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Barson drabble, established relationship, based in the future of the Iowa Vs Italy universe. Funny and silly, no warnings really apply. Noah's around 15 years old and teenagers and their parent's libidos don't mix. Enjoy!
WC: 702.
***
âOh Jesus! Mom! Dad!â came Noahâs shout as he walked into the living room.
âNoah! What the hell!â came her motherâs cry as she shoved Rafael off her and stumbled to her feet, grabbing her blouse from the floor and hastily trying to button it.
âI forgot my gym bag.â said Noah quietly, his eyes firmly fixed on the floor, trying to ignore his mother stood there in only her bra and slacks.
âWhy didnât you tell us you were coming home?â she asked, correcting her pants and running her fingers through her hair.
His jaw dropped and his eyes came up to meet hers. âWhat? Tell you and Dad, who arenât meant to be here, that Iâm coming home for thirty seconds to pick up something that you reminded me not to forget this morning?â
âMijo.â said Rafael in a strict tone, not happy tolerating attitude from his son even if he and Olivia might possibly be in the wrong. Noahâs eyes met his fatherâs.
âDad, please can you sort yourself out.â groaned Noah, waving a hand at his father who was still bare from the waist up with his boxers showing and belt and fly undone.
âShit.â muttered Rafael, turning away slightly to hastily tug on his undershirt and correct his pants.
âIâm going to get my bag, and Iâm going to leave as quickly as possible.â said Noah, holding his hands up and turning away to leave.
âLook, NoahâŚâ started Olivia, stepping forward.
Noah spun back around. âItâs fine, really, Mom. You and Dad snuck out from work early and I shouldnât have been home. I get it. But please, can you not on the couch? I have to sit there.â
They both watched him stalk up the stairs to his room before Olivia smacked Rafael on the arm.
âThis is all your fault.â hissed Olivia.
Rafael frowned furiously. âMine? Iâm sorry but who jumped me the moment I walked through the door.â
âAnd who steered us towards the couch when we have a perfectly good bed, upstairs?â she growled, waving her arm in the direction of the staircase.
âWhat can I say. Youâre irresistible and I didnât want to wait.â shrugged Rafael, a smug grin tugging at his lips.
âRafa!â she exclaimed, smacking his bicep.
He winced but laughed, cautiously placing his hands on her waist and pulling her into his body. âSo, once he leavesâŚ.â
âYouâre insatiable.â she sighed, her hands looping around his neck.
âYou love that about me.â he whispered, kissing her softly.
She smiled gently and sighed deeply. âGod help me, I do.â
âMom! Dad! Iâm leaving now. Be safe!â came a shout from near the front door.
Rafael scowled. âThat cheeky little fuc -â
âCome on.â she laughed, grabbing his hand, and tugging him up the stairs.
***
âWhatâs wrong with you, Noh?â
âNothing, Iâm fine.â Noah replied, slamming his locker door a little too loudly.
âDid your mom give you a hard time about your bag? She did remind you this morning before we left.â
âRemind me to tell her to stop giving you a lift to school, J.â grumbled Noah.
Jamie laughed and returned to changing his footwear. âSo, what was it?â
âNothing I want to talk about. No, she didnât give me a hard time, but her and Dad were there when I went home.â
Jamie looked puzzled; his mind was a couple of seconds behind that afternoon. âSo?â
Noah raised his eyebrows.
âOhh.â chuckled Jamie, âyou mean you walked in on themâŚ?â
âNo, but they were on the couch, and in less clothing than I feel comfortable seeing.â muttered Noah.
âWow.â replied Jamie, his jaw dropping.
Noah groaned, and scrubbed his hands over his face, as if that would erase the image of his parents half naked on the couch. âYeah. But can we please stop talking about it.â
âYou know they probably just carried on when you left right?â
âJesus! Jamie! I donât need that image in my head!â mumbled Noah, picking up his bag and shoving it in his locker. âItâs bad enough to see them making out like that as it is!â
âWell, letâs get your mind off it, come on, man. Letâs go.â
Working on a new Barsonoah fic. Hereâs a little taste:
It was about a five hour drive from New York City to Lake Placid, NY if you drove straight through with no stops. But with a five year old in the car, stops were inevitable, even if you had snacks in the car. Especially if you had snacks in the car. So what the GPS on Rafael Barbaâs phone said would take them 4 hours and 48 minutes, ended up taking closer to 7 hours when it was all said and done.
He, Olivia and Noah had left bright and early the morning of December 26th for their first vacation together. Rafael was at the wheel, with Olivia beside him and Noah belted into his booster seat in the back. It wasnât a hard drive. The majority of the trip was on I-87, a road that both he and Olivia were familiar with because it led to the state capital of Albany. The first few minutes as he navigated them out of city, she was quiet, while Noah chattered away behind him about the things he saw out the window of the SUV heâd rented, not know what kind of weather they would encounter in the Adirondack mountains that time of year.
âLiv? Everything okay?â He reached over and put his right hand over her left that rested on her leg.
âWhat? Yes, everythingâs fine. Iâm just doing a mental checklist to make sure we didnât forget anything.â She flipped her hand to lace her fingers with his. âAnd I donât think we did,â she said with a smile.
Lifting their joined hands Rafael kissed the back of hers near the finger where she wore her engagement ring, a band of gold with diamonds set into its circumference. It was unorthodox looking; not the usual large single diamond, but he knew his favorite police lieutenant was not likely to wear something like that on duty when it could get caught on things and he didnât want her to take it off, so he chose this one. He already had her wedding band picked out, and when the time came, he would slide a plain gold band on that finger beside it.
âMi amor, I saw everything you packed in those suitcases. Iâm sure you forgot nothing,â he said with a chuckle.
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Prompt - âDirtyâ. Rafael and Noah try to bake a cake.Â
No warnings apply. Fluff.
