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“I’m just surprised, is all. You’re defending an obviously guilty man with a flimsy piece of evidence,” he chuckled, straightening his blazer.

“I wouldn’t call security tapes ‘flimsy evidence.’ We both know Kelly had closed up the store before my client could get inside,” you argued.

“I would love to continue this stimulating conversation over a drink. My treat,” Barba offered, looking at you with that twinkle in his eye.

Your gut told you to walk out of that elevator at the next floor and never look back, but something in your heart wanted to stay. You had always secretly found Mr. Barba attractive, but now you were on opposing sides.

“And why would I want to do that?” you countered, a small smile lingering on your face.

“Because you and I both know how much we find the other attractive,” he offered.

“I really do think the jury can feel the sexual tension radiating off of us,” you laughed.

You both stepped off the elevator at the lobby floor and headed in the direction of Forlini’s.

—

You and Barba were quite a few drinks in, sitting together at a back table in the bar. You both had your briefcases and some papers spread out on the table, remnant of a long-forgotten argument about the case.

“That client of yours, he say anything about the rape? C’mon, you can tell me,” Barba urged, suddenly seeming more sober than you.

“Ah-um, which case?” you asked slowly, narrowing your eyes and flitting through your case files.

“This one,” Barba pointed to a yellow paper file, “the Peterson rape.”

“I don’t remember, it’s late. Can’t I go home?” you asked, frowning and rubbing your head. You could feel a headache coming on.

You slumped against the wall, going in and out of consciousness. The last thing you could remember was the look Barba gave you before reaching toward your briefcase.

—

“I’m just here to pick up the transcripts of the first two days of trial. Sergeant Benson picked them up at the courthouse and offered to photocopy them for me,” you explained to Detective Rollins as you walked into the squad room.

“You sure that Barba didn’t send you?” Detective Amaro teased as you walked past his desk.

“W-what did he say?” you demanded, trying not to sound surprised.

“Oh nothing, we just noticed his… fondness towards you. Barba doesn’t like many people, take it as a compliment,” Amaro laughed.

It was an odd statement, but you decided to ignore it. After all, you had to thank Mr. Barba. He had somehow gotten you up to your apartment and into your bed without harm and with your briefcase intact last night.

—

“A two-day recess is pretty uncommon, right?” you asked Barba. It was your second night in a row getting drinks with him, and you had vowed to drink much less this time.

“Yes. Don't they teach you anything over at Torricelli?” he laughed.

“I was just checking,” you mumbled.

"Don't worry, we all start somewhere. How would you feel about becoming more serious, you and me?" Barba offered, raising an eyebrow before taking a swig of his whiskey.

"What, on day two?" you laughed.

"Indulge this old man. We've been circling each other for who knows how long," he sighed.

"Probably since the McNamara case."

"That was your first case, right?"

"How could you tell?"

"Can you handle the truth?"

"Just put me out of my misery," you sighed dramatically.

"The heels, one size too big. Hand-me-down briefcase from daddy. And the hair, why a chignon? Young female lawyers tend to go for waves, maybe a modest ponytail. This isn't a beauty pageant."

For a split second you were mildly offended, but then you realized that Barba must've paid a lot of attention to you to notice all those details.

"And what do you think of me now?" you flirted, leaning closer to him.

"You've grown into your heels, so to speak. Company briefcase, better-fitting hairstyles, you definitely cleaned up nice in the last two years. Putting that NYU law degree to good work."

"I'm flattered, Mr. Barba."

"You should be. You should also be flattered that I've even considered dating you."

"Wow, dating the all-powerful, mighty king of the District Attourney's office? I might faint unless you carry me home on horseback!" you joked.

"Well, what do you say?"

"About what?"

"Princess of Torricelli Law, care to be my girlfriend?"

"I would love to, Mr. Barba."

"Call me Rafael."

—

The next morning, you found yourself sitting in the courtroom next to your client. You leafed through the file to make sure all off the papers were there, but strangely one of the written statements from your client was missing. You frowned, checking some other files to make sure it hadn’t gotten mixed up.

“Your honor, I would like to request an approach,” Barba said, standing up and buttoning his blazer. It was his signature move.

The judge nodded and Barba approached. He opened his file in front of her and they whispered back and forth.

“What’s going on?” your client asked, turning his head to look at you.

“I-I’m not sure,” you said hesitantly as you noticed both Barba and the judge staring straight at you.

Barba went back to his table and sat down.

“All rise,” the judge commanded.

You and your client both stood up, as did Barba and his.

“Ms. (y/l/n), I hereby hold you in contempt for breaking attorney-client privileges. You are sentenced to immediate dismissal and a $1,000 fine. This court is adjourned until Mr. Bardoff can find a replacement counsel,” and with the bang of her gavel, your career was practically over.

Your mind was racing, but only one thought seemed to prevail: Barba must have taken your client’s statement from your file and told the judge you’d given it to him.

You were escorted out by security, looking to the left on your way out and seeing SVU's surprised faces. You couldn't believe it either. You'd probably be disbarred, the years spent pursuing your dream deemed irrelevant.

"I'm out, jeez!" you snapped at the guards once you were outside the courtroom. You ran to the women's restrooms, crisp heels clipping on the marble floors as you held back tears. How could Rafael do this to you?

You cried in one of the stalls for a good ten minutes before fixing your makeup in the mirror and walking to the elevator. Thankfully, no one else boarded the elevator and you were able to seethe in peace.

As you stormed down the courthouse steps, you noticed Barba talking to some news outlets that had gathered, shoving microphones in their faces. You reached into your pocked and turned your ringer on. You would probably get a call any minute from Vince Torricelli, firing you from his office.

Upon noticing you, Barba shooed off the cameras and hurried to follow you. He seemed perfectly pleased with ruining your career, and it pissed you off to no end. How could he get off on this?

"What do you want, Barba?" you sniffled, tears catching in your throat.

"Is that any way to treat your fiancée?"

"Fiancée? Barba, are you an idiot? Thanks to you, I'm going to be disbarred and fired from my job. No place in the state is going to want me. With any luck I'll be stocking nights at the local bodega," you cried, tears now falling freely from your eyes.

"You should be thanking me. I'll be the one taking care of you. You won't have to worry about being a lawyer, it's much too cutthroat for you anyway. You'll do much better as my wife. Now, will you be a good girl and let me put your ring on?" he insisted, grabbing your left hand and slipping a large, glittering diamond ring onto your fourth finger.

You sobbed, holding your right hand to your mouth in terror. Barba took your right hand in his and led you down the steps.