugh. No, there was no way this could be real; he was dreaming for sure.

His hand started shaking as he weighed his chances. What would give him the highest odds of survival- trying to run, and hoping he escaped the blade, with his chances depending entirely on the thief not having a gun as well? Or trying to come up with something to make the man flee instead- pretending to be a cop, maybe?

His choice was made for him, though, when the man noticed his motions and snorted in disgust. "You just aren't very lucky, are you?" he said, shaking his head.

Rafael swallowed, feeling the blade scrape against his skin. No blood yet, but his skin felt raw.

"Too bad," the man said, and Rafael could almost feel the muscles in the hand that held the knife tightening.

For the first time since leaving the bar, some tiny thing worked in his favor. Acting reflexively, he twisted away, just in time to avoid his throat being slashed.

But following the pattern the rest of the day had, he didn't manage to avoid the man's next attacks. They came in rapid succession, one awkwardly-aimed but no less effective stab to his back, followed by a more accurate one to his stomach.

It happened so fast that he didn't even feel the pain at first, instead looking down at the blood in shock. His assailant used the opportunity to strike once more, plunging the knife into his chest, before kneeling down to wipe the blade clean on Rafael's shirt.

Too shocked for the blind terror to set in yet, Rafael found himself looking up at the man's face, hoping to be able to provide a sketch or identify him in a photo lineup, if it came to that. But a mask greeted him instead, and he curled his lip in disgust. Of course a man who would do something like this would be that cowardly.

Before Rafael could do anything more, the pain finally hit, and he groaned, falling to his knees. Seeing the blood start to soak through his white shirt and light gray vest only made him feel worse.

He felt around and determined that his chest wound was bleeding the worst, so he pressed one hand into it, grinding his teeth at the fumbled in his pockets clumsily, hindered by the violent shudders running through him.

His legs were shaking too hard to support him, even if he was on his knees, so he maneuvered himself to sit instead, propping himself up against a brick wall. Only when he leaned his head back did he realize how exhausted he felt.

Another wave of pain crashed over him, and he clenched his teeth, unable to even cry out, the agony of it leaving him breathless. He panted, every muscle in his body rigid as he fought to hold on.

Finally the pain subsided, just slightly, just enough to let him move. Rafael took in a few slow, deep breaths, letting his lungs fill, and searched for his cell phone again. He pulled it out and activated the keypad. He'd programmed it so that he could press certain buttons as shortcuts to the detectives' numbers, and so he found and pressed the one for Olivia.

It didn't occur to him until she answered that he probably should have called 911 instead.

Olivia would wonder, later, in the hospital waiting room, standing next to the captain and the rest of the squad, faces drawn and no one talking, what would have happened if he had called a minute later. As it was, she had been seconds from getting into the shower when he called. If it had been a minute later, would she have heard the ringing through the water's noise? Would she have gotten out, or simply let it go to voicemail, just this once, deciding that the world didn't depend on her always being at its beck and call?

All she could do was keep reminding herself that she had picked up, at the second ring. She had.

"Hey Rafael, you drink too much?-" Olivia began. But the groan he gave shut her up instantly. She knew that sound: the sound of someone who was badly hurt. She had been a cop too long not to.

"Olivia... attacked..." Rafael was mumbling, barely audible.

Tamping down the rising wave of panic, Olivia scrambled to pull on her clothes with one hand.

"Where are you? I'll send an ambulance," she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could, trying not to waste words or time, and ignoring the flood of questions and curses that threatened to overwhelm everything else.

"N-near O'Riley's..." He was slipping, she could hear it.

"Okay, hold on. We'll be there soon!" she said.

Never had Olivia been so grateful for her proximity to O'Riley's Bar and Grill. It took her less than ten minutes to find the alley, and to see the dark figure propped against its brick wall.

At the sight, her throat went very, very dry. Slamming on the brakes, she parked hastily, and got out, running over to the huddled body of Rafael Barba.

"Rafael, Rafael!" With cold, shaking hands, she tipped his face up to look at her, and checked his pulse. He was groggy, eyes fluttering, and his heartbeat was weak. But he was conscious. And in the distance, she could hear the sound of sirens getting closer.

Olivia crouched down, and tried desperately to find the source of all the blood that was currently soaking through Rafael's very nice suit.

"Wrong day to dress nicely, counselor," she tried to joke, voice catching as she counted one, two- no, three, stab wounds. Whoever had done this certainly hadn't held back.

Rafael tried, he really tried, to get his voice to work. But his body just wouldn't cooperate. He couldn't get his thick, heavy, dry tongue to move, couldn't get noises to become coherent words in his throat.

