Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rafael Barba had a shit day.

He knew his current case was a losing battle. Unreliable witnesses, little to no evidence… he knew chances of a conviction were slim to none.

His evening was spent at his office scouring over case files and evidence, witness testimonies and police reports. It was nearly 8:30 when he left his office, heading straight to his usual bar just blocks away from the DA’s office building.

Being it was a Tuesday night, McGlynn’s bar was mostly empty save for a few other patrons who were dressed nearly identically to Rafael himself; three piece suits, dress shoes and the quintessential pocket square.

Save for one person whose appearance set them apart from the other patrons.

A young woman sat at the bar, cheek resting in her palm. Long, wavy blonde hair had been haphazardly thrown up out of her makeup-less face. Navy blue scrubs disheveled from what Barba assumed was a long day. As he approached where she sat at the bar, he could read the small, embroidered letters on her scrubs: the name of the large hospital up the road just above her breast pocket.

Rafael took a seat next to the woman and admired her from the corner of his eye as he ordered a drink: scotch on the rocks.

Strands of her blonde hair had escaped her ponytail, some pieces curling and framing her beautiful face. Freckles dotted across the bridge of her slender nose, creeping along her cheekbones. A small, barely noticeable scar kissed just above her pink lips. The scrubs she wore were slightly baggy on her petite form, hiding her figure. Dark circles were prominent against her pale skin, a testament to the long day she’d experienced.

Despite her slightly disheveled appearance, Barba couldn’t deny her beauty.

She pursed her lips before finishing the drink in hand, calling out to the bartender for one more.

“Long day?” Barba asked, taking a sip from his own drink.

Her blue eyes glanced over at him, her hand bringing the glass back to her lips. She took a long drink before clearing her throat. “You have no idea,” she murmured, eyes closing briefly before sighing and opening them again to look at him. A small smile played on her lips as she looked him over. “Looks like you can relate?”

Rafael chuckled quietly, turning his body slightly towards her as his eyes trailed up and down her body. “I’m Rafael,” his hand reached out to grasp hers in a gentle handshake. Her skin was soft, fingernails short, clean and void of polish.

She returned the handshake politely, her smile turning more genuine as she squeezed his hand. “Birdie,” she said, releasing his hand and taking another sip of her drink.

“Well, Birdie, you come here often?” Barba asked, eyebrow raising. She was definitely not the bar’s usual customer. McGlynn’s was namely home to those who worked in the justice system; detectives, ADAs and interns, prosecutors and justices.

She hummed, shaking her head slightly. “I had to do something to clear my head. I went walking and I guess found myself here,” she gestured around the bar, eyeing the other patrons. “I guess I’m a little out of place, huh?”

Barba’s lips quirked into a smirk, watching as she sipped on her drink. “Well you certainly caught my eye.”

The conversation flowed easily from there.

Rafael and Birdie shared as much of their lives with each other as appropriate for two strangers in a bar.

Barba divulged that he was a lawyer, from the Bronx, and enjoyed his job (for the most part).

Birdie explained how she was a nurse, was from a small town in Kansas, had been in New York for a year, and enjoyed her job (for the most part).

It wasn’t long before Barba took the plunge and invited Birdie to his place for another drink. She accepted and protested (albeit not much) when he paid for both of their tabs.

The cab ride to his apartment building was quick. The ADA liked to live close to work as he usually spent long hours at the office. He watched as Birdie looked out the window, taking in her surroundings.

When the cabbie stopped in front of his building, he paid the man, thanking him, before grabbing Birdie’s hand and leading her into the building. He nodded in acknowledgment at the security doorman, placing a hand on the small of Birdie’s back as he lead her into the elevator.

Rafael’s eyes remained on Birdie the entire elevator ride to his floor. She’d slowly moved her body closer to his throughout the elevator ride, tension brewing between the two of them.

Rafael slowly reached out to her, fingers dancing along her cheekbone has she brushed stray curls out of her face, hand moving to cup her cheek. Birdie looked up at him, blue eyes meeting green.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Barba murmured, eyes flitting down to her parted lips. She nodded, taking a small step towards him, his other hand moving to cup the other side of her face as she gripped his suit jacket.

His lips met hers, the kiss short but fervent as the elevator door opened. He pulled away, smirk playing on his lips as he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward his apartment. 12C.

Rafael flicked on the lights, door shutting behind Birdie as he shrugged his suit jacket off, throwing it on the kitchen counter. He reached for the woman before him, pulling her back to his lips for another kiss.

Birdie’s hands roamed Barba’s chest, fingers nimbly pulling at his tie, their lips moving together. She briefly pulled away, growing irritated at his tie before he chuckled, making quick work of untying it.

Lips were pressed together once again and Birdie made quick work of pushing his suspenders down off his shoulder and began unbuttoning his dress shirt. Barba had slowly moved them toward his bedroom, shirt open, small hands roaming his chest.

Rafael pulled away, green eyes meeting blue. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

Birdie blinked once, twice, lips swollen, hair disheveled from their kiss. “I-what?”

“Your consent,” Rafael clarified, pulling her closer to him. “Do I have your consent?”

She nodded, “Yes, yes, you have my consent,” she breathed, eyes wide as a smile played against her lips.

Rafael nodded, his hands gripping the hem of her scrub top, lips trailing down her neck as he lifted. Leaving her clad in her sports bra. His hands tangled in her hair as his mouth met hers once again; pulling her hair down, running his fingers through her hair.

Hands moved toward her bra, quickly lifting, leaving her topless in his bedroom. “Beautiful,” he murmured, lips finding hers, pulling at the drawstring to her scrub pants. He could finally admire her figure; no longer hidden by the baggy scrubs, his hands trailed along her curves.

While Rafael’s hands were more steady, confident, Birdie’s were shakier, nervous as she fiddled with his belt buckle before Rafael smiled and helped her.

“You ok?” He asked, hands grabbing hers, stopping her actions. Her breasts grazes his chest, his breath fanning across her face.

“Yes, yes I just haven’t done this in a while,” Birdie breathed, smiling up at him. “I promise this is okay.”

Rafael took that moment to slow down, pulling her to his chest and kissing her again, slowly this time. He moved her toward his bed, pushing her into her back gently as he crawled over her. “We’ll go at your pace,” Rafael murmured, fingers tracing the waistband of her underwear.

Birdie nodded, prompting him to proceed, albeit slower, gentler than before.

——

It was nothing like Birdie had ever experienced before. Sure, she had a few (okay, maybe one) one-night stands. But she’d never experienced sex like that before; where she’d felt in control. A man had never explicitly asked for her consent, had never slowed down to meet her pace, had never put her at the forefront of sex.
She laid there in this man’s bed in post-coital bliss. This was exactly the kind of stress reliever she had no idea she needed.

Today had been shit. Running codes were shit. Dealing with the aftermath of watching someone die was shit.

Her cheek was pressed against Rafael’s chest; sparse chest hair tickling her face. Her eyes were closed, willing her mind to think of that moment instead of the shit-show of a shift she’d had.

Rafael’s fingers ran through her hair and she focused on his breathing, matching each of his respirations with her own.

They stayed like that for several minutes before Birdie begrudgingly sighed and sat up, white sheet clutched to her bare chest.

“I’ll uh, get my things around,” she said, forcing a smile as she went to stand.

Rafael sat up, frowning at her. “Wait, what?”

Birdie froze, eyebrows furrowed as she looked away from him. “Do you want me to leave?”

Rafael huffed a humorless laugh, head shaking. “Do you want to?”

Birdie’s head cocked to the side in confusion. “I-well, no not really I was enjoying myself. I-I’m sorry, I’m not usually one to do one night stands and I… I’m not sure of the protocol.”

“Protocol?” Barba chuckled, reaching for her hand and pulling her back down to bed. “You can stay, I enjoyed myself too. There is no “protocol”, Birdie. I’m not kicking you out.”

“Oh,” she murmured, allowing him to embrace her again, head against his shoulder.

The two of them were quiet for several minutes before Barba broke the silence. “Do you work tomorrow?” His finger trailed along her bare skin leaving goosebumps behind.

“No,” she sighed, eyes closing. “I’m off the next four days. It was my last shift of the week.”

Barba hummed in response. “I have to be at the office by ten. You’re welcome to stay the night and join me for breakfast, if you’d like.” He offered, turning his head to look at her, lips grazing her forehead as he spoke.

Birdie glanced up at him, blue eyes meeting green. “That would be nice,” she said quietly, a smile playing at the edges of her lips.

“It’s a date then,” Rafael smirked, lips moving to meet hers in a chaste, short kiss.

Birdie couldn’t help but think about what going to that bar might have lead to.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Birdie had woken to the smell of coffee and the sound of a shower running. 

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting light and shadows across the bedroom. With daylight, Birdie could see out the windows, pop across the New York skyline. The bedroom had floor to ceiling windows, curtains pulled to the side to let the natural light in. 

“Birdie?” A voice called, bringing her out of her thoughts. Rafael exited the en-suite bathroom, hair damp, combed and slicked back, towel wrapped around his waist. He smiled at the petite woman in his bed, sheets clutched to her chest, blonde hair disheveled and frizzy. 

She felt well rested, albeit slightly sore from last nights activity. She was far from a virgin but it’d been almost nine months since her last time spending the night with someone. 

“Morning,” she smiled shyly, eyes trailing down his bare chest. 

She watched as he opened his closet door, a variety of suits and dress shirts on display. He pulled out an ensemble, throwing it on the side of the bed he’d occupied the night before. “We still on for breakfast?” He questioned, eyebrow raising. 

“Uh, sure. I just… can I freshen up first?” 

He shrugged on a dress shirt, beginning to button it up. “Go ahead. There’s extra towels under the sink,” Rafael nodded toward the en-suite. 

Birdie shyly pulled the sheets from her nude body, stopping to grab her discarded, crumpled scrubs from his bedroom floor, feeling his eyes watching her move toward the bathroom. 

—-

Frankly, Rafael Barba didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. 

His usual one night stand routine consisted of sex, then a night alone in bed. He never slept over at someone’s place and he never let them stay the night, let alone take them out to fucking breakfast the next morning. 

Truth be told, he was lonely. It’d been nearly eight years since his last relationship. Barba was a serial monogamist at heart, and one-night stands just weren’t his cup of tea. 

It was almost poetic, two lonely people finding each other after a long day at a bar. 

He wasn’t sure where he wanted this to go, or if he was even sure if it would go anywhere, but he was getting older and was tired of coming home to an empty apartment; tired of having nobody to share his life, his secrets with. 

Fuck, he was delusional. 

He knew nothing about Birdie. It was obvious she was younger than him. Possibly a lot younger than him. He wasn’t even sure if she’d want to be with a man possibly almost twice her age. 

Sure, the sex was great, she was beautiful, and obviously she liked him to the extent where she went home with him; but who’s to say she wanted anything more than a one-night stand with him? 

Rafael huffed in frustration, putting on his cufflinks and buttoning on his vest. 

Maybe he went too far. Maybe he should have just asked for her number and let her leave. Maybe it was too soon to have her stay the fucking night in his bed and take her for breakfast the next day. 

Hypothetical “maybes” were running through his head as he slid his dress shoes on. 

The door to the bathroom opened and his eyes flew up to meet Birdie’s blue ones. The dark circles under her eyes were nearly gone, she had a small smile on her face. Her blonde waves wet from the shower she just took. She’d put back on her now wrinkled navy-colored scrubs. 

“Hey, we match,” she huffed a small laugh, taking in his appearance. He was clad in a navy suit (was it coincidental? He wasn’t sure.) 

He looked down at himself and cracked a smile. “I guess we are.” He watched as Birdie slipped her shoes back on, brushing her damp curls out of her face. “Ready?” He asked, moving to join her where she stood. 

She nodded and watched, a small smile on her face as he grabbed his keys, turning to lead her out to the elevator. After locking his apartment door, he placed his palm against the small of he back, leading her out. 

—-

The cafe Barba had taken her to was cute, reminiscent of something out of a movie. They had decent coffee and even better bakery items. 

Rafael had made a face when she took her coffee and added packets of sugar and cream to it. He’d taken his coffee black. 

Blueberry muffin in hand, the two of them took a seat outside, enjoying the cool spring morning together. 

Birdie watched the hustle and bustle of New Yorkers walk to work as she sipped her sugary coffee, a smile tugging at her lips. 

“So,” Barba interrupted her thoughts, coffee cup in hand. “How old are you, Birdie?” 

Her eyes flicked to his, turning her attention back to the man in front of her. “I’ll turn twenty-six in December.” 

She watched as he nearly choked on his coffee, setting the cup down to cough into a napkin. “You realize I’m older than you, right?” He managed to get out. 

Birdie rolled her eyes, a laugh escaping her lips as she smiled wider. She wasn’t blind, she could tell he was at least ten years older than her. It never bothered her though, she often found older men more attractive. “I may have noticed it,” she murmured softly, smile turning into a cheeky smirk. “Why does it bother you? You being older, I mean?”

Rafael cleared his through, tie suddenly feeling tight. “Birdie, I’m forty-one. I-I’m almost sixteen years older than you.” 

An eyebrow rose, she hummed, bringing her coffee back to her lips. “Ok, so you’re six years older than I thought you were. So, what? We are both adults. Does it bother you?”

Barba’s mouth opened to respond, closed his mouth to think, then opened it again, reminiscent of a fish. “I-no I just… Didn’t think I’d be your cup of tea.” 

Birdie could tell that Rafael was many things, but insecure? Likely not. She hummed, eyes taking up and down his frame, admiring him. He was attractive, anyone with eyes could see that. She knew she liked him the second he sat next to her at that bar. 

“Well, you’re wrong. I very much think you’re my cup of tea and I’m very attracted to you,” she responded quietly. “I don’t know where you want this to go, and I apologize for being forward, but I’d like to see you again.” 

She watched as Rafael relaxed ever so slightly, hand fidgeting with the sleeve of his coffee cup. “Okay then,” he breathed, smiling over at her. “It’s a date.” He glanced at his wrist watch, sighing as he noted the time. “I’m so sorry, but I have to run to work. Can I have your number before I go?”

