#carisi!reader!

My legs gave out. I sank to the floor, my body wracked with a sob so violent it felt like it would tear me apart. I was alone, in the tomb of our life, surrounded by boxes labeled with his neat, final script. The ultrasound photo had fallen from his hand and lay face down on the dusty floorboards, a tiny, fragile dream I had brought here only to have it shattered. The apartment was silent, filled with nothing but the ghosts of what we almost had, and the sound of my own heart breaking.

I couldn’t stop.

The sobs kept coming—one after another, sharp and uncontrollable, dragging through my chest until it burned. My hands curled against the floor, nails scraping lightly into the wood as if I could hold onto something, anything, to keep myself from completely falling apart.

“Rafael…” His name broke out of me, barely more than a breath, but it echoed anyway. Too loud in the emptiness. Too final.

He wasn’t coming back. That was the worst part. Not the argument. Not the leaving. The certainty of it. My gaze shifted, unfocused, until it landed on the ultrasound photo still lying a few feet away. Face down. Forgotten. Left behind. A broken sound escaped me as I dragged myself toward it, every movement slow, heavy, like I was wading through something thick and suffocating. My fingers shook as I reached out, turning it over. There it was. Small. Grainy. Real. Alive. A fresh wave hit me—quieter this time, but deeper. The kind that didn’t rip through you, just settled in your chest and stayed there, heavy and unrelenting.

“We need you…” I whispered, my voice barely there. “I just need…”

My words dissolved into another sob. My hand pressed instinctively against my stomach, the gesture automatic now, protective even in the middle of breaking. Time blurred after that. I don’t know how long I stayed on the floor. Minutes. Hours. It all felt the same—stretched and distant and meaningless. The sobs slowed eventually, not because the pain lessened, but because my body simply couldn’t keep up. My chest ached. My throat was raw. My eyes burned. At some point, I curled in on myself, the ultrasound clutched tightly in my hand, pressed against my chest like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. The floor was cold beneath me. Unforgiving. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Exhaustion crept in slowly, heavy and inevitable, dragging at my limbs, dulling the sharp edges of everything until it all blurred together—grief, anger, love, loss. The last thing I remember was whispering his name again. Softer this time. Almost like a goodbye.

…

The sound of the door unlocking cut through the silence hours later.

“Y/N?”

Sonny’s voice. Distant at first. Then closer.

“Hey,are you here?”

Footsteps. Fast. Uneven.

“Jesus”

The word hit sharp, right above me. I felt hands on me before I fully woke, warm and grounding, pulling me gently up from where I’d been curled on the floor.

“Hey, hey… what happened?” Sonny’s voice was softer now, laced with panic he was trying to hide. My eyes fluttered open, disoriented, the world swimming back into focus in fragments. Light. Boxes. Him.

“Sonny…” My voice cracked immediately, the single word enough to break whatever fragile hold I had left.

“Oh, kid…” he breathed, pulling me fully into him, one hand cradling the back of my head as I collapsed against his chest. And just like that it all came back. Rafael leaving. A sob tore out of me, muffled against Sonny as I clutched at his shirt like I was afraid he might disappear too.

“I…he…” I couldn’t get it out. Couldn’t make the words line up into anything that made sense.

“It’s okay,” Sonny murmured, even though it clearly wasn’t. His grip tightened around me, steady and protective. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

But I shook my head against him, tears soaking into the fabric.

“No… no, I’m not…”

…

Sonny’s P.O.V

I didn’t sleep. Not even for a second. Y/N was curled up on the couch when I left, finally quiet after hours of crying, her body completely drained. One hand rested over her stomach even in sleep—protective, instinctive. Like some part of her already knew she couldn’t fall apart completely. Not anymore. He knew. That was the part that wouldn’t sit right. Rafael knew and he still left. I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets as I walked into the squad room, jaw tight, already wound too tight for this hour of the morning. Olivia looked up the second I walked in.

“Sonny?”

“I need your help.”

No jokes. No small talk. No pretending this was anything but serious.

She stood immediately. “What happened?”

“Rafael,” I said. “Where is he?”

Her expression shifted—not guarded, not hiding anything. Just… confused.

“I don’t know,” she said.

I frowned. “What do you mean you don’t know? You talked to him.”

“Outside the courthouse,” she said. “He told me he was stepping down. That he was leaving New York.” A pause. “That’s it.”

“That’s it?” I repeated, disbelief creeping in. “He didn’t say where?”

She shook her head slowly. “No.”

That hit harder than I expected. Because that meant this wasn’t a plan. This was him… disappearing. I dragged a hand down my face, pacing once. “He knew, Liv.”

Her brow furrowed. “Knew what?”

“He knew about the baby,” I said, voice tight. “And he still walked out. Said he was doing it to protect her.”

Understanding flickered across her face. Not agreement—but recognition.

“That sounds like him,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, well, it’s wrong,” I snapped. “He doesn’t get to make that call for her. He doesn’t get to decide she’s better off without him and just vanish like that fixes anything.”

Olivia crossed her arms, studying me. “So what are you going to do?”

I met her gaze without hesitation.

“I’m gonna find him.”

A beat.

“You don’t even know where to start.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Sonny—”

“I’m not letting this be how it ends,” I said, sharper now. “Not for her. Not for that kid.”

Silence stretched between us. Then Olivia nodded once. Not approval—but understanding.

“If you find him,” she said, “what are you going to say?”

I let out a breath.

“The truth,” I said. “That running doesn’t make him noble. It just makes him gone.”

Olivia’s expression softened slightly. “Be careful.”

I gave a short nod. Always was.

…

Back at the apartment, I grabbed my keys, already halfway out the door before my brain could catch up. Then I stopped. Turned back. Y/N was still asleep, curled into herself, like she’d folded around the pain to survive it. Tear tracks still marked her face, her breathing uneven even now. I walked over quietly, crouching beside her.

“Hey,” I murmured, even though I knew she wouldn’t hear me. “I’m gonna go find him, alright?”

My eyes dropped briefly to her stomach.

“He doesn’t get to walk away from this,” I added softly.

I hesitated, then gently brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“I’ll fix it,” I promised.

Even if I had no idea how yet.

…

Outside, the city was already waking up. People moving. Cars passing. Life going on. I stood on the sidewalk for a second, taking it all in. No leads. No plan. Just a name and a man who didn’t want to be found. I pulled out my phone, already scrolling—contacts, old cases, anyone who might know something, anything.

“Alright, counselor,” I muttered under my breath. “Let’s see how good you are at disappearing.”

Because one thing I knew for sure, no matter where Rafael had gone. I was going to find him.

…

Finding Rafael Barba turned into something close to an obsession.

At first, it was small things, calls between cases, messages sent to old contacts who owed me favours, late nights hunched over my phone while the city slept and Y/N rested in the next room. But when those leads dried up, when every “I haven’t heard from him” and “he’s off the grid” started to sound the same, it stopped being a side mission and became the mission. Weeks blurred into months. I dug through old case files, bar association records, court appearances in other states, anything that might leave a paper trail for a man who had spent his entire career knowing exactly how to disappear when he wanted to. And all the while, time kept moving forward whether any of us were ready for it or not.

Y/N changed in those months.

At first it was subtle, looser clothes, quieter mornings, a hand that lingered just a little too often over her stomach when she thought no one was looking. But by the time winter started bleeding into spring, there was nothing subtle about it anymore. She was six months along, her body undeniably carrying the proof of a future Rafael had walked away from. And still she never stopped loving him. I saw it in the way she’d pause when his name came up, in the way her eyes would drift sometimes like she was remembering something she didn’t want to forget. She never asked me to keep looking. Never pushed. But she didn’t have to. I knew.

So I kept going. And then, finally, I found something. It was buried in a routine search, one I’d done a dozen times before. A small-town court listing. Defence attorney. The name almost didn’t register at first, like my brain refused to believe it until I read it again.

Rafael Barba.

Iowa.

I stared at the screen for a long time, my heart kicking up in a way it hadn’t in months. Not New York. Not Miami. Not some big city where he could disappear in plain sight. Iowa. Quiet. Out of the way. Exactly the kind of place a man like Rafael would go to disappear from himself.

“Got you,” I muttered under my breath.

I didn’t tell Y/N right away. Not until I had everything confirmed. Not until I knew for certain this wasn’t another dead end. But when I did, when I walked into the apartment and told her. I saw it instantly. Hope. Sharp and terrifying and fragile all at once. We didn’t waste time. Packing was quick, almost mechanical, like if we slowed down too much we might lose the nerve to do it. I kept it simple, bags, essentials, making sure she was comfortable, making sure she didn’t push herself too hard even as I could see the adrenaline carrying her forward. By the time we stepped out the door, it felt like everything had narrowed down to one thing. Getting to him.

…

I found him in a courtroom. Of course I did. Standing at the defence table, sleeves rolled, tie slightly loosened, arguing a case with that same quiet intensity he always had. Like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t walked away from everything. From her. I stayed in the back, watching, arms crossed, jaw tight. Let him finish. Let him have his moment. But the second court adjourned.

“Counsellor.”

He froze. Just for a second. Then he turned. And yeah, there it was. Shock. Guilt. Something deeper, heavier, buried under months of running.

“Carisi,” he said, voice quieter than I’d ever heard it. “What are you doing here?”

I stepped closer, not giving him space to breathe. “Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

He looked… different. Thinner. Tired in a way that sleep wouldn’t fix. Like whatever he’d been carrying, he hadn’t put it down once since he left.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“No,” I shot back. “You shouldn’t have left.”

That landed. He exhaled slowly, running a hand over the back of his neck. “If you’re here to tell me I made a mistake—”

“You didn’t make a mistake,” I cut in. “You made a mess.”

Silence. Heavy. Loaded.

“She needed you,” I continued, my voice dropping. “She still does.”

His jaw tightened. “I wasn’t what she needed.”

“That’s not your call.”

“It is when staying puts her at risk,” he snapped, something breaking through finally. “You think I don’t know what I am? What I did? I crossed a line I can’t uncross. I destroyed my career. My credibility. Everything I built. And you expect me to just, what, walk back into her life like that doesn’t matter?”

I stepped closer, my voice hard. “Yeah. I do. Because none of that matters to her as much as you do.”

That hit harder. I saw it in the way his expression cracked, just for a second.

“I wanted to call her,” he admitted quietly. “More times than I can count. I picked up the phone and put it back down again every time.” He swallowed. “I thought… I thought if I stayed away long enough, it would be easier for her to move on.”

I shook my head. “You don’t know her at all if you think that.”

He let out a hollow breath. “No,” he said. “I guess I don’t.”

A pause. Then, softer, more honest than anything he’d said yet. “I miss her.”

That wasn’t enough. Not yet. So I looked him dead in the eye and said the only thing left that mattered.

“She’s here.”

Everything in him stilled.

“…What?”

“She’s here, Rafael,” I repeated. “Six months pregnant. Tired. Heartbroken. Still in love with you.”

The colour drained from his face.

“You brought her here?” he asked, disbelief and something dangerously close to hope bleeding into his voice.

“I didn’t have to drag her,” I said. “She came because she wanted to.”

He shook his head slightly, overwhelmed. “After everything I…”

“She wants you back,” I cut in. “The question is are you finally done running?”

Silence stretched between us. Then, slowly, something shifted in him. Not fixed. Not healed. But decided.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I am.”

…

Y/N’s P.O.V

I was sitting in the car when I saw them. Sonny first, steady, familiar. And then Rafael. Everything in me stopped. My breath. My thoughts. My heartbeat. He looked the same and completely different all at once. Like time had passed over him but never quite settled. His eyes found mine instantly, like they’d been searching for me this whole time even when he didn’t realise it. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then the door opened. And he was there. Closer. Real.

“Y/N…” My name broke out of him like it had been waiting months to be said.

Tears blurred my vision before I could stop them. “You left,” I whispered, the words fragile but not weak.