***
âWhy did we think this was a good idea, amigo?â grumbled Rafael as he looked around the kitchen at the mess. Flour all over the counters, sugar sprinkled all over the floor, drips of raw egg in amongst it all.
âMomâs gonna be maaaad.â whispered Noah.
âNo, sheâs not, weâll get this cleaned up, put you in the bath and sheâll never know.â said Rafael firmly.
Just as they had put the ingredients back in their correct places and each grabbed a damp cloth, they heard the click of the lock.
âOh no!â whispered Noah, looking hesitantly over his shoulder as he and Rafael both ducked to the floor.
âNoah? Lucy? Iâm home!â she called out, hanging her coat up and making her way around the corner, she froze seeing the state of her kitchen.
âNoah Porter Benson, you better appear right now so help me God!â she shouted, arms folded across her chest.
Noah slowly stood up, his wild curls caked with food and icing smeared all over his face. Olivia frowned and then rolled her eyes when she saw Rafael pop up next to him.
âI should have known.â she sighed, scrubbing a hand across her face.
âLucy had to go, something about a sick roommate. I only popped in to drop that file off and wellâŚâ he trailed off, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels, âsorry, âLiv.â
âWe were making you a cake, Mom!â explained Noah, pointing to the countertop behind him.
âUh huh.â she nodded, coming around to enter the kitchen and she couldnât help but laugh when she saw the entire kitchen and itâs two occupants.
Rafael and Noah both laughed, but more nervously and Rafael shrugged, âI was going to get him in the bath and clean up before you got home.â
âWell, now I get to put my feet up with a slice of cake and a glass of wine while you both fix this, then donât I?â she narrowed her eyes at them both and they both nodded eagerly, setting about to serve up said delicacies.
***
It took two lots of shampoo and a thorough combing to rid Noahâs hair of cake ingredients but once clean and with pyjamas on, Rafael agreed to two stories before he said goodnight and tucked the boy in.
Returning to the living room he saw Olivia lounging on the couch, a second glass of wine in hand and a glass of scotch lying in wait for him. He snatched it up and sipped as he sat.
âI really am sorry, âLiv, Noah wanted to make you a cake and I couldnât say no. I genuinely didnât mean to overstep, or for us to make such a mess.â
âIâm not mad, Rafa, honestly, I just donât think Iâve ever seen my kitchen so, dirty!â she laughed, âhow did one cake turn into that?â she nodded her head towards the kitchen, laughing and taking another sip of wine.
âIâm not sure. Everything was fine, then I knocked over the flour, then Noah tried to crack the eggs on his own and before I knew it, we were both filthy and so was the kitchen!â he chuckled, sipping his scotch, and sighing back into the couch.
âWell, it was very sweet, of you both to make me cake. I donât think anyoneâs ever done that for me.â she said quietly.
âWell, say the word and weâll do it again, any time you like. Although maybe with your supervision.â he chuckled, patting her thigh.
âThat would be nice.â she replied, covering his hand with her own and giving him a dazzling smile.
Iâm not entirely crazy about this one; I like the idea but donât necessarily love my execution. Iâve been distracted the past few days and might revisit this one for a rewrite in the future. But for now, I certainly like parts of it enough to put it up. I hope you like it :)Â
As soon as Barba made it through his door, he slowed, his steps faltering as he felt a tingle of somethingâsome awareness, some flare of instinct that had him instantly on edge. Before he could turn, or reach for his phone, or even set down his briefcase, the other man stepped into sight.
Barba recognized him immediately. âHow did youââ He stopped himself, though, because that was a pointless question. âMr. Johnson, you canât be here,â he said, instead, adjusting his grip on the handle of his briefcase. He glanced around, weighing his options.
Johnson was just standing there, a couple of yards away, a gun held by his side. He didnât look like heâd slept well lately, and Barba knew why. He could sympathize, but that didnât matter. What mattered was the dazed look in Johnsonâs eyes, the look that said he wasnât quite sure how theyâd come to this point.
âTheyâre gonna put him away forever,â Johnson said, in a low voice that was full of hurt and confusion. There was anger, there, too, but it was seething just under the surface; Barba knew that when it arose, so would the gun.
âMr. Johnson, I cannot discussââ
âMaybe put a needle in his arm,â Johnson continued. âParents ainât sâposed to have to bury their kids.â
âTell that to Jessica Bakerâs parents,â Barba said, before he could stop himself.
Johnsonâs eyes sharpened, and the gun angled up a few inches. âHe didnât do that,â he said. âHe didnât do what those cops saidâwhat you told the jury he did! You convinced them my sonâs a monster and theyâre gonna kill him for it! For your lies!â
âMr. Johnson,â Barba said, bending to set his briefcase on the floor; he held his other hand up, palm-out. âI understand that this is difficult for you. But first thing in the morning, I will make my closing arguments, and after that your sonâs fate is in the hands of the jury.â
âThey donât know him,â Johnson said. âYou donât know him.â He raised the gun and pointed it at Barbaâs chest.
Barba straightened, his heart thudding in his chest. His phone was in the inside breast pocket of his jacket, and he weighed the pros and cons of reaching for it. The sight of that gunâs black hole staring at him made his skin tingle, but under his fear, he could feel his own anger building.
âYour son is going away, Mr. Johnson. Do you really want to join him?â
Johnsonâs expression darkened. âYouâre not taking him from me. Youâre going to tell that juryâtell the judgeâthat you lied.â
âIâm sorry, what?â Barba asked, his eyebrows raised as a muscle in his jaw ticked. âThatâs your plan, here?â
âYou can fixââ
âYour son raped and murdered Jessica Baker. You want to talk about losing your child, Mr. Johnson? Your son is alive, but I wonât lose sleep when they put that needle in his arm. How dare you come into my homeââ
Johnson stepped forward, leveling the gun at Barbaâs forehead, and the ADA stopped, his stomach clenching. He swallowed, his thoughts flittingâunbiddenâto Benson. Theyâd only just begun dating; there was so much he wanted to tell her, so much heâd waited to sayâso much heâd thought there would be time to discuss.