Birdie smiled, blush creeping up her neck as she grabbed his phone, entering her number and sending herself a text. 

Barba stood, coffee cup in hand. She followed suit, smiling as he bent down slightly to kiss the side of her head. “I’ll see you later, Birdie.”

— 

Rafael sat in his office, case files spread across his desk, legal pad in front of him. 

He stared at his phone, erasing and re-typing the text message to Birdie for the umpteenth time. 

Tomorrow night, 8:00? 

It was short, sweet, to the point. A lot better than the previously deleted drafts he’d typed then re-typed. 

He sighed and pressed send, on edge waiting for a response. 

Rafael was pulled from his thoughts when Carmen knocked on his office door, announcing that Sargent Benson had come to speak with him. 

—

Tomorrow night, 8:00?

Birdie was folding laundry, audiobook playing in the background when the text came through, pulling her from her thoughts. 

She was half afraid that Rafael wouldn’t text her back, given his reaction to her age. 

She bit her lip as she typed a response, grin spreading across her face. 

Sure thing. Where do you want me to meet you? :)

Birdie didn’t need to wait long before she received yet another response. 

Send me your address, I’ll pick you up. 

—

7:57 the next evening, Rafael sent Birdie a text telling her he was outside. 

He stood outside his driver’s car, smile creeping onto his face as he watched her descend from the apartment building’s steps. 

She lived in a not-so-savory part of town. One where the buildings had bars on the windows and trash piled on the street. But he didn’t care. He only had eyes for her as she waltzed up to him, smiling softly. 

“Don’t you look dashing,” Birdie teased, hand dropping to meet his as she looked him up and down. 

Birdie was dressed in a casual dress; sky blue, nearly matching the color of her eyes she had on strappy sandals and a light, cream colored cardigan. Her hair was down, tamed, less wild than the night at the bar. She had light make up on, cheeks rosy from blush, eyelashes dark from mascara. She looked beautiful. 

Rafael squeezed her hand, smiling down at her. She was a good four inches shorter than he was. A perfect height to bend slightly and meet his lips to hers. 

“You look beautiful, Birdie,” he breathed, leading her into the car and sliding in beside her. He told his driver where to take them, Birdie’s eyes on him as he spoke. “How was your day?” He questioned, hand finding hers. 

She hummed, squeezing his hand slightly. “Productive,” she smiled up at him. “And yours?” 

Rafael laughed, releasing her hand as he leaned back in his seat. “Busy. We go to trial next week. Lots of prepping.”

Birdie hummed, nodding as she looked out the window, watching New York’s streets pass by. 

The conversation easily fell into small talk, questions about favorite colors, foods, small things to get to know one another. 

When the driver pulled up to the restaurant, Rafael thanked him and helped Birdie out of the car, leading her inside. 

It was a small Italian restaurant, busy but casual enough for a first official date. They were lead to a small booth in the corner of the restaurant and Rafael ordered a bottle of wine for the two of them. 

“Why New York?” Barba questioned one glass of wine deep into their date. “You said you were from the midwest, so why New York?” 

Birdie sipped her wine, humming in acknowledgment. “Everyone goes to the Big Apple for new beginnings, right? Either that or Los Angeles,” she joked, pink lips turning up in a smile. “Truth be told, I needed a change of scenery. I… my mom died last year and I had nobody left back home, no ties keeping me there. So I left.”

Rafael’s brow furrowed as she spoke, leaning forward to listen more intently. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother, it must have been hard.”

Birdie waved him off, smile turning into a forced one. “It’s still hard,” she admitted quietly, teeth worrying her lip. “But you learn to grow around the sadness, I guess.” She cleared her throat, changing the subject to a lighter one. “I was lucky I got a job here so quickly. Guess they were hurting for nurses here,” her tone turned to a joking one, ebbing away. 

Rafael hummed, moving the conversation away from the touchy subject. “What department do you work in?”

“Pediatric critical care,” she replied, eyes lighting up. “This is my first time working with kids; I’d been on a cardiac step-down unit before accepting a job in pediatrics.”

Barba smiled as she went on to talk about her job, the patient population she obviously cared so much about. It was clear in the way she spoke of her profession that she was incredibly passionate about it. 

“What kind of lawyer are you?” 

Barba knew the question was coming. Knew that once she brought up the topic of her work, he’d be expected to divulge his own career to her. 

He cleared his throat, taking another drink of wine. “I work for the DA. I mostly work sex crimes and domestic violence cases.”

Birdie’s eyebrows knit together as he briefly explained his line of work. “That must be heavy to carry around, the cases you see, I mean,” she said softly, hand reaching across the table to grasp his. “I really commend you for it, Rafael. That’s a rough job to have, but the justice you get those victims… That must be invaluable.”  

Rafael’s lips quirked up in a small smile. When he explained the exact nature of his job to many people they’d respond with an “I’m sorry” and move on. Her response was refreshing and pleasantly surprising. 

The evening went on pleasantly, learning more about each other. 

Rafael learned that Birdie’s real name was Elizabeth Stevenson (but only her grandmother called her Elizabeth). He leaned that she loved to read and paint. That she volunteered every Friday at the animal shelter. That she was a die-hard rom-com fan (even if he did tease her on that one). That she preferred white wine to red, Pepsi over Coke, and coffee wasn’t correct without a heart-stopping amount of sugar. She spoke about how she’d only made a few friends in New York, and had been too nervous to explore the big city too much (Rafael made a note to himself to remedy that). 

Rafael spoke of his Abuelita and Mami. How he’s a fan of classic literature, a frequent flyer at the library, and how he was a Yankees fan. 

“You know, we kind of did this backwards,” Birdie joked as they exited the restaurant. Barba had paid (despite Birdie’s protest and insistence that she’d leave the tip) and lead her out into the cool New York streets. 

“Did what backwards?”

Birdie laughed a full, belly laugh, leaning into his side and grasping his hand. “You took me on a date after we’d already spent the night together.” 

Barba chuckled, shoulders shrugging. “I guess we kind of did.” He squeezed her hand as they walked hand-in-hand down the street. “Does it bother you?”

She scoffed, a smile on her face. Rafael made a brief note to himself that she smiled a lot and he loved it. It forced himself to smile more, something his mami always told him he needed to do. 

“No, it doesn’t. I honestly think it’s kind of refreshing we are doing things backwards,” Birdie said as he pulled her to a stop. 

Rafael pulled her closer to him, hands finding her waist as he pulled her to his chest. “Good, because I’d like to see you again,” he murmured, right hand moving to cup her cheek. Her lips parted in anticipation, breath hitching as he lowered his lips to hers. 

She tasted like a mix of wine and the carbonara she’d eaten at the restaurant. Smelled like strawberries and faint flowery undertones. She made his heart jump into his throat, something he didn’t think possible anymore. 

Birdie made him smile more in the last few days than he did in the last year and a half. She made him feel like himself again. She made this whole thing feel easy.

Chapter Text

Olivia Benson could tell something was up. She’d never seen Rafael Barba as… smiley as he’d been. 

She’d been happy for him, truly, but it was obvious that his change in mood had been due to something (or, likely, someone). 

“So, who is she Barba?” She’d asked him as he was about to leave. Olivia watched him freeze, turning away from the exit and facing her, smile evident on his face. 

Barba huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Am I really that transparent?” 

“No, but I’ve never seen you smile this much,” Olivia explained. 

Rafael was quiet for a beat before he smiled (again). “Birdie, her name’s Birdie.”

—-

Birdie and Rafael had fallen into a steady routine. They’d been seeing each other for nearly two months at this point. 

Nearly every Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, Birdie worked seven to seven. On days she worked, at best, she’d call him. But most nights, she’d shoot him a “I’m home, goodnight” text. 

Most Wednesdays, they’d go for breakfast or Rafael would carve an hour out of his schedule to meet her for lunch. Sporadically, they’d plan little dates here and there but they tried to meet at least once a week. 

It was a Tuesday night. Rafael had taken his work home, typing emails and going over evidence. It was nearing 10:00, and he still hadn’t heard from Birdie. He had figured she’d gone home like usually and fallen asleep before getting the opportunity to text him (this wasn’t uncommon). 

Barba was surprised see Birdie’s name pop up on his phone, calling him. 

“Hello?” He answered, still surprised she was even awake at this time. 

“Raf?” Birdie’s voice sounded exasperated, frustrated. “Hey, sorry I know it’s late and I hate to do this but… I just got off. Do you mind if I crash at your place? I really don’t want to take the subway home this late.”

Birdie’s apartment was nearly a 30-minute subway ride from the hospital she worked at. She’d explained it was a good idea at first, as rent was cheaper in that area, but after she’d locked herself into a lease, she regretted the commute to and from work every day. 

Rafael’s apartment was a mere four blocks away. Close enough to walk (albeit he’d never want her to walk there at night). He’d offered many times to let her crash at his place, but she always feared getting in his way or messing up his routine. 

He sat up, closing his laptop. “Yeah, sure. Come on over. Have you eaten yet?”

Birdie snorted and Rafael heard shuffling on the other end of the line. “I didn’t even have time to eat my lunch. Can we order a pizza?”

“I’ll call it in, sure. Are you taking a cab?” 

“Yeah I’ll be there in fifteen. Raf, thank you. I really appreciate you,” Birdie said softly. 

Rafael huffed a laugh, smiling. “You know you can stay here whenever you want. I like having you here.”

—-

Birdie knocked on Rafael’s door, dodging his kiss as she entered his apartment. 

“Trust me, I need to shower first,” she said, heading straight for his en-suite. “Can I use your washer and dryer?” She asked, already beginning to strip out of her scrubs. 

Rafael, watching her strip, smirked. “Sure, have at it.”

Naked, Birdie patted to his washer and immediately threw her scrubs in, a look of disgust on her face. She then patted back to the bathroom, turning the shower on hot. 

“Should I even ask?” He’d asked her, laughing as she made a face at him before jumping in the shower. 

Birdie loved showering at Rafael’s place. His soap made her smell like him and the water pressure, oh god, the water pressure was fucking heavenly. 

She scrubbed her skin nearly raw, letting the hot water redden her skin. Once she washed the day away, she wrapped herself in one of Rafael’s towels. 

“Do you mind if I wear some of your clothes?” Birdie called from his bedroom, searching his drawers for something casual. She’d once made a joke that he probably slept in his suits. 

“Go ahead. I have some t-shirts in the second drawer,” Rafael called from the kitchen. 

Birdie found a pair of boxers and a “Harvard Law” crew neck. Shrugging the clothes on, she exited the bedroom and sat at the kitchen counter. “Did you go to Harvard?” 

Rafael turned and eyed her, blonde hair damp, glasses perched on her nose. She was fucking stunning in his clothes. “I didn’t tell you?” His smirk was answer enough. 

Birdie snorted, arms crossing over her chest. “Must have slipped your mind.” While she’d been in the shower, the pizza had arrived. Rafael handed her a plate and a glass of wine, white. Her favorite. Her eyes softened and she smiled up at him. “Thank you for this by the way. I… it means a lot. Today was brutal.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Rafael asked, grabbing his plate and sitting next to her on one of the barstools that occupied the kitchen counter. 

Birdie sighed, a hand running through her damp curls. “Asshole doctors. Super sick patients. Bodily fluids sprayed on me. And I had no time to eat lunch. I stayed late to chart and I just… I’m exhausted, Raf.” 

Sometimes Birdie thought about a career change. Sometimes, she thought nursing sucked the life out of her. Sometimes, on days like today, she thought about quitting on the spot. Sometimes, she fantasized about working at a Chuck E. Cheese instead. Sometimes, on days like today, she thought about running away and never going back.

Rafael leaned over and kissed the side of her head, hand absently rubbing her back. “I’m sorry today was rough. What can I do to make it better?”

Birdie laughed, taking another bite of her pizza. “You’re doing it, Rafi. Thank you.”

The two of them were quiet for a while before Birdie broke the silence. 

“Rafael? Are we… Dating? We’ve never put a label on it and I always assumed we were exclusive but… I don’t want to assume anymore.”

If Birdie could put her foot in her mouth, she’d do it right then and there. Sure, she knew that this conversation had to happen, but with her piss-covered clothes in his washer and her wearing his underwear, sitting at his kitchen counter at 11:00 at night? Probably not the best time to bring it up. 

Birdie pursed her lips, thinking of something, anything to fill the silence that followed. Before she could take back her words, before she could change the subject, Barba smiled and reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Yes, cariño. We are dating.” Rafael also hadn’t put a label on it, but he was a serial monogamist when it came to relationships. Plus, when he’d told his mami he was seeing someone last week, he told her Birdie was his “girlfriend”. 

Birdie let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and resumed eating her pizza. “Ok good, because I’d been afraid to ask.”

Rafael laughed then, shaking his head, smile dancing on his lips. God, he smiled a lot around her. “You can always ask me anything, cariño. Especially about us.” Barba took a sip of his wine. “Plus, I may have told my mami about you. She’s ecstatic.”

Birdie’s eyes widened, mouth dropping open, gaping like a fish. “You told your mom about me?” 

“Of course. She wants to meet you, but I told her to give us some more time.”

Birdie pushed her glasses up her nose, suddenly nervous. “Do you want me to meet her?”

Rafael smirked, moving to get up and get another glass of wine. “Of course. I’d love for her and my abuelita to meet you. But we can go at your pace. There’s no rush.”

She took a deep breath, taking a small bite of her pizza. “No rush,” she murmured, gratefully taking her refilled glass of wine. 

—-

They’d moved to the couch after eating their fill of pizza and wine. Rafael on his laptop finishing work, Birdie draped across the side of the couch, head on his lap. 

Wine and a long day had lulled Birdie to sleep. Every few minutes, Barba would run his fingers through her nearly dried hair, smiling at her relaxed face as she slept against him. 

For so long, Rafael believed he was doomed to be single the rest of his life. Sure, he’d had his share of relationships or lovers, but what he had with Birdie felt easy, natural. It didn’t feel forced, didn’t feel like there was pressure to do anything. 

Deep down though, Rafael still had insecurities. 