“I know,” he said immediately, stepping closer but not touching me yet. “And I was wrong.”

That alone shattered something in my chest.

“I thought I was protecting you,” he continued, his voice shaking now. “But all I did was hurt you. I hurt us.”

My hand instinctively moved to my stomach, and his gaze followed. He froze. Emotion hit him all at once—raw, unguarded, overwhelming.

“I wanted to come back,” he said, voice breaking. “I just… I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

I let out a tearful breath, shaking my head. “I never stopped wanting you.”

That was it. That was all it took. He closed the distance between us carefully, like I might disappear if he moved too fast, his hands hovering before finally settling—one at my side, the other hesitating just above my stomach.

“Can I?” he asked softly.

I nodded, tears falling freely now. His hand rested there, gentle, reverent, like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

“I want this,” he said, looking back up at me, eyes full. “I want you. I want our family. If you’ll still have me.”

A small, broken laugh slipped out of me. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

And then finally he kissed me. Soft at first. Careful. Like something fragile being put back together. And for the first time in months it didn’t feel like everything was falling apart.

…

Sonny’s P.O.V

The drive back felt longer. Quieter. Like everything I’d been running on for months had finally burned out, leaving nothing but the steady hum of the road and the weight of what I’d just done settling into my bones. I didn’t rush it. Didn’t push. For the first time in a long time, there wasn’t anything chasing me. Because I’d found him. And more importantly I’d left them together. I could still see it if I let myself think about it too hard. The way Rafael looked at her when he realised she was really there. The way Y/N didn’t hesitate, didn’t hold back, even after everything he’d put her through. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fixed. But it was real. And it was theirs. That was enough. More than enough.

…

Walking back into the city felt strange. Like stepping into a life that had kept moving without me but not in a bad way. Just… different. Slower. Lighter, somehow. The squad room looked the same as always. Desks. Papers. Noise. Olivia glanced up the second I walked in, her eyes scanning me quickly. Alone.

She stood. “Sonny.”

I gave her a small nod. “Liv.”

A beat passed between us.

“Did you find him?” she asked.

I let out a quiet breath, slipping my jacket off, draping it over the back of my chair like I hadn’t just crossed state lines chasing a man who didn’t want to be found.

“Yeah,” I said simply.

Her expression sharpened. “And?”

I met her eyes.

“They’re together.”

That was all I gave her.

But it was enough. I saw the tension leave her shoulders, just slightly. Relief.

“Are they okay?” she asked.

I considered that for a moment.

“They will be.”

It wasn’t a guarantee. But it was the truth.

Olivia studied me carefully, like she was trying to read everything I wasn’t saying. “Where are they?”

I shook my head once.

“Where they need to be,” I said.

Her brows lifted slightly not offended. Just acknowledging the boundary.

“You’re giving them space.”

“Yeah,” I said. “They’ve got a lot to figure out. They don’t need us hovering over it.”

“She’s safe?”

That one mattered more. I nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. She is.”

And for the first time since all of this started, I actually meant it.

…

Later that night, back at the apartment, the quiet didn’t feel as heavy. It was still there her things, her presence lingering in small ways—but it didn’t feel like something was missing anymore. It felt like something was… waiting. I moved through the space slowly, picking up where I’d left off days ago, setting things back into place without really thinking about it. On the coffee table, something caught my eye. A spare copy. The ultrasound photo. I must’ve printed it for me. Or maybe it was spare. I didn’t remember. Didn’t matter. I picked it up, staring down at the small, grainy image. Six months now. A whole future sitting right there in black and white. A slow breath left me as I set it back down carefully.

“Yeah,” I murmured to the empty room. “You’re gonna be alright.”

Because they would be. Not because it was easy. Not because everything was magically fixed. But because they’d chosen each other again. And that counted for something.

…

Back at work, things slipped into place easier than I expected. Cases. Paperwork. The rhythm of it all. People asked, of course.

Amanda cornered me near the coffee machine. “So? You just disappeared for days, we’re down an ADA and you’re not gonna explain that?”

I smirked slightly, grabbing a cup. “Took a trip.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, unimpressed. “And this trip wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain former ADA, would it?”

I shrugged. “You said it, not me.”

Finn chimed in from across the room, “That’s a yes.”

I just shook my head, taking a sip of coffee. Olivia watched it all quietly from her office, but she didn’t push. Didn’t ask again. She already had her answer.

…

That night, as I locked up and headed out, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Unknown number. I stared at it for a second before answering.

“Yeah?”

A pause.

“…Sonny.”

I smiled, just slightly.

“About time, counselor.”

There was a breath on the other end. Lighter than I’d heard in a long time.

“Thank you,” Rafael said.

I leaned back against the wall, looking out at the city lights.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Don’t screw it up again.”

A quiet huff of something that almost sounded like a laugh.

“I won’t.”

I believed him.

“Good,” I said. “Now go be where you’re supposed to be.”

Another pause.

“I am.”

The line went dead. I slipped my phone back into my pocket, pushing off the wall. Mission accomplished.

Tag List!:

The airport was quieter than I expected, the kind of early-morning calm that only existed before the rush of business travelers and families with strollers took over. Everything felt hushed and slightly unreal, like the world hadn’t quite woken up yet.

Rafael rolled our suitcase beside me, one hand steady on the handle, the other brushing against my wrist every so often like he needed to remind himself I was really there. I was still riding the high of Christmas morning, of the envelope he’d slid across the table with that infuriatingly calm smile of his.

Los Angeles. A whole week.

I still couldn’t believe it.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said gently as we reached the check-in kiosks.

I smiled, shaking my head. “I’m just… processing. I’ve never done this before.”

“Done what?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Left town without an agenda. No cases. No deadlines. No emergencies waiting to blow up my phone.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “Welcome to time off, querida. I promise, it won’t hurt.”

I handed over my ID, fingers still buzzing with nervous energy. “You planned all of this. Flights. Hotel. Time off. You even coordinated with Jack.”

Rafael shrugged lightly. “I’m capable of long-term planning when properly motivated.”

I glanced up at him. “I’m properly motivated?”

His gaze softened instantly. “Immensely.”

That did something dangerous to my heart.

Once we were through security, shoes back on and coffee in hand—black for him, something sugary and ridiculous for me—we found a quiet corner near our gate. The windows stretched floor to ceiling, the runway just visible beyond the glass, planes drifting in and out like slow-moving thoughts.

I curled into my seat, tucking my feet under me, watching him as he scanned the departure board with that familiar intensity. Even off-duty, Rafael Barba was incapable of being anything but composed.

“You know,” I said after a moment, “Sonny is going to lose his mind when he realizes you actually took me to Disneyland.”

His lips twitched. “Carisi was far too pleased with himself when he mentioned it. As if the idea hadn’t already occurred to me.”

I laughed softly. “I watched those commercials growing up. I just… never thought I’d actually go.”

Rafael turned toward me fully now. “Then I’m glad I get to be the one to take you.”

There it was again—that overwhelming sense of this is real. Of us sitting in an airport, about to board a plane together, no rushing back to the city, no glancing over our shoulders.

A week ago, I wasn’t sure I could sleep through the night.

Now I was about to cross the country with the man I loved.

He reached for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “If at any point you feel overwhelmed, we slow down. We do this at your pace.”

“I’m not scared,” I said quickly, then softened. “Well—okay, maybe a little. But it’s the good kind. The kind that feels like something new.”

His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “Good. Because this week is about firsts.”

The boarding announcement crackled overhead, our flight number echoing through the terminal.

Rafael stood, pulling our bag upright. He offered me his hand like something out of an old movie. “Los Angeles?”

I smiled, heart full and racing all at once, and took it.

“Los Angeles.”

As we walked toward the gate together, I realized something quietly monumental.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t looking back.

I was finally moving forward.

…

Los Angeles didn’t feel real at first.

The warmth hit me the moment we stepped out of LAX—sun on my skin, a soft breeze carrying something salty and unfamiliar. After weeks of gray skies and heavy coats, it felt like stepping into another life entirely.

Rafael noticed immediately.

“You’re smiling,” he said, rolling our suitcase toward the curb.

“I feel like I’ve been dropped into a postcard.”

He laughed. “That’s California.”

The drive into the city blurred past the windows—palm trees, endless sky, traffic that somehow felt slower than New York’s chaos. I rested my head against the seat, exhaustion finally catching up to me, and somewhere between freeway signs and quiet conversation, I dozed off.

When I woke, we were pulling into the hotel.

…

I thought Rafael might tolerate Disneyland.

I did not expect him to commit.

He wore the stupid souvenir ears Sonny would absolutely never let him live down. He held my hand through the crowds like it was instinct, like losing me in the sea of people wasn’t an option. He listened patiently while I rambled about rides I’d only ever seen on TV, letting me drag him from one attraction to the next.

“You’re enjoying this,” I accused at one point, halfway through a churro.

He took a thoughtful bite of his own. “I’m enjoying watching you enjoy it.”

That was the moment my chest ached.

We laughed. We took photos. We stood in lines that were way too long and shared snacks and whispered commentary about everything and nothing. For hours, I forgot courtrooms and evidence and fear. I forgot the tunnel darkness and the cold press of stone.

I remembered how to breathe.

That night, fireworks exploded over the park, colors blooming across the sky. Rafael stood behind me, arms wrapped around my waist, chin resting lightly on my shoulder.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“For what?”

“For giving me this.”

His voice was soft against my ear. “You’ve given me more.”

…

The rest of the week moved slower.

Mornings started with coffee on the balcony, the city waking up below us. Rafael read the paper like it was a sacred ritual, glasses perched low on his nose. I curled up beside him, stealing glances, memorizing the way the sun caught in his hair.

We walked along the beach one afternoon, shoes abandoned in the sand. He rolled his pants up like a man deeply out of his element, laughing when a wave caught him off guard.

“I am not built for this,” he declared.

“You’re doing great, Rafi.”

He froze. “You just called me Rafi.”

I smiled sweetly. “Your family does.”

A beat. Then: “They’re going to love you even more.”

We ate too much. Slept late. Talked about everything we’d never had time for—childhood stories, old fears, dreams we’d quietly shelved. Some nights were filled with laughter. Others were quiet, heavy with things still healing.

And always—always—there was the way he held me when sleep finally came. Like if he let go, the world might take me back.

…

On our final evening, we didn’t go out.

We ordered room service, still half in pajamas, and sat on the floor with plates balanced between us. Outside, the city glowed gold and endless.

“I don’t want this to end,” I admitted softly.

Rafael reached for my hand. “It doesn’t have to. The trip ends. We don’t.”

I leaned into him, resting my head against his shoulder. “Promise?”

He kissed my hair. “Always.”

…

At the airport, waiting to board our flight back to New York, I watched planes taxi across the runway and felt something settle inside me.

I wasn’t fixed. I wasn’t magically healed.

But I was stronger.

Because I wasn’t alone anymore.

Rafael squeezed my hand gently. “Ready to go home?”

I smiled up at him, heart steady and full. “As long as it’s with you.”

And for the first time in a long time, that felt like the safest place in the world.

…

By the time winter loosened its grip on New York, life had settled into something resembling normal.

Six months since Christmas. Since California. Since mornings that felt suspended outside of time. Six months of building something quiet and real—brick by brick—without ever quite stopping to name it.

The city didn’t pause for any of that.

It never did.

…

It started with the nausea.

Not sharp. Not dramatic. Just a slow, rolling unease that followed me from the subway platform to the courthouse steps. I blamed the coffee. The lack of sleep. Stress—there was always stress.

But when the dizziness hit in the elevator, when I had to brace my hand against the wall and close my eyes until the floor stopped tilting, something cold settled in my stomach.

I bought the test on my lunch break.

Didn’t tell Rafael. Didn’t tell Sonny. Didn’t even let myself think too hard about why I’d chosen the pharmacy three blocks away instead of the one near the office.

The bathroom at work was too bright. Too loud. I locked the door anyway.

Two lines.