âThose cops framed him.â
âNo,â Barba said, with a little shake of his head. âIâm sorry, Mr. Johnson.â
The gun was trembling in the other manâs unsteady hand, but Johnsonâs finger was near the trigger and Barba knew that he had to get his own fearâand temperâunder control. His only chance of defusing this situation would be to talk his way out. Heâd made a career of talking; if he couldnât convince one man not to throw his life awayâ
There was a knock on the partially-open door, and Barba started to turn, surprised. From the corner of his eye, he saw Johnson lower the gun, quickly, to his side.
Noah was standing in the doorway, and at the sight of him, Barbaâs stomach dropped. Cold dread spread through his body; the fear heâd felt for his own safety, his anger, his love for Bensonâat the sight of Noahâs face, all of those became secondary. All that mattered was getting the kid out of harmâs way.
Noahâs expression was hesitant as his eyes flicked toward Johnson and back to Barba. âMom said we couldââ he started.
âWhatever youâre selling, kid, I donât have time right now,â Barba cut in. âMr. Johnson and I areââ
âWho are you?â Johnson demanded, trying to hide the gun by his leg.
âHeâs the neighbor kid, I buy school crap from,â Barba said, giving Noah a hard look. âWeâre busy, kid, go find your mom.â Please, please get out of here, Barba thought.
Noah took a step backward, his hand still on the doorknob, but then Lucy was behind him in the opening, saying, âNoah! Sorry about that, Mr. Barba, he saw the door was open and ran aheadââ Her gaze slid toward Johnson, and down, and Barba knew that sheâd seen the gun. She had her hand on Noahâs shoulder, and Barba saw her fist curl into the boyâs coat as she prepared to pull him backward.
âWhat are you selling?â Johnson asked, and Barba realized that Noah was holding a paper bag. âNoah, is it?â
The boy glanced up at Barba. âCookies,â he answered, quietly.
âWell, bring âem here,â Johnson said, with a sickly attempt at a smile.
âNo,â Barba said, sharper than heâd intended. He met Lucyâs eyes for just a moment, and she tugged on Noahâs collar.
âStop,â Johnson said, and Barba knew that the other man had seen the nannyâs gaze flick toward the gun. Even as Johnson was bringing the weapon up, Barba turned and sidestepped so that he was in front of the other man with his back to the door.
âThey have nothing to do with this,â Barba said. Without looking back, holding Johnsonâs gaze, he added, âGet the kid out of here.â
âNo,â Johnson said, stepping forward, and Barba prayed that Lucy would grab Noah and run. Before he could say anything else, Johnson had the gun an inch from Barbaâs head. âCome in and shut the door or Iâll shoot him.â
âNo!â Barba heard Noah cry out.
âNoah!â Lucy said, but it was too lateâNoah was already at Barbaâs side, holding out the paper bag.
âHere,â the boy told Johnson, the paper crackling in his hands. âTake the cookies, donât hurt him!â
âDamn it, kid,â Barba muttered. He grabbed Noahâs shoulder and yanked him backward. The bag dropped to the floor as Barba pulled Noah behind him.
âShut the door,â Johnson told Lucy as he took a step backward and ran a shaky hand over his face. Barba could feel the other manâs growing desperation; it was coming off him in waves.
With his jaw clenched, Barba repeated, âThey have nothing to do with this. Mr. Johnson, think about what youâre doing.â
âThatâs it, I justâI just need time to think,â the man said, running a hand through his hair in agitation while the gun, still shaking, was pointed in the general direction of Barbaâs head. âTheyâre not supposed to be here.â
âRight. So let them go,â Barba said. âYou donât want to do this, this isnât what you intended.â
âShut up!â Johnson suddenly yelled, and Barba felt Noah flinch behind him. âJust shut up and let me figure out what to do! They canât leave, theyâll call theâOkay, Iâll justâŚYou!â he said, looking at Lucy. âSit down, sit in front of the door!â To Barba, again, âIâll just keep them here and you can go tell themâtell them that my son is innocent.â
âMr. Johnson,â Barba said, keeping his tone soft, placating, in spite of his unease. âThat doesnât make any sense. I couldnât do that if I wanted to. Letâs talk this through. Youâre going to have to work with me, Mr. Johnson, if you want to find a way out of this. Give me something I can work with. Letâs make a deal.â
âYouâll just lie again,â Mr. Johnson said.
âHe doesnât lie,â Noah said from behind Barbaâs legs.
âHush,â Barba said. He still had his hand on Noahâs shoulder, keeping the kid behind him, and he gave the boyâs shoulder a squeeze.
âAll adults lie, kid,â Johnson said, beginning to pace. He was distracted, agitated, and Barba considered trying to sneak his phone from his pocket. He quickly dismissed the idea. He couldnât take any chances with Noah and Lucy in the room. âSooner you learn that the better.â
âMy mom doesnât lie and Rafi doesnât lie,â Noah said.
Barba was touched by this proclamation, moved by the boyâs trust, but he was also terrified for the kid. Arguing with Johnson while he was holding his sanity by a thread would only make things worse.
âNo?â Johnson asked, glancing in the boyâs direction as he paced. He, luckily, didnât seem suspicious of Noahâs use of Barbaâs name. âTrust me, she lies. Did you tell him thereâs a god?â he asked Lucy, gesturing in the air with the pistol. âDid you tell himââ
âSheâs not my mom,â Noah said, and Barba had to suppress a groan. âMy momâsââ He stopped, though, when Barba again squeezed his shoulder.