Birdie was stunningly beautiful and much younger than him. He couldn’t promise he could give her a picturesque future filled with a white picket fence and two and a half kids. He wasn’t sure if he himself even wanted that. 

He was in his forties, and the idea of settling down crossed his mind, but was Birdie ready for that? Rafael knew that when he was 26, he sure as hell wasn’t. He was making a name for himself, having graduated from law school, and was more occupied with building his career. Did she feel the same?

Rafael’s mother, Lucia, had been practically begging him for grandchildren for the better part of a decade. 

But he still had doubts. Did he want to have kids? Maybe. He sure as hell didn’t know right this moment. 

He was terrified of turning into his father. Of ruining his children. Of messing them up in some way. 

But Birdie, she was young. She was beautiful. She could find a million-and-one men who’d give her the world. Give her that white picket fence and two and a half children. Give her a future he wasn’t even sure he was capable of.

But there she was, in his clothes, in his home, sleeping on him as he worked. She’d chosen him. At least, for now she did.

“Birdie,” he said quietly, shutting his laptop. “Come to bed, cariño.” He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and watched as her face scrunched up, eyes bleary with sleep. 

“What time’s it?” She murmured; voice heavy. She sat up, arms stretching above her head.

Rafael’s eyes followed the too-large Harvard sweater ride up, exposing her mid-riff. His throat felt dry. 

“Almost two,” he said, reaching to throw case files into his briefcase. 

Birdie yawned, eyes half-lidded. “You workin’ tomorrow?” 

Barba hummed, helping her stand and leading her to his bed. “At ten, yes.” He pulled the blankets back, allowing her to slide in, read resting on a pillow. “Do you want to meet me at my office for lunch?”

Birdie turned, facing toward Rafael as he climbed into bed beside her. “Hmm, that sounds nice.” Her eyes closed, smile tugging on her lips. “What time? I’ll run home and change in the morning.” 

Rafael reached over, placing a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes flitted open, leaning up to catch his lips with hers. “Two. I’ll text you the address.” He smiled, brushing stay curls out of her face. “Get some rest.” 

—-

Rafael woke how he normally did whenever Birdie occupied his bed: to a face full of curls and a beautiful woman spread across his chest. 

Birdie had wedged herself up against Barba, head on his chest, curls wild from sleep. It was as if every night she subconsciously drew close to him to steal his body heat. 

Barba gently pushed her off his body, glancing at his phone to see it was just before 8:00. He leaned down to kiss her head before gently untangling his body from hers, and covering her back up with the blankets. 

Quietly as he could, he proceeded with his morning routine; shower, coffee, get dressed, get out the door. 

It was when he started the shower that Birdie stirred, hair a mess, rubbing sleep from her eyes. 

“Rafi?” She called; voice heavy with sleep. 

He’d been hoping she’d sleep longer. He knew how little sleep she often got during her workdays. “In here, cariño,” he called from the en-suite. 

Birdie patted her way into the bathroom, will wearing his sweater and boxers. She looked like a beautiful disaster: hair a mess, face puffy with remnants of sleep, clothing disheveled from her tossing and turning. 

“I’m gonna head home soon. Do you still want me to meet you for lunch?” She’d asked, using his mouthwash to rinse her morning breath away. 

From the shower, Rafael responded. “Yeah, of course. I’ll text you the address. I’ll order something for the two of us.”

Birdie’s smile was still full of sleep as she moved the shower curtain to look at him, lips puckering in request for a kiss 

Barba obliged, pecking her on the lips and smiling at her. God, she made him smile a lot. 

“I’m going to get going, Rafi.” He then heard her open and close the dryer. “I’m keeping this sweater by the way!” She called; voice full with a smile. 

—-

When Birdie entered ADA Rafael Barba’s office, she was full of nervous energy. 

She was meeting her boyfriend for lunch at his office. It almost felt like a step forward in their relationship. Sure, Rafael had worked from home more times than not when she was over, but to actually see the place where he worked felt different. 

After Birdie had gone home that morning, she’d changed, switched her glasses out for contacts, straightened her mess of curls, and put on makeup before heading out to the District Attorney’s office building. 

At 1:55, Birdie checked in with the secretary (his secretary? Jesus, he has a secretary) Carmen. Birdie could hear Rafael’s voice from his closed office door, see his figure standing, talking with three figures loudly. “Hi, uh, my name is Birdie Stevenson? I’m meeting with Rafael at 2?” Why did it sound like she was asking a question? 

And why did it sound like Rafael was arguing with whoever was in his office? 

“I’ll let Mr. Barba know you’re here.” Carmen had said politely, smiling at her. 

Birdie’s eyes widened, shaking her head. “No, no don’t disturb him when he’s busy I’m more than happy to sit here and wait!” She gestured to one of the unoccupied chairs outside his office, making her way toward one.

“No, Mr. Barba insisted I inform him when you got here, whether he was busy or not. He insisted on it,” Carmen explained, heading toward his office door. 

Birdie felt as though her eyes may pop out of their sockets as she watched Carmen knock before opening the door, stopping whatever heated conversation was happening. 

Birdie watched shell-shocked as the three figures in his office turned to look at her before turning back to look at Rafael. 

—-

Rafael was developing a migraine the more Rollins and Carisi argued with him. The case they were working on little to no evidence and was a battle of he-said, she-said. Olivia was no use. She stood there as her two detectives argued with him, siding with them on the matter. 

His headache grew. It was almost 2:00 and he needed to get them the hell out of his office. 

“Mr. Barba, Ms. Stevenson is here waiting for you,” Carmen interrupted, making Barba sigh in relief at the intrusion. 

“Thank you, Carmen, we are just about done.” Barba looked out his office door and his eyes briefly met Birdie’s. 

At the intrusion, the three detectives turned their heads, eyeing the woman waiting to meet with him. 

Carisi rolled his eyes, arms crossing over his chest. “You’re really going to cut this short for a meeting with an intern, huh?” 

Rafael rolled his eyes, lifting a hand to silence the detective. “No, I’m cutting this short to have lunch with my girlfriend.” 

“Girlfriend?” Olivia, who’d been previously silent questioned, eyes glancing back out the office door to eye the woman standing there waiting on him. “Barba, isn’t she a little-“

Rafael knew that Olivia would have a field day questioning him about the age difference between him and Birdie. He rolled his eyes, cutting her off mid-sentence. He wasn’t going to have any of it. “Goodbye, detectives. If you find concrete evidence, then call me. You know how to get a hold of me.” 

He ushered the three of them out, each one glancing at Birdie as they left. 

Rafael’s face immediately changed the moment the three detectives left his office, smiling at Birdie, taking in her appearance. He waved her over, arm immediately wrapping around her waist, bringing his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. “I missed you,” he murmured, closing his office door behind her. His ever-growing migraine nearly disappearing as he embraced her.

Birdie, still full of that nervous energy, smiled up at him. “I didn’t want to interrupt your meeting. I’m sorry, I should have waited until 2:00 to come up.” She’d blurted out, eyes nervously flitting around his office.

Barba rolled his eyes yet again, moving to sit at his desk and pulling out the takeout he’d ordered in preparation for their lunch date. He gestured for her to sit across from him in one of the two vacant chairs. “That wasn’t a meeting, and I can assure you, you didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Oh,” Birdie said quietly, face twisting into a more genuine smile. She watched as he pulled out two sandwiches and small containers of soup from a deli down the road. “This looks good. I don’t think I’ve ever tried this place before.”

“They’ve been open for almost sixty years. My mami loves this place,” Rafael said, shrugging off his suit jacket, exposing his suspenders and pushing up his shirt sleeves. 

Birdie blushed, eyes raking over his torso. She couldn’t hide the fact that she was blatantly checking him out. She cleared her throat, face heating up as she tentatively took a bite of the deli sandwich. “Oh, this is pretty good.”

Rafael hummed in response, smirking as he noted the pink creeping up her face. “The suspenders are a good look, huh? 

Her eyes immediately flew to his, words stuttering out of her mouth. “I-no. I mean yes, of course I-“ the pink blush depended in color to a darker red. She shook her head, an involuntary giggle escaping her lips. 

“Only teasing you, cariño,” he winked at her, taking a bite of his lunch. “Do you have plans today?” 

Birdie shrugged, stirring the soup and taking a small bite. “Probably not. I need to do laundry, maybe go grab some things from the store…” the nervous energy was back as she glanced up at him. “Do you maybe want to come by my place tonight for dinner?”

In the two months Rafael and Birdie had been seeing each other, his place was always the more convenient option. It was close to both of their workplaces. Sure, he knew where she lived, he’d picked her up at her place before, but he never had gone inside. 

Rafael’s lips quirked into a smile. “Sure, that sounds nice.” 

Barba’s eyes flitted over her appearance and his smile grew. Her hair was straight, light makeup highlighting her features, and she wore a light pastel colored dress, tight on her figure. “Have I told you yet how beautiful you look right now?”

Birdie glanced up at him through her lashes, smiling softly. “No you haven’t…” she watched as he smirked, eyeing her from across his desk. 

“No? Because you look beautiful right now, mi vida.” 

At his words, Birdie briefly wished she had taken Spanish as an elective in high school instead of German, then she would have been able to fully understand the little terms of endearment Rafael enjoyed calling her. 

The two of them finished their lunch falling into easy conversation, occasionally chatting about their day, about the weather, plans for the week. 

Rafael had a small, brown leather couch in the corner of his office. It was more for decoration than practicality. 

He pulled her to her feet, leading her to the couch, allowing her to sit next to him. Birdie adjusted, moving to sit practically in his lap, her fingers dancing along the collar of his shirt. 

“Long day?” She murmured quietly, watching as his eyes closed as her hands drifted to his scalp, gently massaging his head. 

“You have no idea, cariño,” he all but whispered, leaning closer to her. 

Birdie gently massaged his scalp before allowing her hands to trail down his face, palm cupping his cheek. She leaned up, her lips gently, cautiously, nervously, pressing against his. 

He groaned, arms snaking around her waist, pulling her fully into his lap. He deepened the kiss, tongue exploring her mouth, hands exploring her body. The kiss lasted for a few seconds before Rafael resentfully pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. “We really shouldn’t do this in my office…” 

Birdies eyes were wide with excitement, pupils blown. She was breathless. “I-we weren’t-“ 

Barba laughed pulling her to sit beside him, wrapping his right arm around her shoulder. “I know, cariño.” He checked his watch for the time and groaned, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. “I really do have to go back to work, mi vida. Thank you so much for meeting me for lunch.”

Birdie smiled up at Rafael, standing alongside him. “Thank you for inviting me,” she leaned up, pressing her lips to his cheek. “Text me when you’re stopping by tonight, and have a good rest of your day.”

Rafael watched as she grabbed her bag and shot him a warm smile before exiting his office, waving goodbye to Carmen. 

It was then that he realized he (yet again) had a smile on his face. God dammit, she made him smile. 

Chapter Text

Despite Birdie Stevenson living in New York for over a year now, her apartment didn’t look it. 

While many of her belongings had been unpacked, boxes still sat in her closet, unopened. Maybe it was nerves, feelings of inadequacy from moving across the country and starting life anew. Maybe it was the fear of opening said boxes and relieving the memories inside. Maybe it was the fact that deep down, unpacking the boxes felt like a permanent change, and she was scared of change. 

Her apartment was small. A hell of a lot smaller than Rafael’s. His apartment was easily the size of two and a half of her apartments combined. He lived in a luxury sky-rise apartment, and Birdie lived in…. Whatever the hell this was. 

She lived on the first floor, windows all around her apartment barred and locked. Small water stains little red the ceiling of her bathroom. 

But she loved it. It had exposed, original to the building brick on nearly every wall in the kitchen, sage green cabinets, and original hardwood floors throughout. Rent was cheap (well, as cheap as it can be for New York) and the only thing she disliked about her place was the commute to her job. 

Birdie had (stupidly) signed a two year lease, and although she had the savings to break lease and move across town closer to her job, she grew sentimental attachments to her first New York City apartment. 

Multiple sunflower paintings lined the walls of the kitchen, each one a memory from her mother. Sunflowers reminded her of the plains of Kansas, of the tall sunflowers her mother would pant in their backyard garden. She missed the Kansas heat, the crazy summer weather. Hell, she even missed tornado season (kind of). 

But New York was her home now. Kansas had nothing and nobody waiting for her. Plus, she was finally setting down roots. She’d made friends with two of her coworkers, and of course, she met Rafael. 

Truthfully, she was nervous about him coming to her place. Salaries were never discussed between the two of them but, come on, the man wore thousand-dollar suits on the daily and lived in a breathtaking apartment. 

Granted, New York City compensated nurses fairly well. Birdie lived comfortably within her means and developed fairly sized savings (not including the inheritance she’d received when her mother died which was, truthfully, not a whole lot). 

God, did people think she was Rafael’s sugar baby? 

The more Birdie thought about it, the more her anxiety grew. 

Holy shit, he pays for almost everything when they go out. People probably think he’s her sugar daddy. 

Birdie shook her head, keeping the thoughts at bay. She often held a certain nervous energy when she tended to overthink things. She’d often get an idea in her head and allow said idea to let her spiral.

Rafael had told her he’d be by around six, and it was nearing 5:30. 

She began chopping onions, and boiling water. By all means, Birdie was not a chef, but she could cook spaghetti and serve it with a pre-packaged salad. 

Now baking, that was another story. She loved to bake. It was purely scientific, ingredients needing to be accurately measured to make the correct mixtures, baked for the perfect amount of time. There were less errors when following instructions. Cooking? There was more room for error, as many people free-balled it, adding spices to their own taste. And Birdie? She was never good at free-balling anything. 

She was just getting to plating their dinners when Rafael knocked on the door. Birdie flitted to the door, nervous excitement bubbling in her chest. 

Opening the door, she was surprised to see him holding a bouquet of flowers, grin evident on his face. God, she loved when he smiled. 

“Hey! Come inside. I’m almost done with dinner,” Birdie smiled, pecking him on the cheek. “Thank you for the flowers, Rafa.”