Clear. Immediate. Unmistakable.

I sat on the closed toilet lid longer than I should have, hands resting flat against my thighs, breathing carefully—like the wrong inhale might shatter something fragile inside me.

Pregnant.

The word felt enormous. Impossible. Terrifying.

I tucked the test deep into my bag, washed my hands, fixed my face, and went back to work like nothing had changed.

…

The call came less than an hour later.

Olivia stood in our doorway, already wearing that look—the one that meant whatever she was about to say would linger long after the file was closed.

“Missing infant,” she said. “Nine months old. Name’s Drew Householder.”

I felt my stomach roll again, sharper this time, but I forced myself to focus.

“Mother reported him missing an hour ago,” Olivia continued as we moved. “Father had supervised visitation. Didn’t return him.”

“Kidnapping?” I asked.

“Father says no. Says he took his son to the hospital.”

Rafael walked beside me, steady, composed. Oblivious to the fact that my entire world had tilted less than an hour earlier.

We found Drew quickly.

Too quickly.

He lay in a pediatric ICU bed, impossibly small beneath the weight of machines that breathed for him, fed him, kept his heart beating long after his body had begun to fail.

The diagnosis followed.

Mitochondrial DNA Depletion Syndrome.

Terminal. Progressive. Irreversible.

Clinically brain dead.

Maggie wanted to remove life support.

Aaron refused. His whole reason for running with Drew in the first place.

I stood there, staring at a child whose chest rose and fell only because a machine told it to—and felt something inside me twist violently.

Instinct. Fear. Protection.

Something ancient and sudden.

…

The squad room shifted after that.

Not loud. Just tight.

Everyone chose a side, whether they admitted it or not.

I listened to Maggie sob about mercy and dignity and letting go. I watched Aaron sit at his son’s bedside, fingers wrapped gently around a hand that would never squeeze back.

Rafael argued carefully. Thoughtfully. Compassionately.

Too compassionately.

“You don’t keep someone alive because you’re afraid to let go,” Rafael said one night, files spread between us.

“And you don’t end a life because you’re afraid to stay,” I replied.

I swallowed hard, pressing my palm flat against my stomach without realizing it.

“I’m not afraid.”

“I know,” I said. “Neither is Aaron.”

The words landed differently now.

Sharper.

Because suddenly, hypotheticals weren’t hypothetical anymore.

…

I didn’t tell anyone.

Not about the test. Not about the nausea. Not about the way my hand kept drifting to my abdomen like it was checking something was still there.

At night, Rafael stayed late.

At night, I lay awake beside him, listening to his breathing, wondering how you told someone their life was about to change when you weren’t even sure how you felt about it yourself.

The case pressed in on us from all sides.

Morality. Law. Faith. Loss.

And beneath it all, something else pulsed quietly inside me—terrifying and miraculous and completely unacknowledged.

…

When I said, “If this goes to court, I’ll argue that Aaron acted out of necessity,” something inside me cracked wider.

“I’ll argue that Maggie has the right to end her son’s suffering,” Rafael said. “That prolonging it isn’t love—it’s denial.”

He looked at me then—really looked.

“We may end up on opposite sides of this.”

I nodded, my throat tight.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just about Drew.

It was about life. About choice. About where love ends and fear begins.

About a truth growing quietly inside me that I hadn’t yet found the courage to share.

…

Family court scheduled the hearing.

Experts were lined up. Testimony prepared.

As Olivia closed the file, she said softly, “This one’s going to hurt.”

Rafael’s hand brushed mine—hesitant now.

I didn’t pull away.

I didn’t lean in.

I stood there, carrying a secret no one else knew about, as the case moved forward toward a courtroom that would decide what it meant to let a child go.

And I wondered—terrified and silent—

What this case would do to us.

And what it would mean when I finally said the words:

I’m pregnant.

Tag List!:

Now, it all came rushing back.

The squad room was buzzing, but not in its usual frenzied way. Laughter floated in the air. A string of colored lights dangled precariously over the board. Amanda was balancing on a chair, hanging paper garland, while Fin handed her pieces of tape with his usual dry commentary. Sonny was wrestling with a box of decorations like it had personally wronged him, and Nick was—of course—pretending to supervise with a cup of coffee in hand.

It wasn’t until Amanda turned her head and spotted us that the room stilled.

“Well, look who finally decided to rejoin civilization,” she teased, her grin wide and knowing.

Four sets of eyes turned our way.

I suddenly became very aware of Rafael’s hand resting lightly against my back. Not overt, not obvious—just a steady, grounding presence. Still, I felt the heat creeping into my cheeks.

“Thought you two got lost in the Catskills or something,” Fin drawled, but there was no missing the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Close enough,” Rafael replied smoothly, adjusting his scarf like the picture of composure—even though I could feel the faintest tension radiating from him. He hated being on display like this.

Sonny smirked, his arms crossed over his chest. “Two weeks off, huh? Must’ve been… restorative.” His grin widened when I shot him a warning look.

Amanda leaned forward, eyes darting between us. “You both look… different.”

Nick finally chimed in with a chuckle. “Different good or different ‘we’re going to have to sit through a whole lot of awkward couple mush’?”

I laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “We just… needed some time.”

The room went quiet for a beat, the weight of everything we’d been through lingering in the air. And then Olivia stepped out of her office, her expression softening as she took us in.

“Welcome back,” she said simply, and somehow, it cut through all the teasing.

Relief washed over me.

Rafael gave her a respectful nod.

The buzz of laughter and teasing slowly settled back into the rhythm of the room. Fin went back to handing Amanda tape, Sonny dove back into the decoration box with exaggerated grumbling, and Nick started critiquing the placement of garland like he was some kind of interior designer.

I let out a soft laugh and slipped further into the room, grateful for the ease returning. Olivia lingered by her office door, giving Rafael and me a small, knowing smile before she crossed the floor toward Amanda, who was still perched carefully on the chair.

“Here,” I said quickly, stepping in before Amanda could stretch too far. I steadied the garland in her hands and helped her fasten it to the corner of the board. When she climbed down, I finally got a good look at her.

“Wait a second—” My eyes widened, my hand instinctively flying to my mouth. “Amanda, you’re—”

“Showing?” Amanda finished with a wry grin, one hand smoothing over the gentle but unmistakable curve of her belly. “Yeah, kind of hard to hide it now.”

I gasped and leaned forward, unable to stop myself from lightly brushing my fingertips across the bump. “Oh my God, you look amazing. How far along are you now?”

Amanda’s grin softened into something warmer, almost bashful. “About five months. Another little girl.”

I squealed before I could stop myself, wrapping her in a careful hug. “Another girl! Amanda, that’s incredible. Jesse must be over the moon.”

Amanda chuckled, resting her hand on her hip. “She keeps saying she’s gonna teach her baby sister all about dinosaurs and make sure she doesn’t steal her dolls. So… I’d say she’s adjusting.”

Olivia’s laugh joined mine, her voice gentle. “Jesse’s going to be a wonderful big sister. She already has the heart for it.”

Amanda’s expression softened at that, pride flickering in her eyes. “Yeah. She’s excited. And nervous. But mostly excited.”

I couldn’t stop smiling, my heart full at the sight of Amanda glowing in this moment, Olivia steady at her side, both women radiating strength in their own quiet ways. For a while, we just stood there—three women in the middle of a busy squad room, cocooned in something soft and hopeful.

Rafael glanced over from across the room, catching my eye, and when I smiled, he gave me the smallest one back.

I couldn’t stop smiling, my heart full at the sight of Amanda glowing in this moment, Olivia steady at her side, both women radiating strength in their own quiet ways. For a while, we just stood there—three women in the middle of a busy squad room, cocooned in something soft and hopeful.

Then a familiar voice broke in, smooth and deliberate.

“We were just stopping in,” Rafael said as he stepped closer, adjusting his scarf like it was armor. “Thought we’d say hello before heading back to the office.” His eyes flicked to Olivia, then Amanda, before landing back on me with something softer hidden behind his polished façade. “Jack’s expecting us for a meeting.”

I straightened automatically, that tiny coil of nerves tightening in my stomach at the mention of Jack. Amanda gave me a quick squeeze of the hand, Olivia offered a reassuring nod, and Rafael—always Rafael—was there, steady at my side, ready to walk out with me.

…

Jack’s office was cool in that way only government buildings seemed to manage—air thick with the faint smell of old coffee, paper, and polish. He didn’t waste time on pleasantries. The moment the door clicked shut, his voice cut through the air like a gavel.

“I know.”

My stomach dropped. Rafael’s hand brushed my elbow lightly, steadying me, before he stepped forward.

“Jack—”

“Don’t.” McCoy’s tone was sharp, his gaze cutting between us. “I don’t need excuses. I need an answer as to why two of my best people thought it was appropriate to get involved while working side by side.” His eyes landed on Rafael, hard and unyielding. “And don’t try to sell me a fairytale about compartmentalizing.”

Rafael’s jaw ticked, but his voice was even. “This doesn’t affect the work.”

McCoy scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Doesn’t affect the work? Do you even hear yourself? You’re her superior, Rafael. Every decision you make, every assignment you hand out—it’s colored. Maybe not to you, but to anyone looking in? It reeks.”

“That’s unfair,” Rafael snapped before catching himself, lowering his voice again. “You know me. You know my record. I don’t play games with justice. Ever. My personal life doesn’t change that.”

McCoy leaned forward now, palms on the desk, his voice low and dangerous. “Your personal life changes everything. You’re smart enough to know that. If you think the defense bar won’t use this—drag her through the mud, drag you through the mud—you’re lying to yourself.” His eyes slid to me, sharp enough to cut. “And you—your reputation is barely built. One whisper of favoritism, and you’re finished before you start.”

I opened my mouth, but Rafael beat me to it, his tone steel. “Don’t talk to her like she’s collateral damage in my choices.”

McCoy sat back slowly, narrowing his eyes. “So you admit it then. That this is your choice.”

“Yes,” Rafael said without hesitation. “My choice. My risk. And I’ll take every consequence if it comes to that. But moving her—or me—doesn’t solve anything. It just weakens a unit that works.”

McCoy barked a humorless laugh. “You think I care about your little unit? This isn’t about keeping your girlfriend down the hall, Rafael. This is about the integrity of this office.”

Rafael leaned in, voice low but burning with conviction. “And I care about both. I care about her. I care about this job. And I won’t let you use one as a weapon against the other.”

For a long moment, silence filled the office. The clock ticked, the city hummed faintly outside, but in that space it was just Rafael and McCoy, locked in a standoff.

Finally, McCoy sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re stubborn as hell.”

“Takes one to know one,” Rafael muttered.

McCoy shot him a look, but a ghost of a smirk tugged at his mouth before it faded. “You’re hanging by a thread here, Barba. Both of you. I’m not blind—I can’t condone this. But I’m not going to split you up… yet.” His eyes sharpened again. “The second it becomes a liability, though? One of you is gone. I don’t care how much you fight me.”

Rafael straightened, buttoning his jacket, every inch the immovable force. “Then you’ll never have the chance. Because we won’t give you one.”

Jack waved us toward the door, dismissive. “God help me.”

Out in the hall, my heart was still pounding, but Rafael’s hand brushed mine, subtle but grounding.

“I told you,” he murmured, warmth in his voice despite the fire that had just burned between him and Jack. “I’ll fight for us. Always.”

…

The office was silent except for the scratch of pen on paper and the occasional rustle of files. Rafael was buried in briefs, while I sat across from him with my laptop open, though I’d been staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes.

The weight of Jack’s words still lingered, heavy and unspoken. Neither of us had dared to break the quiet, as if talking about it might shatter the fragile peace of being allowed to stay together.

My gaze drifted around the office—the walls bare, the desk neat but sterile. Cold. It felt more like a temporary stop than the place we were building together.

And suddenly, the thought slipped in. This doesn’t look like ours. Not yet.

I cleared my throat. “You know… we should decorate.”