Johnson stopped pacing. âSheâs what?â he asked. âWhatever she is, sheâs lied to you, I guarantee it. All parents lie to their kids sometimes. We try to protect themâŚâ
âYou love your son,â Barba said. âI know. I get it. You didnâtââ
âYou get it?â Johnson cut in, his gaze sharpening on Barbaâs face. âDo you have kids, Mr. Barba?â
âNo.â
âThen you canât know. How you do everything for them, anything for them, andâŚandâŚâ
âYou came here to convince me,â Barba said. âSo, convince me. Tell me about him. Give me something I can take to the jury. I canât keep him out of prison, but maybe we can save his life.â
âAs soon as you walk out of here, youâll have me arrested and still wonât do anything to helpââ
âYou knew that risk when you came here,â Barba said. âYou want to shoot me? What would that accomplish? This is your chance, your only chance. If your son is worth saving, convince me. Tell me why he deserves mercy.â
âHe didnâtâŚâ Johnson trailed off, swallowing. He had a faraway look in his eyes that frightened Barbaâbut also gave him a glimmer of hope. Johnson didnât really believe in his sonâs innocence, not deep down, but he didnât want to admit his guilt. If Barba could convince him that there was still hope, that there was still something the father could do for his son, he thought that Johnson would take the offer of a way out.
âGo sit with Lucy,â Barba said, tapping Noahâs shoulder with a finger. He didnât look back, but he could hear the boy walking to the nanny. Johnson watched but said nothing. His gun was angled toward the floor, almost-forgotten. âAlright, Mr. Johnson,â Barba said, crossing his arms over his chest. âTell me about him. Tell me about Kevin.â
For a moment, Johnsonâs face twisted and nearly crumpled. He chewed on his lip, struggling to keep his composure. âHe was a good kid,â he muttered, and Barba thought the man was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. âWhen he was a baby, he never cried. He never cried. He was smart, so smart. So much smarter than me and his mother. He was good at everythingâsports, art, school, I never understood half his homework assignments, he was taking calculous for Christâs sake and me, I never even made it past eleventh grade. But when he went to college, heâŚsomething changed. I thinkâŚI think something happened to him, something that made himâŚpull away from us. Something he was ashamed of, orâŚI donât know. He justâŚstopped coming home, and he was calling less and less andâŚand then when my wife passed awayâŚHe justâŚdisappearedâŚâ he trailed off, shaking his head.
âIt mustâve been difficult, not having him around, after a loss like that,â Barba said quietly.
âI didnât blame him!â Johnson exclaimed, glaring at Barba.
âOf course not.â
âSomethingâsomething happened to him, to change him.â
To make him into a rapist, a murderer? Barba thought. He couldnât say thatâJohnson was still clinging to the idea of his son as a victim. Forcing him too quickly to face reality, to abandon hope, would push him to his breaking point. âTell me about the good times, Mr. Johnson,â he said. âTell me about your son, the way you knew him. Give me something to take to the jury, something to make them care.â
Johnson considered, pacing, the gun still held out at an angle. Finally, he started talking, and the words poured from him as though a dam had been broken.
  âEverything okay, Liv?â Rollins asked.
Benson lowered her phone and looked up, frowning. She gave her head a little shake. âIâm sure itâs fine,â she said, although her worry was etched into her forehead. âJustâI canât get Lucy, or Barba.â
âHe might be in court?â Carisi suggested.
âAnd Lucy and Noah are probably just playingââ Rollins started.
âNo, see, thatâs just it,â Benson interrupted. âShe called me an hour ago. Noah wanted to bake cookies for Barbaâshe said he wanted to take them over, I told her to go ahead and Iâd meet them there when I got done here. But now her phone goes straight to voicemail, and hisââ
âLike you said, Iâm sure itâsâtheyâre probably just busy eating the cookies,â Carisi said.
âBarba and Noahâthey must be getting along pretty good, huh?â Rollins said. âItâs sweet that he wants toââ
âYou know what, excuse me, Iâm sorry,â Benson said, distracted, turning away as she tried Lucyâs number again. As soon as the call went to voicemail, she looked back and said, âIâm just gonna head over to Barbaâs. Just call me if we getââ
âWant us to come, Boss?â Carisi asked.
âIâNo, thanks, Carisi, Iâll justââ
âLieutenant?â
Benson looked up. âYes?â
âWe just got a call from dispatch. They got a 911 call, said itâs an open line, they can hear voices. The phoneâs registered to a Lucy Hustonâwhen they ran it, your name came up flagged?â
âThe lineâs open now?â Benson asked the officer, already halfway across the room. âRollins, Carisi,â she said, gesturing for them to follow. Her heart was slamming in her chest, and she tried not to panic. To the officer: âHave them trace theââ
âTheyâre doing that now.â
âTell them to work faster. Fin?â
âIâm on it, Liv. Iâll text you the address as soon as we get it.â
âIâm heading to Barbaâs first,â she said, dialing his number again. It rang several times before going to voicemail, and she made a sound of frustration. âThatâs where Lucy and Noah were heading, and I canât get through to him, either.â
  Johnson bent and picked up the paper sack, and Barba felt a cold burst of fear. He had no idea what was actually in the bag. Probably cookies, since thatâs what Noah had saidâbut what kind of cookies? Not something a neighbor kid would be peddling, Barba was sure. If Johnson had reason to suspect that Noah was more than just an acquaintanceâ
Johnson wasnât really thinking about Noah, though; he was mired in thoughts of his own son, Kevin, and Barba had to hope it stayed that way. If he could make Johnson believe that everything heâd said about his son could actually save him, this could all be over soon.
Johnson held the paper bag and gun in one hand while he reached into the sack. Barbaâs muscles tensed; if he saw an opportunity, he was going to be ready. âYou sell cookies in Ziplocââ Johnson said, but he stopped, frowning. He dropped the plastic bag back into the sack and pulled out a piece of paper.
No, no, Barba thought. Johnson dropped the paper bag onto the table, and then the gun was pointed at Barba again.