She watched as Rafael took in the small apartment, eyeing the barred-up windows. “You’re welcome, mi vida. A pretty girl deserves pretty flowers,” he replied cheekily, eyebrows waggling, smirk evident on his face. 

Birdie waved him off, finishing plating dinner. “It’s nothing special, spaghetti and salad. I wanted to do something quick.”

“Well, it looks great,” Rafael said, taking a bite, giving her noises of approval as he continued to eat. 

They were nearly halfway through dinner when Birdie’s prior anxiety began bubbling in her chest yet again. Barba could feel that something had changed, the atmosphere had shifted. 

“Everything ok, cariño?” 

The words fell out of her mouth before Birdie could stop them, and immediately she wanted to bury herself. 

“You don’t think that people think you’re my sugar daddy, right?”

Rafael frowned, mouth opening to respond but words kept flowing from Birdie’s mouth. “Because I don’t want you to think that. Or anyone to think that. Or even myself to think that, really because-“

Rafael couldn’t help himself. He started laughing, hard. Hand slapping his knee, he shook his head, attempting to suppress his laughter. “Birdie, is that what you’re worried about?” 

She was quiet for a moment before meekly, quietly replying in the affirmative. “I mean… yeah.” 

“Baby, I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about us.” Barba stood, grabbing her hand and pulling her to stand with him. Her chest bumped against his. “If that’s what they think, then I don’t care. I like taking you out. I like showing you around the city. And who cares what anyone thinks? I only care what you and I think about each other.” He pulled Birdie to his chest, fingers trailing along her jawline. He moved to cup her cheek with his palm before bending to give her a chaste kiss on the lips. “Okay?” 

Birdie mulled over his words before relaxing slightly and leaning into his hand. “Okay,” she said softly, blue eyes meeting green. 

Barba chucked, shaking his head. “Sugar daddy?” His smile reached his eyes, crinkling then at the corners. “Come on, cariño, let me spoil you more before thinking like that.”

Birdie rolled her eyes, hand gently slapping his chest, smile playing on her lips. “I don’t know I was just… thinking about what your friends might think if they meet me.” 

Rafael placed his hand on her shoulder, encouraging her to sit back down before he moved back to his own seat. “My friends will think you’re smart and funny and beautiful, just like I do. Plus, like I said, I don’t care about anyone’s opinion about us except for ours.” He pointed his fork to her plate. “Let’s finish dinner, mi vida.”

—-

They finished their dinner in comfortable silence, a smirk playing on Barba’s lips the more he thought about their conversation. The thought wasn’t completely out there. But, like he’d said, he truly did not give a shit about what anyone thought of him or his relationship with Birdie. He only cared about what she thought. When Birdie finished her dinner, Rafael took her plate, volunteering to do dishes, despite Birdie’s protests. It gave him a moment to look around her apartment and see into this private part of her life. 

Her apartment was so… her. 

Color dotted every wall in some way. Lots of yellows and pastels, floral paintings, mostly of different colored sunflowers hung in the kitchen. A small photo of a red-headed woman and who he assumed was a young Birdie sat on the counter. As he finished the dishes, he picked the picture frame up, smiling at it. 

“That’s my mom,” Birdie said softly, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head against his arm. “I think I was around six? She’d taken me to this sunflower field, that was our thing. Sunflowers, I mean. She painted all of these.” Her eyes flitted to the different sunflower portraits in the kitchen. 

“You look like her,” he said softly, setting the photo down, turning and pulling her into his arms. “She sounded like she was an amazing woman.”

Birdie hummed, leaning up to press her lips against his. “She was.”

The two of them stood in her tiny sage-colored kitchen for a while, locked in each other’s embrace. “What… happened, if you don’t mind me asking?” He said gently, hand cupping her cheek, thumb rubbing her cheekbone. 

He watched as Birdie’s eyes closed, a soft hum escaping her lips. “Cancer,” she said quietly. “Metastatic. By the time they found it, it was everywhere. Brain, bone, liver…” Birdie shook her head. “She didn’t seek treatment, which was… I think for the best. It was terminal, anyway. She was on hospice, it was peaceful…” 

Barba’s eyes flickered over her face, watching as her smile turned sad, worried she’d start crying. 

But she didn’t. 

Because of course she didn’t. Instead, she smiled.

Instead, she leaned up to kiss him. “I love talking about her, keeps her memory alive.  Even if it hurts sometimes,” Birdie hummed, pulling away from his embrace to tug him toward her small beige couch. 

Her couch was nothing compared to his lavishly large, lush couch. But it was worn in and comfortable. The two of them settled into comfortable silence before Rafael broke it. 

“You know… I am not the biggest fan of you living in a first-floor apartment.” He commented, eyeing the bars on her windows. The thought had been brewing in his mind the moment he realized she lived on the ground floor. “Do you have a security system at least?” Barba had prosecuted too many cases where women had been easy targets due to them living on the ground floor. 

Birdie’s lips pursed and she thought for a moment. “No, I mean…. I hadn’t really thought about one of I’m being honest. I have double locks on my front door.”

Birdie wasn’t stupid. She was far from in. She was just… a little naive to the potential dangers of New York City. She grew up in an everybody knows everybody kind of town, where leaving your car or home unlocked was no big deal. Where little (if any) crime took place. Where Birdie was from, “stranger danger” wasn’t really a thing. “Midwest nice” meant smiling at strangers, striking up conversations with anyone to be polite, but for New York City? That was asking for trouble. People here usually kept to themselves unless they were looking for trouble. And Birdie? Well, Rafael worried about her. She had a heart of gold and he often worried she’d find herself interacting with the wrong person at the wrong time.

Her eyes glanced up to his, and she saw the frown evident on his face. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll get one,” she said quietly, taking his had in hers, interlocking their fingers together. 

“It would,” Rafael sighed, using his free hand to move her hair away from her neck. He pressed his lips against her neck; below her ear. “It really would.”

—-

Birdie had easily fallen asleep with Rafael next to her, head on his shoulder, arm thrown over his abdomen. 

Rafael? Not so much. 

He loved sleeping next to Birdie; hell, he was getting used to waking up next to her, but everything was so loud outside her apartment. Cars and taxis driving by, people walking, talking. The commotion was something he couldn’t block out. 

Birdie, on the other hand, could likely sleep through a fucking war zone. 

He woke earlier than he normally did, going through his morning routine of detangling Birdie’s body from his own. Curls spread across his chest, her head resting on his shoulder, he gently pressed his lips to her forehead before pulling the blankets tighter around her body and slipping out of bed. 

Birdie’s kitchen was easy enough to navigate. Small coffee pot on the counter, bag of coffee and filters above it. 

He made a face, reading the label of the cheap bag of coffee she kept in her cabinet. Opening the bag, he smelled it and groaned. “Birdie, what the fuck?” He murmured, “is this instant?” 

From across the kitchen, he glanced to the woman sleeping soundly in the bed and he shook his head, a smile creeping on his lips. So, she had bad (no, horrible) taste in coffee. It made sense why she was always putting copious amounts of sugar and cream in her cups now. 

Begrudgingly, Rafael made himself a cup of the stuff. It wasn’t…. That bad. 

Ok, he was lying, it was horrible. But he choked the shit down. 

It was nearing 8:00 when his phone started vibrating. The words “Mami” across the screen. 

Rafael quietly walked across the hardwood floors and carefully shut her bedroom door before answering his phone. 

—- 

Birdie woke to the sounds of Rafael’s voice in the other room. She was sprawled practically sideways across her bed, head on his pillow.

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands, hearing his voice murmuring in Spanish. 

“… Lo sé, mami…. Sí, mami, she’s sleeping right now…. La traeré pronto, lo prometo.” 

Birdie shrugged on her (okay, Barba’s) “Harvard Law” crewneck and quietly patted into the other room. 

Rafael was standing, leaning against her kitchen counter, clad in sweatpants and a white t-shirt as he quietly spoke to who she could only assume was his mother. Birdie briefly thought about how different, more relaxed, he looked in casual clothing. His eyes met hers, and a smile crept onto his face. 

“I have to go now, mami…. Yes, she is…. Ok, ok… Yo también. Te amo mami,” Rafael hung the phone up, placing it on her kitchen counter before walking toward her and pulling her into his embrace. “Buenos días, mi vida.” 

Birdie hummed, resting her head against his chest. “At least I know that one… Good morning, Rafa.” She looked up at him, reaching to press her lips against his. “Did you sleep ok?”

Rafael chuckled and kissed the side of her head. “No, cariño. Too much commotion outside. I miss my bed.” He moved to sit on her couch, half empty coffee mug in hand. 

She smiled in response, shrugging. “I miss your bed too. It’s so… cozy.” He watched as she made her way to the kitchen and made herself a cup of the shit coffee, sugar and all. 

Barba made a face as she joined him on the couch, sliding onto his lap, her free arm slung around his shoulder. She sipped her sugary coffee and smiled at him. “Thank you for staying over. It was a nice change.”

“I’ll come over anytime, but I’m bringing my own coffee next time. Whatever this is, is shit.” He winced as he took another drink from his coffee cup. 

Birdie rolled her eyes, head shaking. “No, no, you just don’t appreciate it. It’s cheap, instant, and has all the caffeine of regular coffee.” Cheeky smile on her face, she winked at him as she took a sip.

“And it tastes like shit,” he added. 

She rolled her eyes, smile tugging on her lips. God, she was always smiling. 

“That’s the only downside to it, I guess.” 

Rafael matched her smile, and in that moment, he felt like he could truly see her. She was like the sunflower paintings in her kitchen. Sage green and yellow, petals always facing the sun. He’d never met someone so colorful and full of life. She was optimistic about damn near everything, a true “glass half full” kind of woman. Someone nearly completely opposite to himself. She cared deeply about others and their opinions, sometimes to a fault. He’d seen the world in hues of gray and black for so long, he almost didn’t remember what it felt like to have someone with such vibrance, such color in his life. She’d drink shit coffee with a fucking smile on her face. She’d drape herself on his couch as he worked in silence, just enjoying his presence. She was as beautiful on the inside as she was outside. 

Rafael had no idea what he did to deserve someone so vibrant in his life. 

God, did he love her? It’s been two, almost three months. Maybe. Fucking probably. But he couldn’t say that yet. It was much too soon. That would ruin everything.

Instead of vocalizing his thoughts, he took both of their coffee cups and set them down on the coffee table, placed his hands on her cheeks, and kissed her deeply. If he couldn’t tell her how he felt right at that moment, he could at least show her. 

Birdie relaxed into his kiss, eyes fluttering shut as she let him deepen the kiss. A quiet moan escaped her throat as her hands gently found their way to his chest. 

When he finally pulled away, her lips were red and she had that fucking smile on her face. He couldn’t help but reciprocate. 

“Do you work today?” She asked, breathlessly, her hands trailing up his neck. 

Rafael sighed, leaning back into her beige couch, hands moving to her hips to drag her body closer to him. “Unfortunately, yes. But I cleared my morning. I don’t go until 11:00.”

Birdie made a face, freckled nose scrunching up as she leaned forward and rested her forehead on his shoulder, practically straddling his lap. “So you have to go back to your place soon to get ready then,” she concluded. 

“I have some time to spare,” Rafael murmured, reaching to brush her curls out of her face. “My mami called me this morning. Told me to tell you “hello”.” He chuckled as she pulled back, looking over his face. 

She was quiet for a beat before the nervous energy ebbed its way back into her. “Did you… still want me to meet her?”

Barba hummed in response, reaching back to grab his (shit) coffee from the coffee table. “Of course, but I told you we’d go at your pace, Birdie. You don’t need to stress. I’m not putting a timeline on this.” He took a sip, trying not to wince at the taste as he swallowed it down. 

“I mean, I’d like to meet her, too. Eventually, I mean. I just don’t want to rush things.” I don’t want to mess this up, she almost said. 

Barba leaned over to kiss her before finishing off his coffee, setting the cup down and pulling her body to his in a short hug. “I have to get going, mi vida. I’ll be home around six tonight, if you start to feel lonely,” he winked at her, leaning to grab her hand to pull her up off the couch. 

Birdie smiled up at him, taking both of their now empty coffee cups and taking them to the sink. “I’ll think about it…” 

“Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to convince you.” 

—-

Of course, Birdie had found herself sleeping at Rafael’s apartment that evening. 

The next morning, Rafael took her to get coffee, actual, good coffee. 

He cringed when Birdie made a face after trying to drink it straight black, then added her usual, copious amounts of cream and sugar to her cup before deeming it drinkable. 

Barba still had time before needing to be in the office, so they walked hand-in-hand down the busy streets of New York, enjoying each other’s company and that morning’s weather. 

Birdie was dressed casually: jeans, cardigan, tennis shoes. And Barba, like always, was dressed to impress in one of his three-piece suits. 

She was smiling (because of course she was), going on about plans for the day and errands she had to run when a voice pulled Rafael to stop. 

“Counselor!” 

Inwardly groaning, he turned, releasing Birdie’s hand. His smile vanished as he saw Detective Carisi approach the couple, waving. 

“Detective,” he nodded in acknowledgment, attempting to turn and walk away. 

“What, you’re not going to introduce us?” Carisi questioned, boyish grin plastered on his face. 

Barba opened his mouth in rebuttal, but there she was, smile on her face as she shook the detective’s hand. “I’m Birdie.”

“Dominick Carisi, Jr., but Sonny, please.” His eyes glanced over Birdie, smiling back at her. Her smile was contagious. 

“Do you work with Rafael?” She questioned, smiling up at Barba before taking a sip of her coffee. 

“Something like that,” Carisi replied. “I have to go but, really, it was a pleasure meeting you, Birdie.” He glanced at the ADA and nodded. “Barba.”

Birdie watched as the detective walked away, turning and looking at Rafael with a raised eyebrow. “What’s up with you?”

Rafael squeezed her hand, continuing their walk. “I just… prefer to often keep my personal and work life separate. I deal with a lot of emotionally heavy cases and… I enjoy keeping you separate from that.”