Rafael looked up confused from his papers, brow furrowing. “Decorate?”

“Yeah. Christmas is two weeks away. The precinct has tinsel everywhere, even Sonny’s apartment has a sad little tree.” I pushed my chair back, the idea sparking to life as I spoke. “This office? Nothing. It doesn’t even look like people work here, let alone live here the way we do.”

He smirked faintly, amused. “We don’t live here.”

“Rafa,” I said, standing now, my hands on my hips, “we’ve spent more nights in this office than in our own beds the last month. If that doesn’t count as living here, I don’t know what does.”

He sighed, setting his pen down. “And your solution is… decorations.”

“Yes.” I rounded the desk and tugged his sleeve before he could object. “Lights. A tree. Something to make this place ours.”

“Cariño—”

“Nope. You don’t get a choice.” I yanked harder until he rose, rolling his eyes but unable to hide the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Y te encanta,” I shot back, already pulling him toward the door. (And you love it.)

His chuckle was low, resigned, but full of warmth. “Dios, ayúdame, lo hago.” (God Help me, I do.)

…

As I dragged him out into the cold December evening, Rafael laced his fingers with mine, letting me lead him into the glittering storefronts. For the first time in days, the air between us felt lighter. Not because the fight was over, but because we were beginning to claim something that was just ours—string lights, ornaments, and all.

The warmth of the store hit us the second we stepped inside, a glittering explosion of holiday chaos. Trees twinkled in every corner, shelves overflowed with garlands and ornaments, and Christmas music played just loud enough to make Rafael wince.

“Oh, no,” he muttered, already reaching for his wallet like the decorations were about to charge him directly. “This was a mistake.”

I bumped him with my shoulder. “Relax, Scrooge. We’re not buying the whole store.”

“That’s what you said about Target last week, and I still have no idea why we needed five different brands of tea.”

“Because variety is the spice of life,” I shot back, already tugging him toward the aisles.

He groaned, but followed anyway, his hand still linked with mine.

I stopped in front of a row of artificial trees, each one taller and more extravagant than the last. “Okay. Tree first.”

Rafael raised a brow. “Tree? In our office? Where, exactly, do you intend to put it? On my desk?”

I tilted my head, considering. “That… would be festive.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath in Spanish something that sounded like Señor, ayúdame, esta mujer será mi perdición. (Lord help me this woman will be the death of me). But when I pointed to a smaller, three-foot tree with pre-lit branches, I caught the faintest twitch of approval in his expression.

“Fine,” he conceded. “But nothing taller than me. I refuse to be upstaged by a tree.”

“Deal.”

Next were ornaments. I was holding up a ridiculous reindeer wearing sunglasses when Rafael plucked it from my hand. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on, he’s adorable.”

“No. Dignity matters, even in decoration.” He set it back with finality, only to pick up a sleek glass ornament shaped like Lady Justice. He held it up between us, eyes glinting. “This one, though… I’ll allow.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Of course you would.”

By the time we made it to the checkout, our cart was overflowing—lights, garlands, stockings, a star for the tree, and yes, even the reindeer ornament I snuck in when he wasn’t looking. Rafael sighed dramatically at the sight of the total, but when I looked up at him, he was smiling, soft and unguarded.

“You’re enjoying this,” I accused.

“Don’t be absurd,” he said smoothly, handing over his card. But when the cashier bagged up the Lady Justice ornament, he was still smiling.

Outside, as the cold air nipped at us, Rafael shifted the bags into one hand and laced his fingers with mine again. “You know this office is going to look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously perfect,” I corrected. “Just wait.”

He squeezed my hand. “Cariño, I already am.”

…

By the time we got back, our arms were loaded down with bags. Rafael nudged the office door open with his shoulder, muttering something about needing a dolly, but I could hear the humor under his breath.

The space looked as gray and practical as it always did—bare walls, two desks stacked with case files, the kind of room that could suck the warmth out of anyone.

“See?” I said, dropping my bags in the middle of the floor. “This is exactly why we needed decorations.”

He set his down more carefully, dusting his hands off like the weight had been monumental. “It’s an office, cariño, not Rockefeller Center.”

“Not yet,” I teased, pulling out the little pre-lit tree.

For all his sighing and faux reluctance, he was the first to find an outlet and plug it in. When the branches lit up with a soft golden glow, he stood back, arms folded, lips twitching like he didn’t want to admit he was impressed.

“Not bad,” he conceded.

“Not bad?” I shot him a look. “This is the start of something magical.”

I handed him the Lady Justice ornament, and he didn’t hesitate—he hung it front and center, adjusting the angle until it was perfect.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said.

“You dragged me into this,” he replied smoothly, but the corners of his mouth were soft.

I pulled out the reindeer with sunglasses and dangled it in front of him. “Now this guy deserves prime real estate too.”

He actually groaned. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes,” I insisted, and before he could snatch it away, I hooked it on a branch right next to Lady Justice.

The look he gave me could have been mistaken for exasperation, but his eyes were warm, brighter than I’d seen them in weeks.

Garland went up next—across bookshelves, draped around the filing cabinet, even pinned over the doorway until Rafael warned me about fire hazards. He was on his knees untangling a string of lights when I caught myself just watching him, the soft glow from the tree catching in his hair, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled to his elbows.

He glanced up, caught me staring, and smirked. “If you’re not going to help, at least stop looking at me like I’m a Christmas miracle.”

“Who says you’re not?” I shot back, cheeks heating.

For a moment, he stilled, the smirk fading into something deeper, more vulnerable. Then he cleared his throat and went back to the lights.

When we finally stepped back, the office was transformed. Cozy. Bright. Ours.

I looped my arm through his and rested my head on his shoulder. “Told you this was a good idea.”

He leaned down just enough to brush his lips across my hair. “For once, I’ll admit defeat.”

The office looked nothing like it had that morning. Where once it had been sterile and gray, now it glowed. The little tree twinkled in the corner, garland shimmered faintly in the dim light, and even the ridiculous reindeer ornament caught the glow like it belonged there all along.

We didn’t rush to leave. Instead, Rafael sank into the couch by the window, tugging me down with him. The cushions dipped under our combined weight, and for once, the room didn’t feel like a workplace. It felt like… ours.

I curled into his side, my head against his shoulder. His arm came around me automatically, hand resting warm against my hip. Neither of us spoke for a while; the silence wasn’t awkward—it was rare, precious. The kind of silence that hummed with everything unspoken.

The smell of pine from the tree, faintly plastic but convincing enough, mixed with the faint spice of his cologne. My eyelids fluttered. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, I felt grounded.

“You know,” he murmured after a long stretch, “I can’t remember the last time I decorated for Christmas.”

I tilted my head to look at him. “Not even a tree?”

He gave a small shrug, eyes fixed on the glowing lights. “Too busy. Too much on my mind. Too many excuses, I suppose.”

I smiled softly. “Guess it just took the right person to drag you out shopping for reindeer ornaments.”

His mouth curved, the kind of smile he tried to hide but couldn’t quite contain. “Guess it did.”

I reached up, brushing my fingers against his tie where it had loosened during our decorating. He didn’t flinch away. If anything, he leaned into the touch, his eyes dropping briefly to my lips before flicking back up.

“Tu problema,” he whispered, though there was no heat in the words. (You’re trouble)

“buena travesura,” I countered, my voice equally soft. (Good trouble)

We sat like that, wrapped up in each other, letting the quiet settle around us. The office wasn’t just decorated—it was alive. And in that little pocket of warmth and light, I could almost believe we were the only two people in the world.

The glow of the tree reflected in Rafael’s eyes, painting the edges of his face in soft light. His hand brushed along my hip, tentative at first, then steady, like he’d decided he couldn’t keep holding back anymore.

“Y/N…” he murmured, voice low, heavy with warning and something deeper.

I tilted my face up toward him. “What?”

His forehead touched mine, breath mingling with mine, and in that suspended heartbeat, the rest of the world melted away. His lips met mine—gentle at first, testing, then firmer as the tension of work finally eased.

The door opened.

“Well,” Olivia’s voice cut clean through the haze, equal parts amused and unsurprised, “I see the office isn’t the only thing you two have been decorating.”

We broke apart like guilty teenagers, but her sharp smile only widened. She stepped further inside, envelope in hand, and set it on the desk. “Paperwork for you both. And an invitation to my Christmas party. You’re expected to be there.”

Her gaze flicked between us, lingering just long enough to make my cheeks burn. Then she smirked and added, almost offhand but with pointed weight:

“Y/N looks good on you, Barba.”

My jaw went slack. Rafael cleared his throat, tugging at his tie like it had suddenly shrunk three sizes. “Olivia…” he started, but his voice was hoarse, betraying more than he wanted.

“Relax,” she said lightly, already moving for the door. “Just make sure you bring that same energy to my party.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving us in stunned silence, our lips still tingling, the air charged with everything we hadn’t said.

I glanced at Rafael. He glanced at me.

We both exhaled a shaky laugh.

…

Olivia’s P.O.V

I pushed open the door to the squad room, a smirk tugging at my lips before I could stop it. Amanda and Fin were bickering over the half-strung tinsel on the bulletin board, Nick was nursing a coffee like it was the only thing keeping him alive, and Sonny was helping Amanda reach a high spot she absolutely insisted on decorating herself.

“Why do I feel like you’re enjoying this more than you should?” Fin asked, eyeing me as I walked in.

I set the paperwork on my desk and let my smirk slip into a full grin. “Oh, I just walked in on Barba and Y/N decorating their office.”

Amanda perked up immediately, eyes bright. “Decorating… or decorating?”

I raised a brow. “Let’s just say the tree wasn’t the only thing lit up.”

Nick nearly choked on his coffee. “No way. Barba? In the office?”

“Barba, in the office,” I confirmed, drawing out his name with satisfaction. “And I’ll tell you what—Y/N looks good on him.”

That earned a chorus of laughter. Sonny flushed bright red, rubbing the back of his neck, but there was a knowing smile there too.

“Told you so,” he muttered, and Amanda elbowed him like she’d just won a bet.

Fin leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “Man, I never thought I’d see the day. Rafael Barba finally caught off guard by something other than case law.”

I shook my head, still amused, still carrying the image of their wide-eyed, guilty faces when I’d interrupted. “Trust me—he’s not nearly as composed as he thinks he is.”

And with that, the squad room lit up with laughter again, holiday cheer mingling with gossip, while I silently filed the scene away. After everything those two had been through, it felt good—really good—to see them finding their way toward something like happiness.

…

Amanda leaned across her desk, voice dripping with mischief. “So, Sonny… how are they?”

Sonny didn’t even bother to look up from his paperwork. “How are who?”

Nick snorted. “Don’t play dumb. Rafael and Y/N. You think we haven’t noticed?”

Fin chimed in, shaking his head with a grin. “It’s been, what, a month now? You’re overdue for a check-in, Carisi. We need details.”

Amanda smirked. “Yeah, like—is she spending more time at your place, or his? Be honest.”

Finally, Sonny dropped his pen and leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. “You guys are relentless.”

Olivia, who’d been half-listening from her office doorway, raised a brow. “That’s what you get for being the brother, Sonny. We all know you’ve got the inside scoop.”

Sonny sighed, clearly torn between protecting his sister’s privacy and enjoying the leverage. “All right, fine. Let’s just say I don’t see her at my place as much anymore.”

Amanda gasped dramatically. “Ohhh, so she’s practically moved in with him.”

Nick chuckled. “Really? Barba doesn’t seem like the type to share closet space.”

Fin leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Guess she found her way to the fancy side of town.”

Sonny shook his head but couldn’t hide a small smile. “Look, none of this should surprise you. Y/N’s been crushing on Barba for years.”

Amanda’s jaw dropped. “Wait, years? You’re kidding.”

Sonny smirked. “Nope. I caught her once, headphones in, watching his old court appearances on her laptop. And not just once—on repeat.”