âWhatâs this?â Johnson asked, looking from the paper, to Noah and Lucy, to Barba.
âI donât know,â Barba answered, shifting his weight as subtly as he could. If the gun moved even the slightest bit toward Noahâ
Johnson flipped the paper up so that Barba could see it, and a mixture of emotions flooded him at the sight of Noahâs drawing. Mommy, Me, Yuo, the boy had carefully written above each of the three crayoned people. Barba couldnât sort through his emotionsâa love for the boy, so powerful that it hurt; a desire to protect Noah, at any cost, a desire so strong that it stole his breath; fear that he would fail Noah, that he would fail Olivia; anger, at Johnson for putting Noah through this, at Johnsonâs son, for destroying so many lives, at himself for stepping into this trapâthere was no time to delve into any of them. All he could do was shove them down, squash them as flat as possible, and focus on the situation at hand.
âIâforgot, thatâs for someoneââ Noah started, a noble attempt at a lie, but Johnsonâs preoccupation was sliding away. He had just started to click a few puzzle pieces into place, belatedly.
âYouâre not just his neighbor, are you?â Johnson asked the boy, and Barba could see the other man going over all the signsâdonât hurt himâŚhe doesnât lieâŚRafiâthat heâd ignored. âWho are you?â
Lucy hugged Noah tighter to her side, and her phone slipped to the floor with a clatter. Barbaâs heart stopped. All the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He saw Johnsonâs eyes widen as he realizedâthe gun started to swing toward Noah and Lucy, and Barba started forward.
Johnson shifted, slamming the butt of the gun into Barbaâs face, sending him to the floor with a spray of blood from his nose and mouth. Noah cried outâRafi! The sound of his name echoed in Barbaâs headâand struggled against Lucyâs arms.
Barba blinked the tears from his eyes, spitting blood onto the floor, and pushed himself into a position resembling that of a runner at the starting line.
âKick the phone over here, now,â Johnson said. âYou stupidâWhat did you do?â he asked. He was closer than ever to his breaking point; any advantage that Barba had gained had now been lost, but he couldnât blame Lucy. Sheâd done what she could in an effort to protect Noah.
Johnson snatched the phone off the floor, keeping the gun trained on Barba. He looked at the screen and made a gurgling sound in his throat. He ended the open call, hesitated for a few seconds, and threw the phone against the wall. Noah and Lucy flinched as it broke and clattered to the floor in pieces.
âIs he your son?â Johnson asked, his eyes wild and desperate as he glared at Barba. âIs he? Are you his son?â he shouted at Noah.
âNo!â Barba said through bloody lips. âIâm dating his mother. Iâm datingâIâm not his father. Keep the gun on me. Keep the gun on me, Mr. Johnson.â
âThereâs no way out of this,â Johnson said, putting his hand to his forehead. âYou lied. Thereâs noâŚâ
There never was, not for you, Barba thought. You knew that from the start. âThereâs always a way out,â he said. âNobody else has to be hurt.â
âWhereâs your phone? Let me see your phone.â
Barba pulled it from his inner pocket, keeping his other hand on the floor. Johnson snatched the phone away and turned it on, looking at the screen. Barbaâs stomach clenched; the mixture of fear, anger, and the taste of blood was making him queasy, and his head and nose were throbbing.
âLieutenant Benson,â Johnson mused, barely audible. âSheâs the oneâher detectives are the ones who framed my son.â He looked up at Barba, his gaze sharp, alert, suspicious. âWhyâs she been calling you?â he asked, holding up the phone to show the numerous missed calls.
âI donât know,â Barba said. âMaybe they traced Lucyâs phone, maybe they know she called from hereâmaybe the lieutenant is trying to find out if everything is okay. Let me call her back, we can put an end to this. We can all walk out of this.â
âYou gonna marry his mother?â Johnson asked, gesturing toward Noah with the phone. âYou gonna try to be his stepdad? How do you think thatâs gonna go? You think youâll do everything right? You think you can do better? Do you think parentsââ
âI donât know, Mr. Johnson,â Barba said, swiping his bloody nose with his sleeve. âI donât know how much we learn from our parents orâor how much of their DNA is programmed into us. Iâve spent my whole life trying to get away from what my father was. And youâyou loved your son, his whole life, you love him now in spite of what heâs done. MaybeâŚmaybe sometimes, love just isnât enough. Maybe thereâs just nothing we can do, no matter how much we love someone. But that doesnât mean we stop trying, does it? Thatâs why youâre here, isnât it? Because even if our love isnât enough, itâs the biggest thing we can offer. Your son still needs you. Let me call the police before itâs too lateâbefore they make assumptions.â
Johnson considered for several moments. Barba knew the man was going to take the baitâhe could see that desire, that yearning for some last shred of hope to which to cling, shining in the other manâs eyes. Finally, Johnson handed Barba the phone. Barba sank back into a half-crouch, snuffling blood. He tapped Bensonâs name and, at Johnsonâs command, put the call on speaker.
Barba didnât wait, because he knew that she would answer quicklyâso when the first ring was cut short, he started, keeping his voice low and calm, âLieutenant Benson, this is ADA Barba,â he said. He didnât dare look at Noah but prayed that the boy would remain silent. âI know youâve been trying to call. Youâre on speaker, Lieutenant, and we have a bit of a situation here. Iâm sure youâre calling because of the 911 call?â
Bensonâs tone was businesslike when she responded: âThatâs correct, Mr. Barba. Can you tell me whatâs going on? Is anyone hurt?â
âNo, Lieutenant, weâre all fine here,â he said. âMy young friend Noah is here, and his babysitter, as well as Mr.âactually, I canât give you his name,â Barba amended mid-sentence when Johnson shook his head. âI think weâre coming to an understanding, though.â
âHe can hear me?â Benson asked.
âHe can,â Barba answered, his eyes on Johnson as the other man again began to pace.