The reality was, Barba selfishly wanted to keep Birdie to himself. He was afraid of exposing her to his line of work, of the brutality of the cases he prosecuted. Yes, she knew he prosecuted sex crimes. Yes, she’d read some of his cases in the paper. But she never knew the extent of the cases he did. He was afraid that introducing her to members of the SVU would introduce her to a horrifying side of life. He sometimes prosecuted high-profile cases, putting him in the crosshairs of slander or criticism. He never wanted to subject Birdie to any of that. 

She leaned into his arm as they walked, entwining their fingers together. 

Birdie smiled up at Barba again, that thousand-fucking-watt smile. It made her look all that more beautiful.

Chapter Text

When Birdie Stevenson walked into the Sixteenth Precinct, she emitted nervous energy as if it were contagious. 

God, what was his name again? 

Carisi? 

He’d said his name was Sonny. Sonny Carisi. 

Birdie eyed the men and women in the enclosed space, each one seeming to be busy; answering phone calls, checking emails, looking over files. 

She felt out of place. Completely out of her element, like a fish out of water. 

“Excuse me, is there a detective Carisi that works here?” Birdie asked, hesitation heavy in her voice. The man she’d asked didn’t even look up from the file in his hand as he waved her in the direction of Carisi’s desk where he was leaning back in his chair. He was chewing on the top of a pen, eyes intently focused on a piece of paper. He was wearing a suit, dirty blonde hair slicked back. 

As Birdie approached him, his attention broke from the case file in hand, and he glanced up at her. He immediately sat up straighter, eyebrows knitting together, frown evident on his face. 

“Birdie?” 

She forced a smile. “Sonny, right? Hey,” she breathed, shifting her weight, trepidation creeping into her system. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe she was overreacting. 

Before she could tuck tail and run, Carisi spoke. 

“Are you looking for Barba or something? ‘Cause he’s not here,” Carisi said, eyebrow raising as he looked her over. 

“No, no,” Birdie said quickly, anxiety bubbling in her chest. “I’m actually here to see you. I uh… I was hoping to get some advice.”

Carisi leaned forward, intrigue peaked. “Advice? What kind of advice?”

Birdie pursed her lips, trying to find the right words. “Well… Legal advice, I guess.”

He snorted, leaning back again in his chair, eyes rolling. “Advice you couldn’t ask Barba?” 

Her breath came out in a huff. “No, no I mean…” she struggled to find the right words. “Can I just speak with you? Privately?” 

Carisi shrugged, setting down the case file and waved her into an empty conference room. The room contained one large table surrounded by gray swivel chairs, the walls white, bare of decorative finishings. 

Birdie let out a long breath, eyeing one of the chairs. God, it looked like it was from the 90s; coffee stains dotted the worn armrest, wheels creaking as she pulled it away from the table. 

She sat, shifting her weight, hands clasping together as she stared at the detective who’d seated himself across from her.  

Carisi had many ideas floating around in his head about what Barba’s beautiful girlfriend had sought him out for. But what’d come out of her mouth next left him nearly speechless. 

He watched as she took a deep breath, then pulled her purse into her lap. Birdie began pulling out paper after paper. Some torn, some stained, some crinkled. 

“I think someone might be staking me,” she said quietly, hands trembling slightly as she smoothed out one of the pieces of paper. She’s acquired a small stack, the papers varying in color, texture, and size. Birdie briefly made eye contact with Carisi before sliding the stack toward him. 

He frowned, taking the top piece of paper, one that’d been crumpled as if it were trash. On it, red ink was scribbled across the cream-colored paper. 

‘You can’t ignore me forever. You’re MINE’. 

There was a small, pin-point hole under the lettering, as if the author had pressed the pen so hard into the paper, the tip of the pen had broken through. Small, red ink drops splattered the bottom of the page, as if said pen had been snapped, broken in half. 

“Birdie, what…. What the hell is all of this?” Carisi’s eyes flitted up from the papers to her face, expression hard, calculating. 

“It started a few months ago… I started getting letters in my locker at work. I first thought they were harmless, you know? Little folded up pieces of paper that’s say ‘you’re beautiful’ or ‘you make me smile’. It wasn’t every day, just something I’d sporadically find…” her words trailed off, quieter as she continued. “Then it got… sexual.” There was hesitation in her voice as she pulled her phone out, sliding it across the table to show Carisi a photograph of another note, one that’d been crumpled up, thrown in the trash in disgust moments after reading it. 

“Does Barba know?” His voice was hard, frown lines deepening. 

The question made Birdie sigh. She ran a hand through her tussled blonde curls, and she skirted around his question, eyes not meeting his. “I… I tried to handle it with hospital security, but when they started showing up at my apartment I-“

“They showed up at your home?” Carisi sat straighter, eyebrows shooting up. “It’s escalating?”

“I-I didn’t see a need to tell anyone until this was taped to my front door. I thought they were harmless, for the most part. I… I’ve only told my boss and hospital security. I mean, I guess you too now.”

Birdie sorted through the papers; handing him one that still had remnants of duct tape to the top. The handwriting was sloppy, hurried. As if someone had written it in a rush, on impulse. The writing was done in black ink, written with such force that it’d bed through to the backside of the yellowing paper. 

‘If I can’t have you, no one can.’

“I’m scared,” she admitted quietly, voice soft. Her eyes met Carisi’s for a brief moment before they flicked back down to her hands. 

“Does Barba know?” He asked again, softer this time. 

She shook began picking at her nails, eyes not meeting his. “No, I… I almost thought it was a prank at first. I thought I could deal with it until, well… that happened today.” She gestured to the last letter. 

“You realize I’m going to have to show these to the others, right?” Carisi asked, still thumbing through the letters. 

“No, no I figured it’s just… I don’t want to make a mountain out of a mole hill, you know? If it was nothing?” Birdie laughed nervously, biting her lip. 

“Birdie, this is a pretty big mountain. I’m actually really concerned for your safety. I… I think you should really bring Barba in on this it’s… pretty scary stuff.” Carisi’s brows knit together as he read over another letter, this one with ‘YOU’RE MINE’ on it. 

She froze, biting her lip as she ran her thumb along the wood gradient of the table. “I don’t want him to think I’m some kind of liability or-or like a victim…” she let out a breathy, humorless laugh, eyes welling with unshed tears. “I don’t want him to think of me like that.”

Carisi sighed, placing a hand over hers. “He won’t,” he promised, squeezing her hand. His voice was softer, gentler. “You should call him.” 

—-

Rafael Barba was three cups of coffee deep into his workday when his phone rang, pulling his attention away from the case files and evidence that lined his desk. 

Glancing at the caller ID, a small smile crept onto his lips as he saw Birdie’s name flash across the screen. 

“Birdie,” he greeted, leaning back in his chair. “Hey.”

A shaky breath could be heard on the other line, followed by the muffled sound of a man’s voice, vaguely accented. 

Immediately, he sat up straight, free hand gripping the arm rests on his chair. 

“Hi,” she breathed, voice soft. “Are you busy?”

“Is everything alright?” Barba was on edge. Something felt off. 

Shuffling was heard on the other line, Birdie’s soft voice saying something in the distance before the man’s voice was clearer, familiar. It almost sounded like… Carisi? 

“Barba,” the detective was heard clearly, no mistaking Carisi’s Staten Island accent. Rafael stood, back rigid. Carisi’s voice was stern, serious, void of his usual light-natured tone. 

No. 

About a hundred thoughts flew through the ADA’s head, none of which were good. 

“Let me talk to her,” Rafael demanded. It felt like ice water being poured down his back. His hand gripped the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles turned white. 

“It-it’s on speaker,” Birdie spoke up, voice stuttering, nervous. She sounded further away than she did when she answered the phone. “Everything’s fine I-“

More shuffling on the other end before Carisi’s voice became louder, obviously taken the phone from her. “Everything’s not fine. Can you meet us at the precinct?”

He didn’t even hesitate, flinging his office door open, suit jacket slung over his shoulder as he beelined it for the exit. “I’m on my way.”

—-

Birdie sat at Carisi’s desk, fingers tapping on the surface, her leg shaking anxiously. She eyed the detective as he spoke with Olivia Benson across the bullpen, stack of letters in his hand. 

Her eyes were pulled from their conversation to the entrance as Barba plowed through the doors, eyes scanning the room before landing on her. She stood, mouth agape, words failing her as he beelined it toward her. 

Rafael grabbed her shoulders, looking her over, eyes scanning her up and down. He thought the worst. “Birdie,” he breathed, voice wavering. “Are you ok?”

She couldn’t help it, a tiny remnant of a smile creeping on her lips; albeit forced, full of anxiety. “I’m fine, Rafi. I promise.” His grip on her shoulders softened momentarily before he crushed her to his chest, breathing words of relief in Spanish. 

“Barba,” Olivia Benson’s voice called, pulling him away from the tight embrace. 

He released her, opting to take her hand before turning toward Olivia’s voice. She nodded toward the conference room, indicating the couple follow her and Carisi. Rafael obliged, hand refusing to leave Birdie’s smaller one. 

As the conference room door closed, the air grew thick with anticipation. There was a brief moment of silence after all four individuals sat before Rafael spoke up. “What’s going on?”

Carisi sighed, taking the now-bagged-for-evidence papers, and sliding them across the table toward the ADA. “Birdie came to me with concerns. She… We think she has a stalker. One that’s evolving.”

Rafael frowned, glancing quickly at Birdie who was seated next to him before releasing her hand, pulling the papers closer to him. His frown grew, forehead lines becoming more pronounced with worry as he flipped through page after page. 

“What are these?”

The two detectives looked at Birdie expectantly. She sighed, lip worrying between her teeth before she replied, voice soft, shaky as she recounted her story. “When that one showed up at my apartment, I remembered meeting Sonny and… I didn’t know what else to do.”

Rafael’s hands shook with anger, reading the violent, vile words page after page. Threatening, sexual. He almost didn’t realize his hands curled into fists. 

His voice was low, smooth, demanding. “When did it start.” His jaw clenched, teeth grinding together in an effort to release tension. 

“A few months ago I-“

A few months ago?? “And you didn’t tell me, Birdie?” Rafael’s voice was louder, angrier, eyes burning holes into the papers before they hardened. 

“I didn’t think it was a big deal at first!” She defended. “I told my boss, hospital security but nothing came of it! I-I didn’t want to make a big deal out of something but-“

“A big deal?! Birdie, this is a big deal. Your safety is a big fucking deal!” Rafael’s anger was not directed at her. No, never at her. It was directed at the son of a bitch, el hijo de puta, who threatened her. 

“Barba,” Olivia’s cool, even tone made his eyes flick to the two detectives across from him. 

He took in an even breath, calming his temper. It simmered at the surface, but it was more contained, allowing him to sit again, reaching for Birdie’s hand. He could feel her hand shaking slightly as he squeezed her hand in an attempt to reassure her. 

“We are gonna’ need security footage from the hospital, apartment building, anything we can get. We don’t have a whole lot to go off, but best guess is it’s someone who works at the hospital, given the nature of how it started,” Olivia explained, eyeing the two of them. 

Barba nodded before pausing, eyebrows knitting together. “I… can’t get involved with this case. It’s too close. I’d have to recuse myself.” He cursed, leaning back in the chair, glancing at Birdie whose worried eyes looked back at him. “I’ll call McCoy. Get another ADA to help.” 

Olivia nodded, hands folding in front of her. “I suggest you stay elsewhere until we figure out who’s doing this. Maybe take time off work, too. It’s not safe. They know where you live and where you work.”

As she opened her mouth to protest, Rafael nodded in agreement with Olivia. “Not a problem, she’ll be safe staying with me.” He didn’t even have to think about it. Her safety was his priority right now. 

Birdie felt like they were talking over her. Like she was a child. Like they were making decisions for her without consulting with her. Sure, she knew they wanted to help but God, it was frustrating. 

She loved her apartment. She loved her apartment. She loved her job. It gave her the independence, let her become more herself. 

Sure, realistically, logically, Birdie knew that for the sake of her safety those decisions were right. But God, she felt like a child in that moment. 

“Do-do I not get a say in any this?” Birdie spoke up, stumbling over her words. A frown marred her beautiful face. Her blue eyes looked from Rafael’s to the two detectives, shifting nervously in her seat. 

Carisi patted the table once, twice, standing and nudging Olivia. He cleared his throat and nodded at the door. “We’ll give the two of you some privacy to… talk things over.”

Birdie watched as the two NYPD detectives left the room quietly, leaving her and the ADA by themselves. 

Rafael crossed his arms over his chest, his tie loose, sleeves of his shirt pushed up to his elbows. He eyed her as he clenched his jaw, forearms flexing. 

They sat in silence for a moment. Birdie staring at Barba; Barba staring at Birdie. Tension filled the space between them. 

“You could have told me,” Rafael said, voice low, softer than the harsh tone he’d used before. 

Her eyes dropped to her hands, picking at her nails again, nervously. “I should have,” she admitted, sighing. “I think I kept ignoring it, wishing, hoping it would go away. That things would be alright. I just… involving you made it real, and I didn’t want it to be.” 

Rafael signed, rolling his chair closer to hers and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his chest. 

“I understand that it’s not… necessarily safe but, I want to at least still go to work.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. 

He shook his head, pulling away and grabbing her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Birdie,” Rafael started firmly. “This person, they know where you work. They escalated to the point where they found where you lived, possibly following you home to get that information. You aren’t safe there.” He watched as her eyes closed and she took a deep, calming breath. “I want you to stay with me, cariño. I love having you around.” 

She thought of a rebuttal, her stubbornness dying in her throat. She was fucking scared. “Okay,” Birdie’s voice was just above a whisper, eyes not meeting Rafael’s. Instead, she focused her sights on a water ring that’d stained the wooden table in front of them. 

“Cariño,” he called softly, pulling her attention from the table. She looked at him, blue eyes red from previously shed tears. He embraced her, pulling her into a hug, lips brushing her forehead. “Let’s get out of here.”

She frowned, eyebrows knitting together before pulling back, looking up at him. “Don’t you need to go back to work?”

“You’re more important.”

Chapter Text

Rafael Barba had a damn good poker face. 