The squad exploded. Amanda doubled over laughing. Nick slapped the desk, wheezing, “Oh my god, she was fangirling over his trial work!” Fin just shook his head, muttering, “That’s next-level.”

Olivia was smiling too, though she tried to keep it measured. “Well… that actually explains a lot.”

Amanda wiped tears from her eyes. “She’s gonna kill you for telling us that.”

Sonny only shrugged, enjoying himself now. “Yeah, probably. But hey, she’s happy. Happier than I’ve seen her in years. That’s what matters, right?”

The squad quieted a beat at that, nodding, the laughter softening into something warm. Then Amanda perked up again, grinning. “Still doesn’t mean we’re letting her live down the courtroom-crush thing.”

…

Y/N's P.O.V

I pushed open the door to the squad room, juggling a slim stack of folders in my arms. The sound of laughter hit me first, loud and unrestrained, with Amanda practically doubled over in her chair and Nick clutching his stomach.

They all froze when they saw me.

“Uh-huh…” I narrowed my eyes, stepping further in. “What exactly is so funny?”

Sonny was the only one who wouldn’t meet my gaze, suddenly very interested in the pen on his desk. Olivia cleared her throat, looking far too composed for someone who was absolutely in on whatever joke I’d just walked into.

“Nothing, Y/N,” Amanda said far too quickly, wiping at her eyes. “Just… team morale. You know how it is.”

I wasn’t buying it, but I had more important things to do. Handing the folders to Liv, I said, “Here are the warrants you needed immediately. Judge signed them twenty minutes ago.”

Olivia smiled warmly, like nothing at all was amiss. “Perfect timing. Thank you, Y/N.”

I gave her a nod, then turned toward Sonny, ignoring the suspicious silence behind me. “Also—just letting you know I won’t be home tonight. I’m staying at Rafael’s.”

That got me a round of exchanged glances and half-smothered smirks from Amanda, Nick, and Fin. My eyes narrowed again. “What?”

Sonny coughed into his hand, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “Nothing. Just… got it. Thanks for the heads-up.”

Amanda muttered under her breath, “Sure it’s just a heads-up.”

I snapped my gaze her way. “What was that?”

She grinned like the cat that ate the canary. “Oh, nothing. Have fun.”

The blush burned up my neck before I could stop it, and I turned on my heel before they could get any more out of me. I’d get the truth out of Sonny later, I promised myself.

Because whatever they were laughing about, I had the very strong suspicion it involved me.

…

By the time I got to Rafael’s place, the scent of garlic and tomato hit me before I’d even shut the door. He was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, wooden spoon in hand as he stirred something bubbling on the stove.

“You’re spoiling me,” I said with a smile, dropping my bag by the couch.

“Hardly,” he replied, though his tone was distracted. He glanced at the pot, then at the timer on the oven, muttering something in Spanish under his breath.

Before I could tease him for being flustered, his phone dinged from the counter. He ignored it.

Then it dinged again. And again. And again.

I arched an eyebrow. “You planning on checking that?”

He sighed, set the spoon down, and swiped his phone open. His expression tightened, then shifted into something between exasperation and embarrassment as he held it out for me to see.

A group chat. Nick, Fin, Amanda.

Nick: So… you and Y/N, huh? Hear she’s making you soft, Barba.

Fin: Don’t break her heart, counselor, or we’ll break you.

Amanda: Better keep an eye on her. She’s been your #1 fangirl for years. Probably has your court appearances on DVD.

I covered my face with my hand, groaning. “Oh my God.”

Rafael gave me a sidelong look, equal parts amusement and disbelief. “Is this true? DVD?”

“They’re exaggerating,” I said quickly, cheeks burning. “It was online videos. And only a few.”

He smirked, clearly savoring every second of my mortification. “Ah, so my most devoted critic was actually my biggest fan.”

“Don’t start,” I warned, pointing at him. “They’ve already done enough damage tonight.”

His smile softened, and he set the phone aside, coming over to rest his hands on my hips. “Let them tease. They don’t know what this feels like—having you here, in my kitchen, after all this time.”

That shut me up pretty quickly.

The phone dinged again, but this time Rafael ignored it completely, pressing a kiss to my forehead before turning back to the stove.

We sat down at the little table by the window, plates steaming, wine glasses half-full. Rafael had made pasta with fresh sauce, something that tasted like it had been simmering for hours, even though I knew he’d probably thrown it together between phone calls.

“This is incredible,” I said after the first bite. “Seriously, you could quit law and open a restaurant.”

He lifted his glass, eyes sparkling just a little. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

I laughed, but the words sat warm in my chest. It wasn’t just the food—it was the way he watched me across the table, like he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that I was really here.

Halfway through the meal, his phone buzzed again where it sat on the counter. We both ignored it this time.

“You know,” I said, twirling my fork, “they’re not wrong.”

He paused, brow arched. “About what?”

Heat crept up my neck, but I forced myself to say it. “That I… maybe watched a few of your trials more than once.”

He leaned back in his chair, lips twitching. “More than once?”

I hid behind my wine glass. “Okay, maybe… several times.”

For a long moment, he just looked at me. Then, instead of teasing, his expression softened. “And yet, despite knowing all my worst cross-examinations and every poorly knotted tie I wore in court, you’re still here.”

“I’m still here,” I whispered.

Silence stretched between us, not heavy but full—like there was so much unsaid and we both knew it didn’t need words tonight.

When we finally cleared the dishes, Rafael caught my wrist as I moved past him, pulling me gently into his arms. The city hummed outside the window, but inside it was just us, warm and close and finally at peace after weeks of chaos.

“Let them text all they want,” he murmured into my hair. “Tonight, they don’t exist. Only you.”

Later, after the dishes were done and the kitchen was quiet again, Rafael pulled me over to the couch with a glass of wine in hand. The city lights spilled in through the window, painting the room in gold and silver. It felt worlds away from the chaos of courtrooms and late-night investigations—like we’d slipped into a private bubble only we existed in.

“You know,” I teased, tucking my feet beneath me, “for a man who claims to live on takeout and scotch, you’re a suspiciously good cook.”

He gave me a half-smile, one that curved with mischief. “Well, I had to have some hidden talents. You’d get bored otherwise.”

I laughed, leaning against him. “Not a chance.”

His arm draped across the back of the couch, fingers brushing my shoulder, and I felt that familiar electricity zing through me. But tonight, it wasn’t weighted with fear or exhaustion. It was light. Sweet. The kind of intimacy that sneaks up on you when you’re finally allowed to breathe again.

At some point, I noticed his phone buzzing again across the room. “You should probably answer that,” I said, though secretly, I hoped he wouldn’t.

“Absolutely not,” he replied without hesitation. “Amanda can wait. Fin can wait. Nick can wait.” He glanced at me then, voice dipping softer. “I’ve waited long enough for this.”

My breath caught.

He wasn’t talking about dinner.

We spent the rest of the night curled up together, a movie playing low in the background that neither of us paid attention to. I stretched out, my head in his lap, and he absently ran his fingers through my hair, occasionally tracing little patterns against my temple like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

At one point, I shifted up and kissed him, quick and sweet. He chased me for another, and another, until we were both laughing into it, lips brushing more than meeting, our laughter mingling in the quiet of his apartment.

Eventually, he tugged me close again, resting his chin on top of my head. “This,” he murmured, his chest rising and falling under my cheek. “This feels… right.”

I smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s because it is.”

And there, wrapped in his arms, with the sound of his heartbeat steady under my ear, I felt safe. Not just safe, but happy in a way I hadn’t dared to be for a long time.

“You know,” he began softly, tracing lazy circles on the back of my hand, “I’ve been thinking…”

I turned my head, smiling. “That’s usually dangerous.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not this time.” His eyes lifted to mine—steady, but with that flicker of nervousness I rarely saw in him. “I think it’s time you met my family.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Your family? As in—”

“My mami and abuelita,” he said, his voice warm, fond. “They’ve been asking about you for weeks now. I may have… told them a little bit about you.”

I laughed lightly. “A little bit?”

He smiled, that slow, boyish grin that always made my chest tighten. “Alright, maybe more than a little. Mami’s already decided you’re the reason I’ve finally stopped living at the office. And Abuelita…” He paused, shaking his head with an affectionate sigh. “She says she can’t wait to meet the woman who’s managed to steal her Rafi’s heart.”

My heart stuttered, warmth blooming through my chest. “She really said that?”

“She did,” he said, his thumb brushing against my wrist. “They’re both thrilled, mi amor. I think they’ve been waiting years for this. For me to find someone who makes me… happy.”

I felt my throat tighten. “Rafael…”

He leaned closer, his tone softening. “They’re going to love you, Y/N. I know they will. And… I’d really like for you to meet them.”

I smiled, my heart full. “Then I guess I better start refining my Spanish.”

He laughed—genuine, unguarded, that rare sound that always made me fall a little harder. “Trust me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple, “you won’t need to. You already speak the only language they care about.”

I tilted my head, teasing, “And what’s that?”

“Love,” he whispered.

And just like that, in his small, dimly lit apartment, wrapped in the smell of dinner and the soft hum of the city, I realized—

I’d never felt more at home.

Tag List!:

The courtroom felt sterile in a way that made grief echo. It was a space of polished wood and muted beige, designed for objectivity, yet it amplified the hollow ache in my chest. I sat beside Rafael at the prosecution table, our files aligned in perfect, military precision, our names printed together on the docket like nothing had changed. Like we hadn’t spent the last week barely speaking unless absolutely necessary, the space between our chairs a chasm of unspoken words.

Rafael took the lead. He always did in court—commanding without being cruel, precise without being cold. When he stood to deliver the opening statement, the room leaned in, drawn by the quiet gravity of his presence. His voice, usually a source of comfort for me, was a measured, compelling instrument of law.

He spoke for Maggie. For a mother who had watched her son disappear inch by inch while machines kept his body tethered to a world he could no longer feel. He framed the decision not as a crime, but as mercy. As dignity. As an act of love so painful it bordered on unbearable. He painted a picture of a boy who was already gone, leaving only a shell that the law insisted on preserving.

I supported him—supplemented his arguments, cited precedent, reinforced the medical testimony with a steady voice I barely recognized as my own. But with every word he spoke, every precedent I cited, something twisted tighter in my chest. Because while I believed Maggie deserved compassion, while my heart broke for her impossible choice—

I didn’t believe Aaron deserved punishment.

And that was the line. A fissure running through the foundation of us.

The first night after the opening arguments, I didn’t go home with him. I went back to Sonny’s. I stood in my old room, the one that still smelled faintly of laundry detergent and home and safety, and stared at the bed like it belonged to someone else, a life I no longer lived. My fingers drifted to the delicate gold locket at my throat a welcome into a family I was beginning to think of as my own. I unclasped the small, cool clasp with trembling fingers. Inside the two tiny photographs: his grandmother, with kind, knowing eyes, and his mother, with the same sharp, intelligent gaze as her son. They had smiled when they gave it to me, their faces full of hope for our future. Now, that future felt like a lie. I opened the top drawer of the old dresser, the wood groaning softly, and placed the locket inside, tucking it beneath a stack of forgotten scarves. It was a small, quiet betrayal, but it felt like I was sealing away a part of my own heart.

Sonny didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to. He just leaned against the doorframe, his presence a quiet, steady anchor in the storm of my own making.

“You want Chinese?” he asked instead.

I nodded, the motion jerky. “Please.”

That became the pattern. At work, Rafael and I were flawless. Professional. Polite. Careful. We were the well-oiled machine the DA’s office expected, our partnership a performance so convincing it almost fooled me. We spoke only when necessary. Only about the case. Only in measured tones that never strayed into anything personal.

No lingering looks across the bullpen. No shared coffee in the morning. No quiet touches in passing, a hand on the small of my back, a fingers brushing against mine.

At night, I went back to Sonny’s. And Rafael went home alone.