âDonât bring the cops here!â Johnson said. âI donât wanna seeââ
âIâm afraid itâs too late for that, sir,â Benson answered, calmly. âWe have detectives outside the buildingâyou understand we had to respond to a 911 call in the apartment of an ADA.â Barba thought, God bless you, Liv, as he was filled with an overwhelming surge of love for her. âWhy donât you tell me whatâs going on and we can get this sorted out.â
âThis is your fault,â Johnson started, but he stopped himself, seeming to remember that Benson wasnât supposed to know who he was. Barba knew that, if she didnât already know, she would put the pieces together quickly enough. Johnson might underestimate her, but Barba never would. âJust get away, youâve done enough!â Johnson suddenly yelled, his face twisting. âWeâWeâll figure this out without you! No cops!â He snatched up the phone and ended the call, his pacing more agitated than ever. He looked at Barba. âYou need to tell the jury about my son,â he said, his eyes wide and wild. âYou promised. You said youâd tell them.â
âYes, Mr. Johnson. I need you to stay calm. All you have to do is put down the gun and let them come in here. I can get you out of this, you wonât serve time, Mr. Johnson, not if you let us end this without anyone getting hurt. I promise you. Iâll help you.â
âAnd youâll tell them about Kevin. Youâll tell them not to kill him.â
âYes, Mr. Johnson,â Barba said. âIâll do my best.â His legs had begun to burn, but he didnât dare change positions. Johnson was close to surrendering, Barba could see it. There was almost an end in sight.
âWhat do I say?â Johnson asked, and Barba actually felt sorry for him.
âTell her youâre surrendering. Put the gun down, put your hands up, and let them come in here. Iâll take care of the rest.â
âI did the best I could,â Johnson said, again trying to convince himself.
âYes,â Barba agreed. Johnson lifted the phone, and then, suddenly, Barba saw what was about to happen as though the scene had already played before him, and he felt a rush of something close to panic, and he knew that it was too late, that everything had changed. And, still, he had to try: âMr. Johnson, let meââ he started, holding out a hand for the phone.
But it was too late; Johnson had already hit Bensonâs name to call her back, and now, as the phone dialed, the picture filled the screenâthe picture of Barba, Benson, and Noah, each smiling, faces close together, the picture that Barba had programmed to Bensonâs number. The picture that had secretly given him joy at countless times during the day, now filled him with cold dread.
Idiot, he thought, cursing himself a thousand times over for failing to predict this. You stupidâHe tried to push himself forward, up, as Johnson moved toward him, but his legs were shaky, and before he could get himself up, Johnson raised a foot and kicked him. Barba managed to twist just enough to keep the manâs boot from smashing into his already-bloody face, but the blow caught him in the chest and sent him sprawling, unable to breathe, feeling as though his chest were about to explode.
âYou son of a bitch,â Johnson said, bringing his foot down again, stomping Barbaâs thigh. Barba drew his leg up, rolling, and saw that Noah had managed to break away from Lucyâshe was lunging after him, and he was running toward Barba and Johnson, running low to the ground, his young features twisted in a mixture of fear and anger. âYou lying sonofabitch!â Johnson shouted, and his next kick caught Barba in the stomach, doubling him up. Barba, his mouth working as he tried to draw a breath, swiped for Johnsonâs leg, fighting the white glare of panic that was trying to fill his mind. âHeâs the lieutenantâs son youâre dating the lieutenant youââ
âLeave Rafi alone!â Noah yelled, throwing himself at Johnsonâs legs. Johnson turned, throwing out an armâmore out of surprise than anythingâand caught Noah in the chest, tossing him backward. Barba threw himself forward, snagging Noah out of the air and pulling him against his side, throwing his other hand up in defense.
Johnson stopped, and most of the anger had evaporated from his face. What was left was the stunned look of a man slapped out of hysteria. Lucy was halfway across the floor, headed toward Noah and Barba. Johnson pointed the gun in her direction, motioning with it, silently telling her to get back, but he seemed unable to speak. He stared at Noah, at the tears shimmering in the boyâs wide eyes.
Barba was still having difficulty breathing, but heâd managed a few breaths. He held Noah to his side, feeling the boyâs body shake. In that moment, Barba wanted to kill Johnson, wanted to bury his fist in the other manâs nose and stomp him into oblivionâbut he also, still, felt the unwelcome stirrings of pity.
Johnson tried to shake off the despondency that had begun to settle over him at the sight of Noahâs stricken look. âHeâs the copâs kid,â he said, his voice shaky. âShe can get my son out. If she wants to see her son again, sheâll go admit that she framed Kevin, andââ
âNo,â Barba said, with a wheeze. He swallowed. His nose and throat were thick with blood and mucus; he felt like he was suffocating. âLook at him. Look at him.â
Johnson winced. âI didnât meanâŚâ
âYou want to hold him hostage? Heâs five years old.â Barba could hear how mangled his voice sounded; he wanted to clear his throat but was afraid to try. His chest and lungs were burning, his stomach roiling. âHeâs a good boy, Mr. Johnson, smart and funny and brave and kind, like you say your son was. Maybe he was. Maybe Kevin was like Noah, once. But heâs not anymore, and you know it. You know it, and you have to accept it before you hurt any more innocent people.â
âI donâtâŚI donât know what toâŚâ
âYou have to let him go,â Barba said. He could feel Johnsonâs pain. He could empathize, but he knew he had to push anyway. If he had to break Johnson to save Noah, there was no choice. âYou have to let Kevin go.â
âI donât know how,â Johnson admitted, barely above a whisper, the gun quivering in his hand. âHeâs all I haveâŚâ
âYour son is gone, at least the way you remember him,â Barba said, swallowing again. âYou can still be there for him, but you canât save him. He killed Miss Baker, he tortured her and he killed her, and he looked the lieutenant in the eye and told her heâd do it again.â
Johnson shook his head, but heâd lost his grip on denial, and on hope. His face started to crumple, and he shook his head again, looking at Noah. He took a deep breath, and his features smoothed. He raised the phone to his ear and said, âIâm sorry.â
Barba saw Johnsonâs other hand move, and his heart skidded in his chest. He turned, grabbing Noah, pulling the boyâs head against his chest as Johnson lifted the gunâquickly, without hesitationâand shot himself in the head. Noah let out a breathless little scream as the gunshot filled the world around them. It was over in a heartbeat, and Johnson crumpled to the floor in a series of dull thuds. Barba had Noahâs face against his shirt, with his hand over the side of the boyâs head, shielding him from the sight, but he could feel the tremors wracking Noahâs small body, could feel him clinging to Barbaâs jacket.