He could remain stoic, even when rattling off horrific details of crimes. He’d bite back his expressions, face neutral, even when he’d know he hit the metaphorical nail on the head and won a jury over.

In court, Rafael took pride in being sharp-witted, self-assured, and confident. He was an intimidating opponent, often viewing himself as playing chess instead of checkers in the courtroom. Call it ego, call it pride, but Barba knew he was damn good at his job. He’d often come across as crass, uncaring, often abrupt or dismissive. And part of that was, in part, because of said poker face. 

But it was true what they say. About the eyes being the windows to the soul.

Because even when Rafael put on that poker face, put on the mask he so often wore to work, his eyes were his tell. They’d give him away to those who could see past the hard, external shell. See the excitement, fear, disgust, trepidation hiding behind his eyes. See the over-analytical, inquisitive nature of his mind as he organized his thoughts into sharp-witted sentences. 

Birdie, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of him. 

She so often wore her heart on her sleeve, facial expressions giving away her every thought. Impassive she was not. It was almost as if her inward feelings radiated from her, broadcasting her thoughts to the outside world. 

And she was a shit liar. 

Reading Birdie Stevenson was like easy, unexacting. 

In a way, it was one of the things Rafael Barba loved about her. Yes, loved.

He spent nearly every day of his professional life reading people; detectives, witnesses, victims and defendants, finding answers, learning the truth.  Being with Birdie made him feel like he could let his guard down, stop over-analyzing everything and let his mind relax. 

He’d known something had been up with Birdie for days now. Her smile less genuine, not quite reaching her eyes. Despite her saying everything was fine, Rafael knew it was bullshit. 

“Birdie,” he’d stirred her from her thoughts. Her eyes snapped to him from across the dinner table, pulling her away from the book in her hands. She set the worn copy of Wuthering Heights down, marking her page with a bookmark.

Rafael had brought work home, leaving the DA’s office early that afternoon. He was set up across from her, laptop open, files covering the tabletop. 

“Hm?” She pushed her glasses up her nose, having foregone her contacts. She smiled at him, but it never reached her eyes. Forced, stiff, so different from her usual, breathtaking smile. 

Rafael snapped his laptop closed, running a hand through his hair. “Talk to me,” he pleaded, eyes softening. 

Birdie could read his eyes, see his concern. She sighed, jaw clenching. She was quiet for a long time before finally answering. “I need to go back to work,” she replied quietly, eyes not quite meeting his. 

She felt like a caged bird, wings clipped.

Under the advice of the SVU detectives, the ADA taking her case, (and of course Rafael himself) Birdie’s unused PTO was put into use as she took time off as they worked the investigation. 

She was going stir crazy. 

Rafael took her out and about, on dates, to the grocery store. But she was fucking bored. She missed the mental stimulation she received from work, the satisfaction from helping patients, the critical thinking. 

She watched as Rafael’s face morphed, poker face slipping over his features. “No,” his voice was firm, final. 

“No?” Birdie questioned, rising from her seat. Annoyance was evident in her voice. 

“No.” His words had a sense of finality to them, tone clipped. “There were escalating pattern of obsession and harassment. It’s going to get worse, and I’m not about to put your life at risk needlessly.” 

She shook her head, arms crossing over her chest. “It’s been almost two weeks, Rafael! There’s no progress. I can’t keep putting my life on hold thinking something bad’s going to happen!” 

Despite arguing for a living, Rafael hated fighting. Especially with those he loved. 

He shook his head, leaning back in his seat. “It’s not just thinking something bad is going to happen, Birdie. It’s waiting for the inevitable.” She opened her mouth in rebuttal, but he raised a hand, cutting her off. “You’ve been stalked, harassed, and threatened. I’m not taking chances with you. You’re too important to me.”

While his face remained hard, unreadable, it was his eyes that were always his tell. 

Fear. 

He was terrified. 

The woman he loved had been threatened, followed home and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. What was worse was the fucker was still out there, waiting for her. 

Birdie could read the emotion in his eyes, behind the stoic, unreadable expression. Her previously raised hackles relaxed, sighing as she ran a hand through her now frizzy blonde curls. 

“Rafael,” she said softly, shaking her head. “I need to move forward. I don’t want this person to… to control me.”

He pushed himself from the table, standing with her. He loosened his tie, frustration evident in the look he gave her. “Birdie.”

“Rafa,” her tone mimicked his, throwing the same look back at him. 

“You know I can’t force you to do anything.” Barba said, jaw clenching. “But Birdie, I really…” he cleared his throat, willing his voice not to crack. “I need you to be safe. I can’t protect you if you’re not here.” 

She took a deep breath in. “I know that I just… I’m going crazy here.” She moved, placing a hand on his chest, smoothing out his button-down. “I talked with my boss already. I’m just going to do part-time until this is sorted…” 

“Cariño,” he sighed, hands moving to cup her face. His thumb traced her cheekbone before they dropped back to his side. “Fine, fine.” He conceded, jaw flexing. “On one condition.”

Birdie gave him a look, trying her hardest not to roll her eyes. “What’s that?” 

“Someone drives you to and from. Either my driver’s service or one of the detectives.”

“Rafael-“ she attempted to protest. 

“No, no. We aren’t taking any chances. Not with your safety, we aren’t.” 

She was quiet for a while before she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Fine,” she finally agreed. 

Rafael pulled her into his arms, lips pressing against the crown of her head. “You mean… Everything to me, Birdie. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me, Rafi.” She said softly, arms wrapping around his neck. She captured his lips with hers gently, an attempt to reassure him. 

But Rafael was still left unsure, trepidation creeping into his mind. 

—-

Birdie returned to work three days later. Her mood had improved, back to her chipper self. Her smiles became genuine again, and Rafael conceded that maybe her going back to work was a good idea. 

She still stayed with Rafael in his apartment, though. That was non-negotiable. 

But Barba was still on edge. 

The SVU detectives had next to nothing on who they thought was Birdie’s stalker. 

They’d interviewed coworkers, hospital staff, and reviewed security footage. They could place one man who’d been caught on security cameras in her apartment building the day the last letter was taped to her door, but other than that, it was a pile of circumstantial evidence. 

The man’s name was Ryan Morrison. He was a maintenance worker at the hospital, someone who’d been arrested in the past on domestic violence charges (although these charges were dropped by the victim). There was a case file on him, thick as a dictionary from HR. He was a hot-head, temper often sabotaging his success. He was fit, in his mid-thirties, and had asked Birdie out on a date a few weeks after she started working at the hospital. She, of course, rejected him. 

They had questioned him regarding his being in her apartment building, but according to Morrison, he had a friend who lived two floors up from Birdie. This was a fact that was confirmed by the landlord. 

It all made sense, of course. He potentially had motive: the rejection. His schedule coincidentally matched with Birdie’s previous Sunday, Monday, Tuesday weekly ritual. 

But it was all nothing, purely circumstantial. Barba knew they’d never be able to indict him on charges of stalking and harassment just on this evidence alone. 

So, the waiting game began. 

He’d been evolving, growing bolder. It was only a matter of time before he escalated, slipped up. 

And that’s what bothered him. 

He knew that Birdie was a sitting duck. He’d begged, pleaded with her to take more time off of work, but she was so fucking stubborn. 

When Barba had told Birdie of their potential suspect, she grew confused ‘no that can’t be right’ she’d said.  ‘Ryan is nice to me’ she’d said. 

But Rafael told her to stay away from him, regardless. 

Birdie went from working three, twelve-hour shifts to two a week. Barba had tried to convince her to decrease it further to just one shift, but Birdie did not relent. 

Every morning, his car service dropped her off, and every evening, either an SVU detective (usually Carisi) or an officer drove her back to Barba’s apartment building. 

It’d been going well, for the most part. 

Until that evening. 

Birdie had finished on time that evening, a feat she hadn’t been able to do in months. It was a good day. She had a great patient assignment and had really bonded with them. 

She was dressed in her usual navy scrub pants, Sesame Street crewneck keeping her warm (it was a fan favorite amongst her younger patients). Pink badge reel with her credentials was clipped to the hem of her sweater. Her blonde curls were thrown up in a ponytail, frizzy from the long day. She smelled faintly of antiseptic and hand sanitizer, sweat and fatigue. All she wanted was to get home, take her tennis shoes off, and run a hot shower. 

She was practically salivating thinking about Rafael’s king-sized bed and fancy sheets. 

Birdie walked down the hall of the hospital at 7:45, eyes glued to her phone as she sent Sonny Carisi a text that she was on her way out. ‘Just finished, heading out rn :).’ As her thumb hit ‘send’, she collided with someone’s chest. 

Her phone fell out of her hands, skidding across the linoleum of the hospital floor. The silence was deafening. The hospital was mostly void of patrons as it got later in the evening. Visiting hours were over in less than fifteen minutes, so the hallways were practically empty. 

“Shoot, I’m so sorry I-“ Birdie’s eyes lifted, meeting those of the individual she’d run into. 

Ryan Morrison. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, FUCK. 

Her smile was forced, heart jumping in her throat as she swallowed down her fear. 

Rafael had made her promise to avoid him at all costs until they could prove (or deny) that he was the guilty party. 

Ryan was a tall man, built like a brick house. One may have even considered him handsome. But there was always something about him that was off-putting to Birdie. 

He wasn’t dressed in his hospital uniform like one would expect. Instead, he was dressed casually: collared shirt, dark washed jeans, and tennis shoes. 

He reached down to pick up her cellphone, looking down at the screen in the process. The phone vibrated in his hand, signaling that Sonny had texted her back. Ryan frowned, reading the private text messages between her and the detective. 

“Your boyfriend?” He asked, eyes turning to her. 

Fuck, she wished she had a better poker face. She just knew she was oozing anxiety. 

“No, no. Just a friend,” she tried to smile as she reached her hand out, a silent request to hand her the phone back. 

“Right,” Ryan breathed, nodding as he began typing on the screen. “His name is Rafael. Not ‘Sonny’.” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“How did you-“ she tried to ask, heart beating so fast she could barely breathe. It felt like someone had taken a cup of ice water and poured it over her head, shocking her body. Her sympathetic nervous system kicking into overdrive when the urge to fight or flight made her itch. 

But there was a third option, one she hadn’t considered: freeze. 

And that’s what Birdie did. 

She froze. 

“It’s been a few weeks, hasn’t it?” Brian said, putting her cellphone in his pocket. Birdie opened her mouth to respond, but she couldn’t produce any sounds. “You’re not… avoiding me, are you?” He looked at her, eyes calculating, watching her every move. 

Finally, her lips and vocal cords cooperated with her. “I-I just took some time off f-for myself,” Birdie stuttered, forced smile still spread across her face. 

“Bullshit!” He snapped, causing her to flinch. “You were with that fancy fucking attorney. Your boyfriend,” he spat the word out, jaw clenching. He slowly stalked forward, causing Birdie to walk backwards until her back hit the wall. He reached out, gripping her upper arm so tight she could feel bruises forming. She whimpered, trying to pull away from him. His breath reeked of cheap alcohol and stale cigarettes. “Don’t lie to me.”

“You’re hurting me,” Birdie squeaked out, trying to escape from his grip, her hands trying to pull herself away from him. Her bag clattered to the floor, pens rolling across the ground. 

Ryan chuckled humorlessly, moving his grip to her jaw. “You’re not going to lie to me anymore, Birdie.” He spat her name out, anger growing in his eyes. “I know you’ve been giving me the run-around, playing hard to get.” His grip tightened on her face, her eyes squeezing shut in response to the pain that erupted. “Right?!” 

The tears she tried so hard to keep at bay began flowing down her face. His pocket began vibrating; someone was trying to call her. “I-I’m sorry!”

His grip on her face suddenly vanished, his fingertips caressing her soon-to-be bruised face. “You just know I like a challenge, don’t you, baby?” 

Birdie felt like she had whiplash. She’d heard rumors of Ryan’s temper. How he’d get upset over little things at work. How he’d been reported to HR in the past about his anger issues. He’d earned the title of being hot-headed. 

The vibrating in his pocket stopped for a few moments before it started up again. 

“I know you’re sorry,” he said, index finger trailing down her neck. “You’ll make it up to me though, won’t you?”

Birdie’s lips parted; pupils blown in fear. “Y-yes,” she whispered. 

Morrison pulled Birdie’s body to his chest, lips brushing against her ear. “We’re going to walk out that door and you’re not going to say a thing.” His grip moved back to her arms, squeezing tightly. “Right?”

She wordlessly nodded, tears streaming down her face. 

He pulled her with him, Birdie stumbling after him as she tried to keep up with his pace. Her work bag was left abandoned, contents spilling onto the linoleum. 

The grip on her arm was so tight that Birdie’s fingers became numb. She clenched her teeth, willing the tears to slow, the pain to ebb away. 

She staggered behind him, tripping over her own feet in attempt to keep up with his pace. 

He pulled her onto the streets of Manhattan, the New York City sky darkening as the sky erupted with rain. Birdie gasped, feeling the rain soak her clothing, her hair sticking to her forehead and neck. 

“S-stop!” She tried to protest as he began dragging her to a dark pickup truck. It was parked haphazardly along the curb. Its windows were tinted. “Please!” 

She didn’t see the slap coming, but she felt the sting of her cheek, wind knocking out of her lungs. “Shut up!” He hissed, moving his grip to fist her sweater, pulling her upright as she recoiled from the slap. As he moved to open the passenger door, a familiar voice pulled both of their attentions away from the truck. 

“Birdie!”

Sonny fucking Carisi. 

Birdie’s eyes became wild, terrified as she twisted in Morrison’s grip, trying to locate the sound of his voice. “Sonny!” Her voice was desperate as she attempted to pull away from her captor. 

“NYPD, put your hands up!” Sonny yelled, hand on his gun as he approached Bryan’s truck. Birdie’s eyes were wide, pleading as the detective approached them. 

Bryan pushed Birdie forward, her knees and palms scraping against the concrete street. He cursed, attempting to flee to the driver’s side door of his truck, but Carisi pounced, yanking him by the collar of his shirt, cuffing him. 