The distance hurt more than any argument could have. Arguments were loud, messy, but they were an engagement. This was a slow, quiet erasure. Because neither of us was wrong. And neither of us was willing to bend.

I lay awake at night in Sonny’s guest room, one hand pressed unconsciously to my stomach, a flat, unremarkable surface that held a universe of secrets. I wondered how something so small, so new, could already feel so heavy. I wondered how I could possibly tell him when we could barely look at each other anymore.

At work, I caught him watching me sometimes—just for a second too long before he’d look away, his jaw tight. Like he wanted to say something. Like he didn’t know how. The air between us was thick with everything we weren’t saying.

The trial dragged on. Testimony after testimony. Doctors with clinical detachment. Ethicists with cold, academic arguments. Grief-stricken parents who made the courtroom ache with their stories of love and loss. And all the while, something else was on trial too.

Us.

Not openly. Not deliberately. But with every day that passed, with every night spent apart, the cracks grew wider. And I didn’t know whether we were strong enough to survive standing on opposite sides of a question that had no right answer. Especially when I was carrying a truth that would change everything—and didn’t yet know if we were still steady enough to hold it together.

…

The office was too quiet that night. Not the familiar, companionable quiet we’d learned to live in—the kind filled with shared glances and half-finished sentences—but the suffocating kind. The kind that pressed in on your ears until every breath sounded wrong. Every movement felt like a disruption.

Papers were spread across the table between us, untouched, as if the case itself had stalled in protest. Coffee sat cold in our mugs, the bitter smell sharp and stale. Outside, the city glowed through the windows—New York moving on without us, indifferent streaks of gold slicing across the floor like a crime scene outline around what used to be ours.

Rafael hadn’t moved in a while. He was standing near the window, hands in his pockets, shoulders tight. Watching the city like it might offer answers.

Finally, he turned.

“You’ve been pulling away,” he said.

Not angry. Not yet. Just tired. The kind of tired that scares you more than shouting ever could.

I didn’t look up. If I did, I’d lose the thin, brittle control I was clinging to. “We’re under pressure,” I said. “That’s all.”

“That’s not all,” he replied, voice low but steady. “You don’t come home anymore. You stay late, you crash at Sonny’s, you leave before I wake up. You don’t talk to me unless it’s about motions or evidence. And in court—” His voice faltered, just slightly. “You won’t even look at me.”

Something inside me snapped.

I closed my file hard enough that the sound cracked through the room like a gunshot. Rafael flinched before he could stop himself.

“Because I don’t know how to do this anymore, Rafael,” I said, the words tearing out of me.

He straightened slowly, like every muscle in his body was being forced into place. “Do what?”

“This,” I shot back, standing abruptly. The chair screeched against the floor. “Us. This case. This life. Pretending we’re fine while we’re standing on opposite sides of something that feels—” I gestured wildly. “—fundamentally wrong.”

His voice dropped, raw now. “Then talk to me.”

I laughed. God, I hated the sound of it. Sharp. Broken. Almost cruel. “Talk to you?” I said. “About what, Rafael? About how I can still smell the disinfectant from that hospital room? About how every time I hear a monitor beep my chest tightens like it’s counting down something I’m not ready to lose?”

He moved closer, the space between us shrinking whether I wanted it to or not. His voice rose for the first time. “You think I don’t hear it too? You think I don’t wake up in the middle of the night replaying Maggie’s face? Drew’s chart? The way the machines never stop?”

“Then why does it feel like you’ve already decided how this ends?” I demanded, finally looking at him. The pain in his eyes hit me like a physical blow. “Why does it feel like you don’t even want to hear anything else?”

“That’s not true,” he said sharply. “I’m listening.”

“No, you’re leading,” I snapped. “You’ve decided what mercy looks like, and you’ve built your entire case around it. There’s no room for doubt. No room for Aaron. No room for the possibility that wanting your child alive—even like that—doesn’t make you a monster.”

His jaw clenched. “The law is clear.”

“And that’s the problem!” I shouted. “You’re hiding behind the law because it’s easier than sitting in the mess of it. Because it gives you something solid to hold onto.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his voice tight, rising to meet mine. “I’m doing my job.”

“And so am I,” I fired back. “But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like we were on the same side.”

The words hit him hard. I saw it in the way his shoulders stiffened, the way he inhaled like he’d been punched.

“You think this is easy for me?” he asked, anger finally cracking through. “You think I want to stand there and argue that a mother should let go of her child? You think I don’t feel the weight of that every single day?”

“Then why does it feel like you’re carrying it alone?” I yelled. “Why did you shut me out the second I questioned you?”

“Because questioning me in court undermines the case!” he shot back.

“And following you blindly makes me complicit in something I’m not sure I can live with!” I screamed.

Silence slammed down between us, thick and choking. The kind that leaves ringing in your ears.

Rafael dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping in front of me. His voice was lower now, dangerous in its calm. “If you don’t trust my judgment—”

“This isn’t about trust,” I interrupted, tears burning hot and furious. “It’s about the fact that we’re standing on a fault line, Rafael, and pretending it’s solid ground.”

He looked at me then—really looked—and for a moment I saw fear flicker across his face.

“I’m trying to protect you,” he said.

I shook my head. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

The words landed like a verdict. Final. Irrevocable.

“I need air,” I said, grabbing my coat with shaking hands. “I can’t do this tonight. I can’t—” My voice broke. “I can’t keep tearing myself in half.”

“Y/N,” he called, stepping toward me. “Don’t walk out like this.”

But I already had my hand on the door.

I didn’t turn around. If I had, I might not have left.

And leaving felt like the only thing holding me together.

…

Rafael's P.O.V

I shouldn’t have poured the drink.

I knew it the moment the amber liquid glugged into the heavy crystal glass, the sound a lonely, sacrilegious clink in the cavernous tomb of the office. The glass was cold, a searing shock against my clammy skin. Outside, the city hummed its indifferent tune, a river of light and noise that flowed on, uncaring, not giving a damn who was drowning in its wake. I needed this. I needed the fire in my throat to quiet the noise in my head, the cacophony of her parting words, the shrill, endless alarm of the flatline where my heart used to be. “I don’t know how to do this anymore, Rafael.” The words weren’t just an echo; they were a physical presence, a cold spot in the air beside me.

I was halfway through the glass, the whiskey a dull, warming thud in my veins, when the door swung open without a knock. I didn’t even startle. I was too far gone for that.

“Thought I might find you here,” Jack McCoy said. His voice was gravelly, tired. He didn’t look at me first. His gaze swept past, taking in the scene: the half-empty bottle, the glass sweating a ring onto the polished wood, the files spread across the table like a battlefield, untouched. The tension in the room was a physical thing, a chill that clung to the furniture and the air itself.

I didn’t bother hiding the glass. What would be the point? I swirled the liquid, watching it catch the city lights. “You’re not wrong.”

He took a few steps inside, his hands in his pockets, the picture of weary authority. He took in the dark circles I knew were etched under my eyes, the wrinkled shirt I’d been wearing for two days. “Rough case.”

“That’s one way to put it,” I scoffed, the sound harsh and brittle. I took another swallow, the burn a welcome distraction.

Jack leaned his hip against the edge of my desk, not as my boss, but as a man who’d stared into the same abyss I was currently drowning in. He’d seen his own share of battles, his own share of casualties. “It’s weighing on both of you.”

I exhaled, the air shuddering out of me. The professional mask was a flimsy thing, and it was cracking. “We’re professionals.”

Jack gave me a look. It wasn’t angry or disappointed. It was worse. It was piercing. It saw right through the lawyer, the ADA, the man who built walls of words and precedent, and found the terrified man cowering inside. “You’re human.”

That landed harder than I expected. It wasn’t a statement; it was a verdict. Human. Flawed. Fractured. Breaking. The word echoed in the hollow space Y/N had left behind. I set the glass down with a heavy thud.

“She won’t talk to me,” I admitted, the words tasting like ash and defeat, thick on my tongue. “She looks at me like I’m a stranger. Like I’m the enemy. And I don’t know if it’s the case—or if it’s something else. If it’s me. If I broke this.” The confession hung in the air, ugly and raw.

Jack was quiet for a long moment, his gaze distant, looking past me, out the window at the unforgiving city grid. “Years ago,” he started, his voice dropping, losing its professional edge and taking on something softer, more confessional. “A case. A young girl, sixteen. She’d been abused by her stepfather for years. One night, she snapped. Stabbed him while he was sleeping. Thirty-seven times. It was… brutal.”

He paused, taking a slow breath. “The law was clear. It was murder. No question of self-defense; he was asleep. But I looked at her, this tiny, broken thing in the interrogation room, and all I could see was a child who had been tortured until she became a monster. My job was to prosecute her. To put her away for life. And I did. I followed the letter of the law. I got the conviction. I won.”

He turned his head to look at me, and his eyes were haunted. “I went home that night and poured myself a drink, just like this one. And I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the man looking back. I’d done my job. I’d upheld the law. But I felt like I’d just buried that poor girl alive myself. Sometimes, Rafael, the law is a blunt instrument. It doesn’t have room for mercy. It doesn’t have room for the truth of what’s in a person’s heart. And that… that can break a man. If you let it.”

His words didn’t just echo; they reverberated, shaking the loose foundations of my soul. Test convictions. And suddenly, with a clarity that was as terrifying as it was absolute, I knew where I needed to go. Not to my empty apartment, not to another bar to lose myself in. I needed to go to the source. I needed to stand in the fire that was burning us to the ground.

…

The hospital room smelled of death and disinfectant, a sickly-sweet combination that coated the back of my throat. It was the smell of failed hope.

Maggie looked smaller, diminished. Not physically—she was still the same woman who had sat through hearings with her spine ramrod straight and her voice clear and steady—but something essential had been worn away, ground down by the relentless, monotonous hum of the machines and the crushing weight of impossible decisions. She sat in the chair beside Drew’s bed, her hands folded so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white, as if she was afraid to touch him too much, as if even love had rules and limits here.

The room was a symphony of artificial life. The ventilator hissed with a rhythmic, sighing breath. The IV pump clicked softly. The monitor tracking a heart that beat only because electricity told it to emitted a sharp, metronomic beep… beep… beep… A mechanical lullaby that never stopped, a constant, maddening reminder of a life that wasn't really living, just… persisting.

Her eyes kept drifting from my face to the machines, a desperate, trapped look. To the ventilator, to the web of IV lines snaking under the thin hospital blanket, to the glowing green numbers on the monitor. Then back to me, as if she needed to make sure I was still there, that this nightmare was real, that she wasn’t completely alone.

“They’re going to make me wait,” she whispered, her voice cracking, splintering on the word wait. It was the sound of a heart breaking. “They’re going to argue. Debate. Turn my son into a case study. A footnote in a law journal. Like he’s not… like he’s not my little boy. Like he was never here at all.”

I swallowed against the constriction in my throat, my own voice feeling foreign and useless. “You know what the law says,” I said quietly. The words were hollow, a flimsy, pathetic shield against the tidal wave of her raw grief.

Maggie let out a shaky breath, her entire body trembling with the force of it. “I know what my son feels,” she said, her voice dropping to a pained murmur. Her gaze fell to Drew’s face—it was peaceful, unmarked by pain or awareness, a perfect, porcelain mask. “Or rather—what he doesn’t.”

She reached out then, a hesitant, broken movement, brushing her thumb across his knuckles. The skin was warm. Alive in all the ways that mattered least.

“He loved music,” she said suddenly, a memory surfacing like a bubble in the sterile sea. “The Beatles. Always stopped crying when I played ‘Here Comes the Sun.’ He hated baths, would scream the house down. And he used to smile… oh, God, he used to smile every time his dad walked into the room—even when he was too little to understand what a smile was. Just a reflex, they said. But I knew better. It was recognition. It was love.”

Her voice broke completely, the last word dissolving into a choked, silent sob. “That’s not here anymore. That’s gone.”