He licked his lips, craving water more than he'd craved anything before. He looked up at the blurred form above him, which he recognized even in his disoriented state, and wished he could ask Olivia for something to drink.

Two hands pressed on his chest, and an almost inaudible groan of pain escaped him. He tried to push her hands away, but she was stronger. His muscles slumped in resignation, frustrated at his weakness.

"Hang in there, okay, Rafael?" Olivia pleaded. Rafael gave a slight nod, not really comprehending the words, and closed his eyes, instead focusing on working his jaw muscles, trying to get some saliva flowing through his mouth so that he could at least feel something against his throat.

Another groan slipped past his lips when Olivia jogged his shoulder and ordered, "stay awake." Rafael made a protesting sound, but Olivia wasn't having any of it, nudging him yet again. Sighing, Rafael opened his eyes, looking at her blearily.

"I know," she said softly, gently rubbing his left shoulder with her wet hand.

Rafael shivered at her touch, the warmth suddenly alerting him to how cold he was. He exhaled slowly, feeling goosebumps start to break out over his skin. Something warm- Olivia's coat, he realized- came to rest over his torso, and relief flooded him.

"Don't get too comfortable," Olivia instructed him, shaking his shoulder again when she noticed his eyes closing.

Rafael blinked at her for a long moment and managed to make a soft "hmmm" sound, but his eyes fell closed again. He just didn't have the strength to keep them open, not when he'd already lost enough blood to make a small puddle under him.

He heard sirens getting closer, and turned his head toward the street, taking in the bright white ambulance pulling up.

Something within him relaxed, knowing that now, taking care of his injuries was someone else's problem. He fought to stay awake, but not as hard as he had before Olivia had arrived.

After all, Olivia was here now. And she wouldn't let anything happen to him.

"Ma'am? Step aside, please!"

Two EMTs were running towards them with a stretcher. Olivia nodded and moved over, prompting Rafael to shake his head in dismay. "I'm not leaving," Olivia reassured him, grasping his hand to maintain contact.

"Olivia Benson, NYPD," she said to the EMTs, flashing her badge. "I called it in."

Quickly, the three of them moved Rafael onto the stretcher and secured him in it. Olivia could see the lawyer trying not to grimace at every slight jostle, and her heart dropped. Why hadn't she stayed? She was the one with the gun. It was her job to keep people safe, and instead he'd been alone...

The two medical personnel loaded Rafael into the back of the ambulance, trying as best they could not to shake the injured man, with Olivia following behind them.

The ride to Bellevue seemed to last an eternity.

Olivia watched, in a haze, as the EMTs worked to try and stabilize Rafael. Above the lip of his oxygen mask, she could see only his eyes, dazed, pupils wide. Rafael groaned again, and he opened his mouth, trying desperately to speak. "He..."

"Shh, it's okay," Olivia tried to soothe him. Ever the ADA, she imagined Rafael was probably trying to remember as many of the details of the attack as he could. Blinking rather hard, she stroked his hand, and said, "Not now. We can wait, all right? Just hold on."

When they arrived, Rafael was immediately rushed into surgery. And Olivia had to stay back, watching helplessly as the cocky, irritating bastard of an ADA, who had come to be one of her closest friends, was wheeled away.

Twenty minutes later, Olivia stood in a corner of the waiting room, clutching a cup of watery coffee, tapping her foot impatiently. She had to keep unclenching her hand, lest she accidentally crush the styrofoam cup.

Every few minutes, she checked the clock, feeling the frustration rise when she saw how slow the minutes were passing.

"Olivia," Nick said. He was standing next to her, face tight and concerned. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known he was going to be attacked."

She didn't say anything. That wasn't the point. No, she couldn't have known. But all she had to do was stick around another twenty minutes...

Eying his tense detective, Cragen spoke up. "Do we know anything yet?"

The captain was disheveled, as they all were- Olivia, Amanda, Fin, Nick, even Munch. Every one of them had shown up as soon as they heard. Strange, really. If anyone had asked Olivia earlier that day what her unit thought of their prickly ADA, she would probably have replied that the feeling was one of mutual respect, but frequent disagreement. Certainly not any personal caring from anyone except her.

Standing here, though, surrounded by carefully neutral walls and that strange, subdued, almost forced calmness that seemed to be an obligatory hospital trait, it struck her that no one here looked at all calm.

From the worried eyes and fierce-set jaws, she could tell this was as personal as it would be if any one of them were injured. It sent a bolt of pride through her. He was their prosecutor, and they were going to find whoever it was that had been stupid enough to attack him.

"No, Captain." Fin answered, hands stuck deep in his pockets. "Whoever it was didn't leave anything behind, far as we know. CSU is going over the scene though."