Blood covered Birdie’s hands, her knees stung, scrub pants torn from her fall. She watched as Carisi’s knee pinned him to the wet, New York City street, cuffing his hands behind his back. 

Carisi moved Bryan to the squad car, throwing him in the backseat before running back up to where Birdie was seated on the curb. 

“Hey, hey. Are you ok?” He helped her stand, taking his damp jacket off and wrapping it around her shoulders. He winced as she turned her now-bruised face toward him, a small, tearful smile on her lips. She launched herself into the detective’s arms, bloody palms gripping his shirt as her tears flowed freely. 

Sirens were heard down the street, no doubt the backup he had called. 

“Thank you,” she spoke into his chest, her tone heavy with emotion. 

He led her back inside the hospital, helping her out of the rain. His coat was still draped around her shoulders, her clothes and hair damp, making her shiver as the cool hospital air conditioning chilled her. 

She sat in a now-empty waiting room, sitting quietly with Olivia Benson as she took her statement. 

“I’m fine, really. I don’t think I need to be seen,” Birdie said after she’d retold her account of events. Olivia had been trying to convince her to get a once-over in the emergency department. 

“Okay,” Olivia said softly, eyeing the bruises forming on her face. “But we really need to take photos of your bruises for evidence purposes. We can do this here or back at the precinct.” 

Birdie sighed, looking down at the linoleum. It had been stained, worn from decades of foot traffic. “Can we do it here? I just… want to go home.” She cleared her throat, eyes flitting up to meet the other woman’s. “Did you call Rafael? He took my phone.”

“Carisi did, yes.” Olivia patted Birdie’s. “He should be here soon.”

“Okay,” she breathed, worrying her lip with her teeth. “I-I’d like to get the photos over with. I just… I want to get out of here.” 

It was a blur from there. There was a room in the emergency department dedicated to these kinds of things. For victims to be examined, photographed. 

Birdie stared at the sterile-looking hospital walls, clad only in her bra and scrub pants. She’d asked Olivia to be there with her during while the photographer took pictures of her face, her arms. 

As Birdie began dressing, her eyes flicked to Olivia’s. “Are you sure you’re okay?” The detective asked, eyebrows knit together. 

“Yes, I just… I’m really tired.” Birdie sounded defeated, exhausted. Her eyes were heavy, head aching from a mixture of exhaustion and the adrenaline slowly leaving her system. 

Exiting the room, she recognized Rafael’s figure pacing the hall, cellphone pressed to his ear as he spoke sharply to the individual on the other line. 

“I want felony attempted kidnapping and assault in addition to the stalking and harassment charges.” His voice was demanding, harsh. “I don’t care if I’m not prosecuting this case, you damn well know it’s what he needs to be charged with.” 

Olivia’s hand was placed on Birdie’s back, leading her toward the ADA. The moment he saw them in his periphery, he hung up the phone, taking quick steps toward the two women. 

His breath was caught in his throat, steps faltering as he took in the site of her bruised face. 

But there was that smile. 

That fucking smile. 

This one wasn’t nearly as bright, didn’t quite reach her eyes, but Birdie was smiling up at him. 

“Cariño,” he breathed, gently reaching for her, pulling her into a gentle hug. 

Birdie’s now bandaged hands gripped the back of Rafael’s suit jacket, eyes fluttering shut in relief. 

“I’ve got her, now. Thank you, Liv,” he said quietly, tightening his hold on her ever-so slightly. 

They stood there, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, wrapped in each other’s embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” Birdie’s voice was shaky, muffled by his chest. “I-I should have listened to you, I should have-“ 

“Stop.” His voice was firm, but gentle as he pulled away, hands cupping her face. “You have nothing to apologize for. This… None of this is your fault.” Rafael tried to keep his own tears at bay. 

“Can you take me home?” Her voice was hoarse, strained. 

“Always.” 

Chapter Text

Birdie had a headache. 

Scratch that, it was a fucking migraine. 

It was a throbbing, all-consuming pain that’s epicenter circled her optic nerve. Her head pounded, noises amplifying the pain. 

She laid in Rafael’s bed, staring at the ceiling. She could overhear him speaking on the phone, Spanish slipping into his vocabulary as he got angrier, louder. 

“Fucking Buchanan?!” Curses in Spanish mingled with curses in English. “You know how he is, he’ll go for blood on the cross.”

At that point, Rafael’s voice became quiet, Birdie no longer able to make out his words. She sat up, head still throbbing. 

“Rafa,” Birdie called softly, eyebrows tightly knit together as she entered the brightly lit room. 

He was in the kitchen pacing but stopped when he saw her. His forced smile was answer enough to Birdie’s unanswered questions. 

“It’s about Morrison, isn’t it?” She asked, voice faint, blue eyes meeting green. 

Rafael sighed, allowing the faux smile to slip off his face. “Yes,” he admitted, running a hand through his tussled hair. 

Birdie swallowed hard, moving to sit on one of the barstools that occupied the kitchen counter. It’d been three days since the incident with Ryan Morrison. Her bruises were splotchy, some yellowing, some still an angry purple. She knew facing him in court was inevitable, but she wasn’t prepared for talks of it to come along so soon. 

“He has this lawyer. One who I’m… familiar with.” Rafael said slowly, deliberately choosing his words. 

Birdie snorted, arms moving to cross over her chest. “He’s going to rip me apart on the stand, isn’t he?” 

Rafael sighed, forearms moving to rest on the countertop. He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “He’s already making motions to try and dismiss some of the charges. He wants a deal. To drop the stalking and attempted kidnapping charges and-“

“He can’t do that, can he?” Birdies head ached further as she watched Barba’s poker face slip back on, a mask shielding his emotions. 

Rafael reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If this goes to trial, he’s going to twist and turn your story.” There he was again, picking his words carefully, deliberately. “He’s willing to accept aggravated battery and a lifetime protection order for you; maybe a year in prison.” 

Birdie’s face twisted, her eyes desperate. She scoffed. “A year? For stalking me? Harassing me? Leaving threatening notes on my doorstep?” Her voice became shaky, willing tears to remain at bay. 

Rafael ran a hand down his face. “You don’t understand, cariño. His lawyer, Buchanan, he… he will invalidate you. Make you seem-“ 

“Really?” Birdie cut him off, lip trembling. “How bad can it really be? Sonny watched as he hurt me, tried to drag me into his fucking truck.” 

“The assault is the only thing there’s an eyewitness to.” Barba’s voice was cold, flat. “He’s going to claim that you two had a… relationship. That you liked the attention. That’s Buchanan’s M.O.” 

“But that’s not the truth!” Birdie cried, voice cracking. “It’s not the truth!” 

“Juries are unpredictable,” Rafael explained. “A lifetime protection order will be in place and-“

“A piece of paper?” Her voice turned icy, angry as her eyebrows shot up. “Do you really think a piece of paper is going to keep me safe? Is going to stop him?”

“If he violates the protection order, he can be charged, put away for more time. It-“ 

“Oh, so he’d have to go after me again, huh? Give him the opportunity to do something worse?” 

Rafael’s mask slipped as he approached her, placing a hand on her back. “You know I’d do anything in my power to protect you. I’ll have them negotiate, see if there’s any way to add on any additional charges. But Birdie,” he said softly. “Taking a plea deal isn’t a bad thing.”

The truth was, Rafael wanted nothing more than to eviscerate Ryan Morrison in open court. He wanted to charge him with anything and everything possible. 

But he couldn’t. He’d long since recused himself. And on top of it, he truly didn’t want to watch Birdie get put through Buchanan’s cross. 

Juries were unpredictable. One bad egg could ruin the whole dozen. If one person was convinced of Morrison’s lies and Buchanan’s manipulation tactics, a mistrial would make Birdie go through the whole process again. 

Birdie sighed, head resting in her hands. “Okay,” she said softly, eyes squeezed shut. “If a plea deal means I won’t have to face him in court, then okay.”

Rafael pressed a kiss to the crown of her head lovingly. “I’ll make some calls.”

Recusing himself didn’t mean he didn’t have pull in the DA’s office. 

—-

Eighteen months. 

Aggravated battery and misdemeanor stalking was what’d Buchanan’d agreed to. 

Eighteen months with the possibility of parole after nine. 

Birdie was granted a long-term protection order against Morrison. If he’d come within 1,000 yards of her, he’d be arrested and charged with a felony. 

With Morrison behind bars, Birdie felt like she could breathe again. 

Birdie entered the DA’s office, balancing three cups of coffee in her hands.

“Is he in?” Birdie asked as she stopped by Carmen’s desk, handing her an iced latte. She glanced at his closed office door before smiling back at the dark-haired secretary. 

God, Carmen loved Birdie Stevenson. Whenever Birdie brought the ADA coffee, she’d bring one for Carmen too. She made her boss seem less intimidating, not as serious. And she was always smiling, a warm contrast to Barba’s usually harsh demeanor. 

“Should be soon. He had to head over to the precinct.” Carmen sipped the latte. “You can wait in his office, I know he won’t mind. Thank you for this by the way.”

Birdie smiled gratefully and took the two remaining coffee cups into Rafael’s office. 

She sat in his chair, spinning slightly as she looked around. Books lined the wall behind his office, titles such as “Modern Tort Law” and “New York Criminal Law” filled the bookshelves. He had a beautiful, green marble fireplace off in the corner of the room, mantle lined with books, a clock, and lamp. A small, rounded table sat to the left of his desk, surrounded by four matching chairs. 

His desk was covered with files and legal pads, his handwriting scrawled along the paper. 

Birdie leaned back in his chair, gripping the armrests as she spun around again.

“You’re going to make yourself dizzy,” his voice stopped her as he walked in, plopping additional folders and case files on his desk. Rafael moved toward her, eyeing the extra coffee cup. “Please tell me that’s for me.”

Birdie laughed, standing. Her hands grasped the lapels of his suit jacket, leaning up to meet his lips with her own. “Of course it is.”

He gratefully took the cup in hand, suppressing a groan as he took a long drink. “You’re a godsend.” 

She moved out of his seat, taking up residence in one of the two leather chairs across from his desk. “Are you busy?” There was that nervous energy again, her face exposing every one of her thoughts. 

“Not particularly. What’s on your mind?” 

It’d been almost two weeks since Morrison took the plea deal, and almost two months since she first packed her things to come stay with him. Birdie’d taken time off work after the attack, but was finally back full time. Her life felt… well, more normal. She was still staying with Rafael, and hadn’t even seen the inside of her apartment since that day at the precinct with Carisi. 

Birdie sighed, taking a sip from her coffee. “I think it’s probably time I move back into my apartment.” 

Rafael couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. “Oh?” 

“Not that I haven’t loved or appreciated staying with you, Rafa.” She added quickly, leaning forward in the chair. “I just don’t want to keep invading your space.”

“Invading my space?” Rafael sat straighter, taller in his seat. “Why would you think that? I’ve loved every minute of you living with me.”

Five months of dating and they were practically living together. Correction, they were living together. 

God, her grandmother would be rolling in her grave to know she was cohabiting with a man. 

“Well,” Birdie said slowly, deliberately choosing her words. “I haven’t even been back to my apartment since this whole thing with Morrison began. My landlord called me this morning, asking when I’d be back.”

Rafael looked at her for a while, debating with his own inner thoughts. “So, what if you didn’t go back?” 

“What?” Her eyebrows up, shocked. 

“Move in with me.”

“You can’t be serious,” a nervous laugh bubbled out of Birdie’s throat, giving him an incredulous look. 

“You should know by now that I don’t do anything I don’t want to. And I’m asking you because I want you to move in with me.” He leaned back, taking a sip from his coffee cup. “I’m very serious.”

“It’s only been five months and-“

“So?” He placed the coffee cup back on his desk, moving to stand in front of her. “So what? I love spending time with you. I love coming home to you. I love sleeping next to you. I love you.” The admission that had been on the tip of his tongue for months finally rolled out of his mouth. He’d spent so long stressing, worrying about when and how to finally admit to Birdie Stevenson that he loved her, that he loves her. He’d even googled ‘how to tell someone you love them’ about half a dozen times. The truth was, there was never going to be a perfect time or situation to say those three words, and now was as good of time as any. “I love you.” 

Her eyes immediately softened, lips parting slightly before that brilliant, thousand-watt smiled that he loved - loved - so fucking much spread across her face. “I love you too.” 

Birdie moved out of her chair, hands moving to the lapels of his jacket as he cupped her face before moving to press his lips against hers. “Move in with me,” he kissed her again in between his words. 

She shook her head, brilliant smile never wavering. “My lease doesn’t end for a while, Rafa.”

He rolled his eyes, smirk creeping on his lips. “And leases can be broken.”

She stared up at him, big blue eyes meeting green. Her hands moved from the lapels of his suit jacket to smooth across his tie, fidgeting with the buttons of his waistcoat. “It would be nice to live closer to work…” 

Rafael scoffed, kissing her again. “As if you don’t practically live with me already.” 

“Okay, fine. Deal. On one condition.”

“Anything, mi amor.” 

“I want to meet your mom first.” 

—-

Lucia Barba was beyond thrilled. 

When Rafael had first mentioned seeing someone, a girlfriend, she thought her heart might explode. 

She’d watched as her son made a name for himself, become the big, hot-shot prosecutor, watched him throw himself into his work. She watched as the cases he prosecuted gained media attention, watched as he bloomed in his career. 

But finally, finally, she got to watch him be happy in love. 

When Birdie Stevenson walked into her small apartment in the Bronx, feeling shocked was an understatement. 

She was beautiful, young, and had one of the most vibrant, genuine smiles that Lucia had ever seen. But that wasn’t what shocked her. Her son, the fast talking, hardheaded, stoic lawyer was smiling. 

She hadn’t seen her Rafi smile like that in decades. 

Before Rafael could properly introduce his girlfriend to his mother, Lucia wrapped the blonde in a tight hug, Spanish words of excitement and welcome bubbling from her throat. 

“¡Ay dios mío! Ella es tan bella, mijo.” Lucia’s smile matched her sons. “It’s so good to finally meet you!”

Birdie smiled at the older woman. “The pleasure’s all mine, Mrs Barba.”