I stood there far longer than I should have, a silent witness to her private apocalypse. Every instinct I’d spent a decade honing, every legal precedent I’d ever memorized, screamed at me. NO. Procedures. Precedent. Consequences. I could already hear the arguments forming in my head, the objections, the professional fallout, the disbarment hearings. My career, my life, flashing before my eyes in a sterile, gray blur.

And still—

The machines filled the silence where Drew’s voice should have been. They filled the silence where Y/N’s voice should have been. Her absence was a physical presence in the room, a cold space beside me. And in that moment, looking at the boy who was already gone and the mother who was being tortured by the ghost of him, I made a decision.

One I knew I wasn’t allowed to make. One that went against everything I was, everything I believed in.

But some nights, some terrible, soul-crushing nights, legality feels like a flimsy, absurd construct compared to the sheer, overwhelming reality of suffering.

I took a step forward, my shoes silent on the linoleum floor. My hand felt like it belonged to someone else as I raised it towards the ventilator. The machine was a beige plastic box, humming with a quiet, malevolent life. My fingers hovered over the control panel, over a series of buttons and switches. My eyes found the one I was looking for: a simple, red, circular button labeled ‘STOP/ALARM SILENCE.’ It felt warm under my fingertip. Maggie’s breath hitched, but she didn’t look away from her son’s face. She had given me this. She had placed her son’s soul, and her own, in my hands.

I pressed the button.

The sound stopped first. The rhythmic hiss of air being forced into lungs that couldn’t use it ceased abruptly, leaving a void that was deafening. The silence rushed in to fill the space, thick and absolute. For a second, nothing else happened. Then, the rhythm on the heart monitor began to falter. The steady, sharp beep… beep… beep slowed. Beep… beep… pause… beep… The green numbers on the screen flickered, the heart rate plummeting. The single, wavering spike on the screen grew smaller, weaker. Then, it flattened. A single, continuous, high-pitched tone filled the room, a sound of pure, unadulterated finality.

I didn’t look at the monitor. I looked at Drew. At the stillness that was now absolute, real, and irrevocable. I reached over and silenced the alarm, my fingers finding the button with a strange, detached calm. The noise cut out, and in the profound silence that followed, I could hear Maggie’s ragged, silent breathing.

And as Maggie pressed her forehead to her son’s hand and sobbed without sound, her entire body shaking with a grief so profound it made my own bones ache, I told myself I’d answer for it later. For the law, for Y/N, for the wreckage I was about to make of my own life.

For now, this was mercy.

And mercy, I knew, would cost me everything.

…

Y/N’s P.O.V

I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped into the office the next morning. The air was wrong. It was too still, too thick.

Rafael was already there—earlier than usual—and that alone set my teeth on edge. He was slumped at his desk, his expensive jacket tossed carelessly over the back of his chair like a piece of trash. His tie was loosened, his shirt wrinkled and hanging open at the collar, like he’d slept in it, or worse, hadn’t slept at all. There were dark, bruised shadows under his eyes, and his hair was raked back with restless hands one too many times, standing up in frantic, hopeless tufts.

Dishevelled wasn’t a strong enough word. He looked… undone. Ruined.

“Rafael?” I said quietly, closing the heavy door behind me, the click of the latch unnaturally loud.

He looked up slowly, like the movement cost him something vital. His eyes met mine, and whatever I saw there—haunting, resolved, completely and utterly broken—made my stomach drop to my feet.

“I killed him, Y/N,” he said. No greeting. No preamble. Just the words, stark and absolute, thrown into the silent space between us. They weren't a confession. They were a death sentence.

The air was sucked from my lungs. A sound escaped me, a small, choked gasp. My hand flew to my mouth as if I could physically hold the words back. “What? No. Rafael, what are you saying? You didn’t—”

“I killed Drew,” he repeated, his voice a flat, dead monotone. He didn't flinch. He didn't cry. He just stared at me with eyes that were vacant, like the lights were on but nobody was home. He was already gone.

Panic, pure and white-hot, seized me. My heart started hammering against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. I stumbled back a step, my legs feeling like they might give out. “No. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Tell me you didn’t.” My voice was a high-pitched, desperate thing I barely recognized. I felt the blood drain from my face, a cold sweat breaking out on my skin.

He stood then, moving like an old man. “I did. Last night.” There was no defiance in his voice. No justification. Just a hollow, echoing emptiness. He was a shell. The man I loved was gone, and this… this broken, empty thing was all that was left.

“You didn’t even talk to me,” I whispered, the accusation lost in a tidal wave of fear. This wasn't about us anymore. This was about him. About his life. “Oh, God, Rafael. What have you done?”

“What I had to do,” he said, the words automatic, meaningless. He wasn't looking at me, not really. He was looking through me, at some horrible, unseen point on the wall behind my head.

Before I could say more, before I could process the sheer, catastrophic scale of what he was saying, the door opened without a knock.

Jack McCoy walked in. He took one look at Rafael’s shattered face, at the sheer, naked panic on mine, and didn’t bother pretending this was anything but what it was. His expression was grim, weary, and utterly devoid of pity.

“Pack your desk,” Jack said flatly, his voice like a stone. “And get out.”

Rafael didn’t argue. Didn’t ask questions. He just… deflated. I turned sharply, a frantic plea on my lips. “Jack, no, you don’t understand—”

“He’ll be prosecuted,” Jack continued, his voice calm, almost weary, as if he were discussing the weather. “What happens next is out of my hands.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Prosecuted. The room started to spin. I couldn't breathe. I thought I might be sick. Prosecuted. For mercy. For love. For doing the one thing I knew, deep down, that I could never have done.

Rafael moved slowly, mechanically, like a puppet with its strings cut. He pulled a framed photo of us from his desk drawer, his fingers brushing over the glass for a second before he set it aside. He gathered a couple of law books, his favorite coffee mug. He didn’t look at me as he passed me, his shoulder brushing mine, a touch that felt like a final, brutal goodbye.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly—not asking forgiveness. Just stating a fact. His voice was so empty it was a void.

And then he was gone. I stood frozen, the echo of the door closing ringing in my ears, the finality of it suffocating, a heavy, crushing weight on my chest. The room tilted, and I reached out, my hand slapping against the cool wood of his desk to keep myself from falling. The world had ended, and I was the only one left to notice.

…

Later, Olivia and Sonny arrived together, the echo of their footsteps a grim percussion in the hollow quiet of the office. The shock on their faces was a distorted mirror of my own when I told them what had happened, my voice a flat, emotionless recitation of facts that felt like they belonged to someone else. Sonny, ever the man of action, swore under his breath, a low, vicious curse aimed at the universe. Olivia, however, went quiet in that way she did when she was already ten steps ahead, her sharp mind processing the fallout, the casualties, the long, bloody road ahead.

Before they could offer the platitudes or the fury I didn’t need, Jack returned. He moved with a heavy, deliberate weariness, his face a mask of grim resolution. He didn’t look at me, not directly. His gaze was fixed on a point just over my shoulder, as if delivering a weather report.

“There’s been a reassignment,” he said, his voice devoid of inflection. “You’ll be working with the new ADA. Peter Stone.”

The name landed in the pit of my stomach like a block of ice. It wasn't a question of who; it was a question of why. Of all the people.

“Peter Stone?” Olivia repeated, her voice sharp with disbelief and a dawning sense of dread. We all knew him. We’d all worked with him when he’d temporarily stepped in from Chicago to prosecute the man who had kidnapped me. He was brilliant, relentless, and saw the world in a stark black and white where Rafael saw only shades of agonizing gray.

Sonny’s face hardened. “Stone? They brought in the Archangel? After everything with… you know.” He gestured vaguely at me, the memory of that case still a raw wound for all of us.

I couldn’t even speak. My throat had closed up. Rafael hadn’t just been removed. He hadn’t just been fired. He’d been replaced by the one man who would see Rafael’s act of mercy as nothing more than a cold, calculated crime, a perversion of the justice system. It was an insult. A final, brutal twist of the knife.

…

The weeks that followed were a special kind of hell, a slow, agonizing crucible. I stood in court beside Peter Stone—professional, sharp, composed in a way that felt like armor. He was brilliant, I’d give him that, but his brilliance was cold, clinical. It lacked the fire, the passionate, flawed humanity that made Rafael… Rafael.

And across the aisle, Rafael sat at the defense table. I hadn’t seen him since the day Jack had thrown him out of the office. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept since that moment. His suit hung on him, limp and wrinkled. There was a perpetual shadow of stubble on his jaw, and his eyes, once so sharp and alive, were now bloodshot and glassy, with a haunted, unfocused look. He seemed to shrink in his chair, a ghost haunting his own defense.

Every argument felt personal. When Peter Stone, with surgical precision, dismantled the legal precedent for compassionate release, it felt like he was tearing down my own memories of Rafael, late at night, arguing passionately for the very same thing. When I had to cross-examine a medical expert and force them to concede that Drew’s condition was irreversible, I felt Rafael’s eyes on me, and the weight of his gaze was a physical pain. Every glance across the courtroom was a fresh wound. We were two actors in a brutal, intimate play, and the audience had no idea we were bleeding to death on stage.

In the end, it wasn't a victory or a loss. It was a deal. A quiet, backroom arrangement that spared the city the spectacle of putting one of its own on trial. Rafael agreed to step down permanently as ADA, to walk away from the office, from the life he’d built. But he wouldn't lose his license. The small mercy felt like a mockery. It was over.

Or so it looked.

…

Third Person P.O.V

Outside the courthouse, the autumn air sharp and unforgiving, Olivia found him first. He was standing alone on the granite steps, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, staring up at the imposing columns of the building like he was memorizing them, etching them into his memory for a lifetime of exile.

“It’s done,” he said when he saw her, his voice flat, empty. “I’m leaving New York.”

Olivia’s patience, already worn thin, snapped. “What about Y/N, Rafael? Have you even thought about her?”

His head snapped toward her, the first sign of life she’d seen from him all day. “Of course I’ve thought about her! It’s all I think about! That’s why I’m leaving.”

“That’s the most asinine thing I have ever heard you say!” Olivia’s voice rose, drawing the attention of a passing lawyer. “You think abandoning her is the answer? After everything she’s been through? After everything you’ve put her through?”

“What was I supposed to do, Olivia?” he yelled back, his voice cracking with a fury and despair that had been simmering for weeks. “Stay here and be a constant, walking reminder of the worst day of her life? Watch her look at me and see the man who threw his career away? The man who… who killed a boy? I’m protecting her!”

“You’re protecting yourself!” she shot back, stepping closer, her own eyes blazing. “You’re running away because you’re too much of a coward to face her, to face what you did, and to face the fact that she might just forgive you! You’re taking the easy way out!”

“There is nothing easy about this!” he roared, his composure finally shattering. “My apartment is packed! It’s all in boxes! I’m driving out of the city at five a.m. tomorrow! There is nothing left for me here, Olivia. Don’t you get it? I’m poison.”

“You’re a fool,” she said, her voice dropping back to a low, intense growl. “You go in there and you see her. You look her in the eye and you tell her you’re leaving. You don’t get to just disappear. You owe her that much. You owe her everything.”

He just shook his head, his jaw set, a final, stubborn wall of self-loathing. “It’s better this way.” He turned and walked away, leaving Olivia standing on the steps, fuming and heartbroken.

…

Y/N’s P.O.V

I broke down in Sonny’s apartment that night. The dam I’d built for weeks, reinforced with denial and fear and the sheer, grinding effort of getting through each day, finally burst. I cried hard—ugly, gasping sobs that tore from my chest, leaving me shaking and breathless on his couch. Sonny held me without saying a word for a long time, his hand a steady, comforting weight on my back, stroking my hair as I let the grief and fear and a white-hot, impotent rage pour out of me: the trial, the sight of Rafael’s hollowed-out face across the courtroom, the soul-crushing finality of him leaving, the feeling that my entire life had cracked right down the middle, and I was falling into the chasm.