Johnson was dead, and as the noise of his final shot faded from the air, Barba held onto the boy in his arms, feeling like his heart was going to tear from his chest. The world spun around him.
âIâm sorry, mijo,â he murmured, close to Noahâs ear, holding him, afraid to loosen his grip. âYouâre safe, Noah. Youâre safe, Iâve got you.â
âRafi,â Noah sobbed.
âLucy, are you okay?â Barba asked over his shoulder. He knew that the police would be coming through the door in a matter of seconds. âLucy,â he repeated, slowly and painfully getting to his feet with Noah in his arms.
âIâm okay,â she answered, sounding shaken. âIâm okay,â she said again, when their eyes met. Then his gaze slid past her, because Benson was coming into the room. She had her gun in one hand and her phone to her ear. As soon as she saw Barba, she holstered her weapon and pocketed her phone, relief flooding her face at the sight of Noah hugged to his chest.
She paused for a moment by Lucy, touching her shoulder, asking if she was alright. Lucy assured her quickly, knowing that Benson needed to get to Noah. As the cops swarmed around Johnsonâs body, Barba shifted Noah higher in his arms, turning the boy toward Benson.
Noah launched himself at her, and she caught him in a tight hug, kissing his head, murmuring assurances and words of love. She met Barbaâs eyes; he wanted desperately to grab her, to hold onto her to convince himself that he was alive. He could feel himself shaking. She needed Noah, now, thoughâthere would be time for Barba to tell her everything he needed to say, later.
Benson reached out a hand and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, yanking him forward, nearly crushing Noah between their bodies as she pulled Barba into a hug. His eyes burned as he wrapped his arms around them, Benson and Noah, holding them as though his life depended upon it.
âIâm sorry,â he said. âIâmââ
âShut up,â she said, barely above a whisper. âJust hold me and shut up.â
  Barba stood in the bedroom doorway, watching Benson tuck her son into bed. He was filled with a rush of love that stole his breath. Heâd never imagined being able to love anyone as much as he loved them. Thinking of the way heâd spoken to Noahâof the stricken, confused look on the boyâs face before he realized what was going onâcaused Barba real and sharp pain. He wanted to hug the child to his chest and apologize a million times, promise to never hurt him, but as much as he wanted to be, he wasnât fully a part of their family, not yet. He had to earn their love and trust, both of them.
Noah glanced at Barba, then motioned for Benson to bend down. He put up a little hand and whispered something into her ear.
Barba didnât want to take his eyes off of them, but he forced himself to turn, determined to give them privacy to talk about everything that had happened.
âRafa,â Benson said, stopping him. He looked back, meeting her eyes. She said, âNoah wants to talk to you,â and Barbaâs gaze slid to the boy. Benson bent, kissing Noahâs forehead and tucking the covers more tightly around him, murmuring, âGoodnight, sweet boy. Iâll see you in the morning.â She straightened, turning toward Barba, and he felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. She was leaving him alone with Noah? What could he say, how could he possibly explain himself to the boy?
When Benson neared him, their gazes locked, and he swallowed. She put her palm against his chest, and he covered her hand with hisâbut only for a moment, and then she was gone, leaving him with Noah.
Barba walked to the bed, hiding his nervousness. Noah peered up at him, and the boy looked so small that Barba sat on the edge of the bed, on impulse, needing only to comfort him.
âYou were very brave today, mijo,â he said, the endearment slipping out unbidden. âIâm proud of you. I know it was scary, but youâre safe now, you donât have to be afraid anymore.â
âIâm not scared,â the boy answered.
âThatâs good,â Barba said. He hesitated. âNoah, Iâm sorry if it seemed like I was angry with you, or if Iââ
âThat man was mad at you,â Noah said, shifting a bit on his pillow. âYou didnât want him to know we were friends.â
âThatâs exactly right,â Barba answered. âI alsoâŚdidnât get a chance to tell you thank you for the cookiesâand for the drawing.â Heâd changed out of his bloody shirt and into a Harvard sweatshirt that heâd left at Bensonâs house the week before. Now, as he sat on the bed, with one hand braced on the bedspread, Noahâs fingers crept up to touch his sleeve. Noahâs expression was one of hesitance, and Barba turned his hand over, taking Noahâs in his. âYou can ask meâor say, anything you want, Noah,â he said.
âWhatâs a stepdad?â Noah asked.
Barbaâs heart skipped, and he considered for a few moments before answering. âItâs just a word forâŚa dad who you meetâŚwhen youâre not a baby,â he finally said, feeling like an idiot. Heâd never had such difficulty finding the right words, in his life. Heâd always been able to talk his way intoâor out ofâanything when he put his mind to it.
âWhen he marries your mom?â Noah suggested, and Barba knew that the boy was thinking of what Johnson had said.
âI guess so,â Barba said. âTechnically, but you should know thatââ
âIf you married Mommy, youâd be like my dad?â
âNoah, listen to me, okay? No matter what happens, I will always be here for you when you need me. No matter what. I promise you. So you donât have to worryââ
âDo you want to marry her?â Noah asked.