“Lucia, please.” She insisted, placing a hand on Birdie’s check affectionately before turning to her son. “Mijo.”

“Mami,” Rafael hugged her, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. 

“Come in, come in.” Lucia grasped Birdie’s hand, leading the younger woman into her apartment, motioning for her to sit on the couch. “Can I get you something to drink, my dear? Water, coffee?” 

“A water would be nice, please. Thank you, Lucia.” Birdie said, taking a seat on her couch. Her eyes glanced around, smiling as she saw photographs lining the walls, many of them being Rafael at various stages in life. 

He took up residence on the seat beside her, moving to entwine his fingers with hers. 

“You played baseball?” Birdie asked, glancing at the photograph of a young Rafael holding a baseball bat. 

He snorted, eyes rolling as he also glanced at the photo. “Not very well.”

Lucia returned from the kitchen, setting a cup of coffee in front of her son and a glass of water in front of Birdie. She sat in an armchair, the smile still plastered on her face. 

“Birdie. That’s an interesting name,” Lucia started, smiling at the couple. 

“It is,” she agreed, brushing stray curls out of her face. “My first name is Elizabeth, although I was never called that growing up.”

“Muy Bonita,” Lucia smiled, moving to grab her cup of tea. “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Rafi tells me you’re a nurse?”

Birdie cleared her throat, nerves subsiding just a bit. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she met Rafael’s mother, but she was warm and inviting, made her feel more than welcome in her home. “Yes, I currently work in pediatrics.”

“And you like your job? You like kids?” Lucia asked, excited glint in her eyes. 

Rafael shifted, his hand grasping Birdie’s tighter. He knew where this was going. His mother was not slick. “Mami,” his voice tense, a warning. 

Birdie smiled, though. Because, of course she did. “I love them.” 

And Birdie walked right into it. 

“And you want children of your own, sí?” 

“¡Mami!” Rafael scolded, shooting his mother a look. 

The topic of children was not even a topic he’d bridged with Birdie yet. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to have children, to subject them to a generational curse he was terrified he’d pass onto them. He was scared of becoming his father. 

“¿Qué?” Lucia raised a hand in defense, waving off her son’s irritation. “I’m not getting any older y sabes que quiero nietas.” 

“Basta, mami,” Rafael reprimanded, letting go of Birdie’s hand. 

Birdie’s mind went a million miles an hour, eyes flicking between Rafael and his mother. The flip between English and Spanish made her head spin. This was obviously a touchy subject between mother and son. 

“Maybe one day,” Birdie said in an attempt to diffuse the tension, causing Barba’s eyes to snap to her. 

Lucia clasped her hands together, eyes shining with excitement. “Oh, muy bien!”

Despite the conversation moving away from the topic of possible future children, Rafael stayed relatively quiet the rest of the meeting with his mother. 

—- 

Birdie knew something was up. 

Rafael was giving her the cold shoulder, and she had an inkling of an idea as to why. 

She wish she would have taken back her words, wish she wouldn’t have engaged with his mother interrogating her about the idea of potential future grandchildren. 

At Rafael’s apartment, he was silent as he got ready for bed. Birdie hadn’t yet moved in officially, her apartment still full of boxes and personal items. 

“Rafa?” 

He turned toward her, pausing before he moved into the bathroom. “Yeah?”

Birdie hesitated before moving toward him, hands reaching to touch him before faltering, falling at her side. “What’s wrong?”

The mask slipped back on, poker face in full display. “Do you really want children?” 

This was never something the two of them had discussed. They had never discussed what a future between them may or may not look like, what expectations or goals they had. 

“Maybe? Yes? I don’t-Rafael, do you not want them?” 

He was quiet for a while before he sighed and turned away from her. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay, Rafi. If you don’t want kids, we don’t have to have-“

“Stop!” He snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Stop. I’m not going to-to take that away from you. I’m not going to let you… settle. You don’t deserve to settle for anything less than what you want.”

Taken aback, she reached to grasp his shoulder, face full of hurt. “I’m not-why would you-Rafael, why would you think I was settling? I love you.”

He was silent for several moments, jaw clicking, diverting his eyes away from her. “Maybe this was a mistake,” he said coolly, finally turning to look at her. Insecurity was bubbling inside his chest, simmering under his collar. “You’re young, naive. Maybe what we both want just isn’t…. Compatible.” The four syllable word was spat, harsh, intended to hurt her  

“Compatible?” Birdie was fighting back tears. Was he breaking up with her? After everything? After telling her that he loved her, after meeting his mother? After protecting her? “Rafael, are you… are you breaking up with me?” She willed her voice to be strong, not to break, but her tone wavered. 

He sighed, and she watched as the mask slipped for a moment, a split moment, before hardening again, becoming unreadable. “I just think we need some space to… figure out what we both want.” 

She sucked in a deep breath, dam breaking as tears rolled down her freckled cheeks. “Okay,” her voice shook, tucking a strand of beautiful, blonde hair out of her face. She was never one to argue, never one to fight. She was a people-pleaser at heart, a true empath. If he wanted this, for her to leave, to have space, then that’s what she’d give him. “Okay.”

Rafael watched as she, clad in pajamas, grabbed her keys, phone, and purse. He watched her cry, face turning splotchy red as her cheeks became tear-stained. He watched as she willed herself not to whimper, biting her lip so hard he was afraid she’d draw blood. 

And finally, he watched, mask slipping, as Birdie Stevenson walked out of his apartment.

Chapter Text

Rafael Barba hadn’t been in a Catholic Church in two years. The last time he’d gone, his mother and grandmother had drafted him to Christmas mass. 

He sat in a pew, tie loosened, waistcoat unbuttoned. 

Guilty convictions usually made Rafael Barba feel on top of the world, euphoric-like. It made him feel as though the work he was doing helped to pull victims from their nightmares, give them a semblance of justice. 

The jury had deliberated for less than an hour before coming back with “guilty on all counts”. Usually, this would have made Barba exhilarated, high on his win. 

But not today. 

Today, he sat in an empty Catholic Church, staring up at the sanctuary, praying to anyone that would listen. 

It’d been almost five days since Rafael had seen Birdie. The first two, he didn’t contact her, instead deciding to wallow in his own misery. 

On the third day he texted her. 

No answer. 

The fourth, a phone call. 

No answer. 

On day five, he’d relinquished all sense of pride and called and texted her, leaving a voicemail where he begged her to talk to him. 

But again, no answer. 

He buried himself in work, working his ass off for that guilty conviction. But winning meant nothing, did nothing to numb his bleeding heart. 

So, he sat in that pew, hands folded, staring up at the intricate artwork that coated the ceiling. 

“Seems like you have a lot on your mind,” a voice pulled him away from his own torment, eyes meeting those of a priest. Rafael watched as the priest sat beside him, giving him a kind smile. “Would you like some company?”

The ADA nodded before looking back up at the ceiling, grateful for the distraction. The priest was older, likely in his late-seventies. He had kind, welcoming eyes, his voice smooth, accented. 

The two men were quiet for some time, relinquishing in the company of the other. 

“Do you have regrets in life, Father?” Rafael’s voice was smooth, quiet, lacking evidence of the self-pity he felt deep in his soul. 

The priest hummed in acknowledgment, glancing up at the ceiling as well. “I think it’s fair to say we all do. We regret things said, things left unsaid… Things done, things undone.” The older man glanced at Rafael’s face. “What is it that plagues you?” 

The ADA was quiet for some time, mulling over his words. “I… My father was a bad man. A horrible man, really,” he confessed, throat constricting. Rafael hated talking about his father, hated thinking of him. “He hurt my mami, hurt me. In more ways than one. When he died, it was… A relief.” He willed his voice to remain steady, strong. “I met a woman, an incredible woman. And I fear I can never give her the things she wants in life. That I can never give her children. I’m… I’m scared of becoming my father, that I carry some generational curse that I’ll pass along to my own children.” 

The priest was quiet, taking in each of his words. “My son, you are not the sins of your father.” He said quietly, placing a slightly wrinkled hand on Rafael’s shoulder. “You are not your father.” 

—-

One of the things Birdie Stevenson loved about twelve-hour shifts was that it took up the entire day. During her shifts, she was forced to only focus on patient care, not on the lamentable reality that was her love life. 

Five days she’d been ignoring Rafael. 

He’d called, texted, but she disregarded his attempts at contacting her. 

Every day, she picked up shifts, be it on her normal pediatric floor, or the dreaded adult medsurg unit. She didn’t care, she needed to get the hell out of her apartment, the boxes a reminder of how incompatible she was. 

On the fifth day, she’d been working on an adult medsurg unit. It was hellish, but it kept her mind busy and her body exhausted. She all but dragged her body to the subway station to head back to her barely lived in apartment. 

She laid her head on the glass of the subway’s window, empty lunchbox in her lap. Her smiles had been more forced, listless, dark circles lined her eyes, and blonde curls were dull, frizzy. 

She looked like she felt: hellish. 

The nights she’d been back in her apartment were filled with anxiety, reliving their conversation over and over, mulling over her words, wishing she could take them back. 

Birdie stopped by a pizzeria after she left the subway station, carrying home a single slice as she checked her work schedule for potential pick-ups for the following day. 

Another on medsurg, stepdown…

Her eyes were glued to her phone, barely noticing the man standing outside her door before she ran into him. 

For a brief moment, Birdie’s pulse quickened, sympathetic nervous system moving into high drive as anxiety creeped into her body. 

But she recognized that suit. The heather gray suit with matching waist coat, tie baby blue in color. 

She wanted to yell, to scream, to tell him to leave her alone. To tell him that this is what he wanted, that he thought they were incompatible. That he thought she was naive. 

She looked a mess. Her blue scrubs were wrinkled, stained with iodine from wound care. The soles of her shoes were sticky, coated in a mystery substance. Her blonde hair was as pulled into an unkempt bun, blonde spirals spilling out. Glasses were perched on her nose, having foregone contacts. She felt like a mess, but that’s what a twelve-hour shift would do to you. 

Birdie sighed, calming her fast-beating heart. “Rafael,” she said in greeting, moving to unlock her door. 

“Can we talk?”

She nodded wordlessly, moving her body to allow him to enter behind her before she locked the door behind them. She sat her bag on the small kitchen counter, kicking her shoes off simultaneously. 

“Listen I-“ Rafael started, words dying in his throat as Birdie gave him a look. 

“If you’re here to apologize, to tell me you’re sorry, I don’t want to hear it.” She took a seat at her table. “If you truly think that we are…. Incompatible, then you have a right to feel the way you do, Rafael.”

He shook his head, moving to sit beside her, hands twitching with desire to entwine his fingers with her. “Just… just listen to me, please.” 

Birdie was quiet, watching as he took a slow, deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “My father he… He was a bad man, Birdie.” His words were calculated, carefully chosen. She frowned, eyebrows knitted together as she listened to him. It was then she that had the urge to reach for his hand, to entwine her fingers with his. 

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” she whispered, giving into temptation and placing a hand over his. 

“But I do,” he countered, accepting her hand, her comfort. “I spent so much of my childhood terrified of him. Terrified that he’d come through that door and hurt me or my mom again. I-“ he took a breath, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I watched him hit my mami. He hit me too, sometimes. But Mami, she… She never left him.”

“Oh, Rafi.” Birdie’s voice croaked as she engulfed his hand with hers, squeezing it in attempt to give him some sense of comfort. 

“I’ve spent the better part of two decades stressing, worrying that I’d end up like him.” His voice was hard, mask slipping away as she saw the sadness in his eyes. “Worrying that I’d-I’d be just like him if I had kids.”

Birdie closed her eyes, inhaling sharply as it all clicked. The reasons why he never mentioned his father, why children were a touchy subject, why he was so protective of his mother. 

“You aren’t him, Rafael.” Birdie’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. 

His jaw clenched, frown etched on his face as he pondered his next words. “I was relieved when he died, Birdie.” His voice cracked as he said her name, second syllable caught in his throat. “I’d never want my children to-to feel relief when I die.”

Birdie then stood, chair scraping along the hardwood floors, her arms encircling his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, feeling as he took a shaky breath. “You’re a good man, Rafael. You-You’d never be him.”

His hand moved to grip her shoulder, tears dampening her scrub top. She smelled like antiseptic and strawberries with floral undertones. She smelled like home. 

“I-I think it took me until today to realize that,” he admitted softly, “that I’m not him. That I refuse to be like him.” 

Birdie pulled back, hands moving to cup his cheeks. “You couldn’t be like him, even if you tried, Rafael. You’re a good man and you have a good heart.” Her fingers danced along his cheekbones, blue eyes staring into reddened green. “You’re the best man I know.” 

He leaned forward, forehead pressing against hers, hands gripping her hips as he pulled her to sit on his lap. Rafael let out a shaky breath before he let his lips graze upon hers. “I love you,” he breathed, voice full of emotion. “I love you so much, Birdie. I’d give everything to you. The kids, the white picket fence, the dog… just-just say the word. It’s yours.”

That thousand-fucking-watt smile stretched upon her face, worry lines disappearing. “All I want is you.”

His nose trailed along her jawline, hands moving to fist the fabric from her scrubs to bring her impossibly closer. “I’m all yours.” It was a promise. A promise he intended to keep forever. 

Birdie pressed her lips against his, fingers trailing down his neck to loosen his tie. She pulled back, forehead resting against his. They were both quiet for some time, enjoying each other’s embrace. “Are we okay?” She finally asked, pulling away to look at him. 

He smiled, tucking hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear like he so often did. He loved her curls, how often they became untamed and frizzy. “Of course we are… I’m so sorry for the things I said, Birdie.”

She shook her head, eyes half lidded. “No, I don’t want you to apologize, not for any of this.” Her lips grazed his yet again, gentle and soft. “I love you.”

He rested his forehead against her clavicle, kissing the side of her neck. “I love you, too,” he murmured. “Te amo, tienes mi corazón. Eres mi Vida.”

And as Birdie Stevenson kissed him once more, he felt like his heart was whole again. The feelings of inadequacy, the fear of becoming his father, the trepidation and unease fading away, replaced by the feeling of her lips.