"All right," Cragen sighed, the lines on his forehead deepening. "Having all of us here isn't doing him any good. Rollins, Munch," he nodded at the two, "you go and look through Barba's case files. Make sure he hasn't received any threats. Amaro, Fin, you go and canvas the bar. O'Riley's, right?" He turned to Olivia, "And-"

"I'm staying," Olivia interrupted, voice clipped.

Cragen looked like he was about to object, but thought better of it. "All right. Someone needs to be here to talk to the doctors."

Rafael remained in surgery for another two and a half hours. In the meantime, Munch and Amanda determined that Rafael had not recently received any credible threats, Nick and Fin managed to get no helpful information from the bartender and customers at O'Riley's, and Olivia went through three cups of coffee without tasting any of it.

Finally, a doctor stepped out and called, "Olivia Benson?"

"Here!" She hurried forward. "How is he?"

"Mr. Barba going to be fine," the surgeon reassured her. "But it will take him quite a while to recover. He lost a lot of blood, and there was internal damage from the chest and stomach wounds. The chest wound was close to his heart- had the stabber moved at a different angle, Mr. Barba probably would have died within seconds. But he's lucky. Assuming he doesn't suffer any further complications, he should make a full recovery."

Olivia exhaled slowly, nodding. "Thank you," she said, relief dropping her voice to a whisper. "Can I see him?"

"Of course. This way," the doctor said. Olivia followed him through a series of hallways to an elevator. "Third floor, and then follow the signs to the ICU," he said.

"Thank you- uh..." Olivia trailed off, realizing she didn't know the man's name.

"Doctor Jamison," he said, holding his hand out.

Olivia shook it, then said, "Thanks again."

"No problem," he said, turning to leave.

Olivia entered the elevator and rode it to the third floor. She found her way to the ICU, and after checking in with a nurse, was led to Rafael's room. On one side of the room was an older man, probably in his 60s, who was tightly holding a woman's hand- presumably his wife's.

On the other side, she found Rafael, deeply asleep and with a multitude of tubes and machines attached to him. She walked over to his bed and sat on the plastic chair beside it.

Frowning, she looked Rafael over, taking in his pale skin. Touching his hand revealed that he was still cold; the aftereffects of shock and the anesthesia he'd been given. It was wearing off gradually, and he would would hopefully wake up within a few hours, but in the meantime, it was still taking its toll on him.

She looked over at the heart monitor. His pulse was slow, but steady. Moving her hand up to his wrist, she felt that each heartbeat was much stronger than it had been in the alley, though it was still weaker than it should have been.

She let his hand go and sighed, looking at him and thinking of how much worse this could have been. She had thought about it in the waiting room, and her mind returned there now.

She could have, should have, been with Rafael to protect him.

She might easily have ignored his call, and what would have happened then? Would he have bled out in that alleyway, alone, terrified, and in so much pain? Would someone have found him and called 911? Or would his attacker have returned to check if he was dead and, upon finding him still breathing, finished the job? What would Rafael's last thoughts have been; would he blame Olivia, like she would have?

And what would have happened if his assailant had indeed stabbed at a different angle, piercing his heart and killing him instantly?

Biting the inside of her cheek, Olivia forced the thoughts out of her head. Rafael was alive. She had answered the phone. He was going to be safe from now on- she would make sure of it.

Rafael would protest, but it wasn't like Olivia was going to ask him to let her stay with him 24/7. If she did it right, he probably wouldn't even notice what she was doing at all. She'd just watch him more closely.

She had to; had to keep him safe, had to make sure this never happened again. So many people she cared about had been hurt; she couldn't let it happen to anyone else. Not again.

Especially considering that in her experience, the lawyers she worked with were the ones most prone to danger. Alex, Casey, Sonya... and now Rafael. She knew a fair number of fellow cops who had been injured, but they at least had always had a fighting chance. They were all trained to defend themselves, and they had guns. They could shoot whoever threatened them.

But Alex hadn't been able to defend herself, and everyone in the NYPD and FBI had failed to protect her. Casey had never seen that the man delivering her flowers had actually been the brother of one of their victims. Sonya may have gotten DNA from her killer, but she hadn't been able to save her own life.

And now Rafael. Whoever had attacked him, Rafael clearly hadn't stood a snowball's chance in hell of escaping intact, not when he had been stabbed three times, and one had landed so close to his heart.

Rafael was smart and resilient and confident, and that self-confidence was certainly deserved... but he clearly needed protecting. And Olivia was determined to do it.

She watched Rafael's slow, comfortable- for now- breathing, and felt the determination get stronger and stronger.

She stroked the back of his hand once, almost too light and fast to count as actual contact.

"You're safe now," she whispered, watching his chest rise and fall, his lips moving as the air flowed through them.

"I promise."