Barba swallowed, looking at the boyâs hopeful expression, and he felt tears burning his eyes. âYes,â he answered. âSomeday,â he added. âI want you and your mom both to know that Iâll be here, always. But I also want you to be okay with that. If youâre upset, you can tell me, if youâre not happyââ
âIâm happy,â Noah said, and his smile took away all of Barbaâs fears and doubts, at least for the moment.
He squeezed the boyâs hand and, on impulse, bent and kissed his forehead. Barbaâs lips were sore, but he didnât care. âYou get some sleep, buddy,â he said. âItâs been a long day. Iâll see you in the morning.â
âGoodnight, Rafi,â Noah said, snuggling under the covers, his worries eased.
âGoodnight, mijo,â Barba murmured, watching him for a few moments longer before getting to his feet. He shut off the light but left the bedroom door cracked so that the room wouldnât be too dark. And he went to find Benson.
She was in the kitchen, sipping from a glass of wine. There was a glass of scotch on the counter, with the bottle beside it. Just looking at it made his lips burn, but he knew it would soothe his nerves. He met Bensonâs eyes and walked toward her.
âYou bought scotch?â he asked.
She mirrored his small smile, and said, âIt was supposed to be a bribe. But nowâŚI thought you could use it. Iâm sorry I didnât wash that,â she said, nodding toward his sweatshirt. âWearing it helps me fall asleep when youâre not here. It smells like you.â
He shook his head. âIt smells like you,â he countered softly, stopping in front of her and putting his hands at her hips. He could see all the emotions shining in her eyes, and knew that she could read him as easily as he could read her. âIt should never be washed again.â
âRafael,â she said, shaking her head, her lower lip quivering, âwhen I heard that gunshotââ
âIâm sorry,â he said, pulling her into his arms. He took her glass and set it on the counter, saying, âLiv, Noahâs fine, andââ
âI knew youâd protect him.â
ââLucyâs fine, andââ
âYouâre fine?â
He had been about to say that, but he stopped. Seeing Noahâs smile made him feel better. Holding the woman he loved in his arms made him feel better. And yet, he couldnât get the image out of his mind: the look on Johnsonâs face, the exact moment the man decided to kill himself. Heâd gone to Barbaâs apartment with an ill-conceived plan, at best, out of nothing more than a desperate need to believe that his son was not lost to him. For a little while, heâd had hope. Barba had spoon-fed it to him with pretty words and assurances and false promises. And then heâd ripped it away.
Barba took a shuddery breath, lowering his forehead to Bensonâs shoulder. He was comforted by her scent, by her warmth. âI killed him, Liv, as much as if Iâdââ
âHe made his own choice, Rafa,â she said, and her hand was rubbing his back as she held him. âYou did what you had to do to get yourself and Noah and Lucy out of there.â
âI almost had him. He was ready to surrender. ButâI made a mistake. I didnât think about the phone, the picture.â
âRafââ
He lifted his head to look at her. âIâd do it again, Liv. I canât get it out of my head, that look on his face, and it makes me sick. I wish I couldâve saved him. But he had nothing left. I pushed because I knew he would break, and I would do it again.â
âFor Noah,â she whispered, because she understood.
Barba nodded. âIf anything had happened to himââ
âHeâs okay, Rafa. Itâs not your fault.â He let out a breath, and she pressed her palm to his cheek. âItâs not your fault,â she repeated. She leaned her head forward and kissed him, carefully, on the corner of his mouth, mindful of his split lip. He turned his face, capturing her mouth with his. He didnât care that it hurt; he needed to taste her, smell her, feel her, let her fill all of his senses.
Heâd cleaned the blood from his face, but his nose felt swollen and stuffy. His face was bruised, and so was his body, but nothing was broken. He wasnât broken.
She shifted backward, against the counter, pulling him with her. She felt his wince and drew back to look at him, but he quickly claimed her mouth, again, because none of the pain mattered. Only she mattered, only the two of them together. His feet were spread and planted, and he leaned into her, his hands splayed at her waist. She snaked her fingers into his hair; sheâd always loved his hair, and the way it felt between her fingers, and the knowledge brought him profound joy.
He wanted her, and knew that she could feel his growing desireânot just physically, but emotionally. Reaching behind her, blindly, he slid the glasses and bottle aside. He lifted her, swallowing her gasp of surprise, setting her on the counter. He lowered his head and trailed kisses down to her stomach, relishing the shiver that passed through her as she clutched his hair in both hands.
âRaf,â she breathed. âWait.â He hesitated, drawing back to look at her, and she saw the uncertainty in his expression. She cupped his face in her hands. âI love you,â she told him, and saw his eyes soften.
âI love you, too,â he murmured.
âI know. I know you do. Stay, Rafa.â
âOf course, Iâmââ
âNo, I mean, stay. Donât just leave some clothes here, donât just sleep over sometimes, stay here, always. I know youâre scared.â
âIâm not worriedâI have no doubts about you, Liv, about me and you.â
âNo, youâre afraid ofâŚnot fitting in with us, of intruding. But that little boy in there loves you. We need you as much as you need us. I know youâve been carrying a ring around for weeksâI saw it, in your briefcase, Iâm sorryââ
He stared at her, his heart thumping in his chest. âMy grandmotherâs ring,â he said. âItâs not hereâIâm sorry, Liv, itâs still at my apartment, I didnât bring anythingââ
âI donât care, Rafa. All Iâm saying is, if itâs for meââ
âOf course. Of course, itâs yours. Marry me.â
She smiled. âGuess I didnât need the scotch, after all.â
âOliviaââ
She cut him off with a kiss. âIn the morning, Rafael,â she said. âTake me to bed so I can make your bruises feel better.â
He grinned, barely wincing at the pain in his lip. âWill you wear this sweatshirt?â he asked, watching her lips curve at the thought.