When the sobs finally subsided into shuddering hiccups, he pulled back, his hands gripping my shoulders, his blue eyes full of a fierce, protective anger. “Okay, that’s enough. Talk to me. What can I do? Do I need to go find him? Do I need to beat some sense into him? Just say the word, Y/N. I’m your brother. I’ll do whatever you need.”

A watery, pathetic laugh escaped me. “You can’t fix this, Sonny. Nobody can.”

“I can damn well try,” he insisted, his voice softening. “Are you okay? I mean, really, really okay? Not just the trial. Not just Rafael. You.”

The question, so simple and so direct, broke me all over again. I shook my head, unable to speak.

He just nodded, accepting my unspoken pain. He got up, came back with a glass of water and a blanket, tucking it around me like I was a child. We sat in silence for a while longer, the weight of his presence a small shield against the world.

“There’s something else,” I whispered, the words barely audible, fragile in the quiet room.

Sonny stilled, his arm still a warm, protective presence around my shoulders. “What?”

I took a shaky, hitching breath, my hand coming to rest unconsciously, instinctively, on the flat, unremarkable plane of my stomach. “I’m pregnant.”

The room went utterly, profoundly silent. The low hum of the refrigerator seemed to roar in the quiet, a mocking reminder of the life growing inside me. Sonny pulled back just enough to look at me, his blue eyes wide with a shock so pure it was almost comical, if my heart wasn’t breaking into a million tiny pieces. “Pregnant?”

I nodded, a fresh wave of tears, hot and this time full of a different kind of fear, spilling down my cheeks. “Ten weeks.”

His face shifted in a heartbeat—shock melting into deep, abiding concern, then into a fierce, protective instinct that was so purely, beautifully Sonny. He didn’t panic. He didn’t yell. He just searched my face, his voice soft and impossibly careful. He asked one simple question. “What do you want?”

We talked quietly, carefully, for what felt like hours. About options. About fear. About the terrifying, magnificent secret I’d been carrying alone. About Rafael, and the gaping hole his absence had left. Eventually, Sonny stood, squeezing my shoulder. “I’m getting us dinner. You need to eat.” I nodded, exhausted and hollowed out, a fragile vessel in a storm that had only just begun.

…

Third Person P.O.V

Sonny didn’t even make it to the end of the block. He was halfway to the Chinese takeout place, the cold air clearing his head, when he saw a familiar figure leaning against a car. It was Olivia. She wasn’t just waiting; she looked like she was on a mission. She saw him at the same time and straightened up.

“Liv? Everything okay?” he asked, his breath fogging in the night air.

She shook her head, her voice low and tight with frustration. “I went to see Rafael. To try and talk some sense into him. He refused.”

Sonny’s jaw tightened. “Refused what?”

“To see you. To see Y/N,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “He’s a stubborn, self-pitying fool. He told me his apartment is packed, he’s driving out at five a.m. tomorrow. He honestly believes he’s doing her a favor by disappearing.”

Sonny stared at her, the words hitting him like a physical blow, a punch to the gut. Leaving. He thought of Y/N, curled up on his couch, her world already in pieces, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. He thought of the fragile, life-altering truth she had just entrusted to him. “He can’t,” Sonny breathed, the anger rising in his chest. “He doesn’t get to do that. Not now.”

“I know,” Olivia said, her own anger a mirror of his. “That’s why I was coming to you. We have to do something. He can’t just leave her like this. Not after… everything.”

Sonny didn’t even hesitate. He turned on his heel and ran, his feet pounding against the pavement, his heart hammering a frantic, desperate rhythm. He doesn’t get to make that call.

…

Y/N’s P.O.V

“Y/N!” Sonny yelled, bursting back into the apartment, breathless, his chest heaving. “Rafael’s leaving New York!”

The world narrowed to a single, terrifying point. I shot up from the couch, the blanket pooling around my feet. “What?”

“Tonight! Well, tomorrow morning! Five a.m.! Olivia just saw him. His apartment is already packed in boxes. He’s driving out! He thinks he’s doing you a favor, the idiot!”

Something inside me snapped—not with anger, but with a primal, desperate clarity that cut through all the pain and fear. “No,” I said, my voice shaking but firm, forged in the fire of his abandonment. I was already grabbing my coat, my hands fumbling with the buttons. My other hand dove into my purse, pulling out the folded, creased ultrasound photo I’d carried like a talisman. “No, he doesn’t get to decide that. Not for me. Not for us.”

…

Rafael’s apartment was dim, lit only by a single, lonely lamp in the corner. But it was the state of the room that made my heart seize, a physical, painful clench. Stacks of sealed cardboard boxes were piled against the walls, each one labeled in his neat, familiar script: ‘Law Books,’ ‘Kitchen,’ ‘Office.’ One box was open, and I could see the spine of a copy of Don Quixote we had read together, the pages dog-eared. The bookshelves were bare, the ghostly outlines of where his treasured volumes had stood still visible in the dust. The space that had been our sanctuary, filled with his books and our life, looked like a crime scene, a life being systematically erased, packed away and forgotten.

He opened the door after my frantic, desperate knocking, looking like a ghost. He was in a simple t-shirt and jeans, his face pale and shadowed with a profound exhaustion that went deeper than sleeplessness. When he saw me, his expression went from weary confusion to utter, stunned disbelief, as if I were a hallucination.

“Y/N—”

I didn’t let him finish. I closed the distance between us in three strides and thrust the ultrasound photo into his hands. The flimsy paper crinkled under his trembling fingers.

“I’m pregnant,” I said, the words ripping out of me, a desperate plea and an accusation all at once.

The words hung between us, fragile and explosive. Rafael just stared at the grainy black-and-white image, his breath catching in a ragged, audible gasp. He stumbled back a step, his hand flying out to grip the back of the couch to steady himself. He looked from the picture to my face, his eyes wide with a dawning, shattered horror and awe.

“What?” he breathed, the word a broken whisper, a prayer, a curse. He sank onto the couch, the photo clutched in his hand like a lifeline.

“I was going to tell you,” I said, my voice cracking as weeks of fear and loneliness poured out of me. “The night we fought. I had the appointment that day. But we were already breaking, Rafael. We were already standing on opposite sides of everything, and I was so scared. I thought… I thought this would be the final crack that shattered us completely.”

He looked down at the photo again, his thumb tracing the faint, impossible curve of our baby’s head with a reverence that brought fresh tears to my eyes. All the fight, all the resignation, seemed to drain out of him, replaced by a devastating, soul-crushing regret. “Oh, God,” he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. “A baby. We made a baby.” He looked up at me, his eyes swimming in a depth of emotion I hadn’t seen in months. “All this time… I was so focused on the end of a life, I didn’t even… I couldn’t see… I thought I was losing you. I thought I was already gone. That I had to… to erase myself to keep you safe.”

For a moment, a fleeting, beautiful moment, I saw the man I loved. The hope was so sharp it was painful. He crossed the space between us in two strides, his hands coming up to frame my face, his touch hesitant, reverent. He pulled me into his arms, and it was a collision. I buried my face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him, feeling the solid, real beat of his heart against my cheek.

“I love you,” he said fiercely, his voice muffled in my hair. “I love you so much. I never stopped. Leaving… I thought it was the only way to save you from the mess I made. From me. I never imagined… I never let myself hope for this.”

I pulled back, my hands gripping the front of his shirt. “You don’t have to leave,” I sobbed, a watery, hysterical laugh catching in my throat. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. We decide. Together. This baby… this baby needs its father. I need you. Not some martyr on a cross, Rafael. I need you.”

And then, I watched it happen. The light in his eyes died. The hope curdled into a fresh, more profound despair. He gently but firmly pushed me away, his hands dropping from my face as if my skin burned him. He took a step back, shaking his head, his expression crumbling into a mask of agonized certainty.

“No,” he whispered, then louder, “No. You don’t understand. This… this changes everything. It makes it all so much worse.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice trembling with a new, rising fear.

“My father,” he said, his voice cracking. “He was a drunk. A cruel, selfish man who broke everything he touched. My mother… me. I spent my entire life, every single day, swearing I wouldn’t be him. That I would never poison the people I loved.” He looked at his own hands in disgust. “And look at me. Look at what I’ve done. I almost went to prison, Y/N. I killed a boy. What kind of father does that make me? I am him. The poison is in my blood.”

“Rafael, no, that’s not true—”

“It is true!” he yelled, his voice echoing in the empty, box-filled room. “Don’t you see? This baby… this perfect, innocent baby… I can’t be around it. I can’t be its father. I will not… I will not be that man for our child. For their sake, I have to go.”

The words were a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. “You’re punishing our baby for your own demons? That’s not love, Rafael, that’s cowardice!”

“It’s protection!” he roared, his face a mask of tormented fury. “I am protecting my child from me! You think I won’t ruin this? Ruin you? I’ve already started! I will not watch my child’s eyes fill with the same fear I saw in my mother’s. I won’t do it.”

Before I could say another word, before I could process the sheer, catastrophic finality of his decision, he turned. He snatched his keys from a small table by the door, the metal jangling harshly in the suffocating silence.

“Rafael, don’t you dare!” I screamed, my voice shredding. “Don’t you dare walk out that door!”

He didn’t even look back. He walked out, leaving the door ajar. A moment later, I heard the deadbolt click. He was locking me in. He was locking himself out.

The sound was the end of the world.

My legs gave out. I sank to the floor, my body wracked with a sob so violent it felt like it would tear me apart. I was alone, in the tomb of our life, surrounded by boxes labeled with his neat, final script. The ultrasound photo had fallen from his hand and lay face down on the dusty floorboards, a tiny, fragile dream I had brought here only to have it shattered. The apartment was silent, filled with nothing but the ghosts of what we almost had, and the sound of my own heart breaking.

Tag List!:

I stood in front of the mirror for what felt like the hundredth time, smoothing down the same wrinkle in my dress that refused to cooperate. My heart had been doing this uneven thing all afternoon—half excitement, half dread.

Meeting Rafael’s family. His Mami and Abuelita. Two women who had raised him, shaped him, loved him long before I ever walked into his life.

And now I was supposed to walk into their home and somehow prove that I was worthy of the man they adored.

I adjusted my necklace, then changed my mind and took it off. “Do you think I should wear the gold one instead?” I called toward the living room.

Rafael’s voice drifted back, warm and amused. “You’ve asked me that three times, mi amor. My answer hasn’t changed.”

I frowned at my reflection. “You didn’t give me an answer.”

He appeared in the doorway, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, looking unfairly calm. “That’s because you look beautiful in both.”

I turned, half glaring, half melting. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m not supposed to help,” he said, crossing the room to stand behind me. His hands came to rest gently on my shoulders, his reflection meeting mine in the mirror. “I’m supposed to remind you that no necklace, no dress, no amount of overthinking can change what they’ll see when they meet you.”

I tilted my head, catching his gaze. “And what will they see?”

He smiled faintly, leaning closer until his lips brushed the top of my head. “The woman who makes their Rafi happy.”

My throat tightened. “You really think they’ll like me?”

He chuckled softly. “They’re going to adore you. Mami’s been texting me every day since I told her about you. She’s already calling you her nuera.”

I blinked. “Her what?”

He hesitated, lips twitching. “Daughter-in-law.”

“Oh my God.”

“She’s a little… enthusiastic,” he said, trying not to laugh. “And Abuelita—well, she’s been telling everyone in her building that her grandson’s finally settling down.”

I pressed a hand to my chest. “No pressure then.”

He grinned, turning me to face him fully. “Hey.” His thumb brushed along my jawline, gentle, grounding. “They already love you, Y/N. I’ve told them all about you—how brave you are, how kind. How you somehow manage to see the best in me even when I can’t.”

“Rafa…”

“They can’t wait to meet the woman who stole their Rafi’s heart.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “You make me sound like a thief.”

He leaned in, voice low, teasing. “That’s because you are.”

I swatted lightly at his chest, but the tension that had been knotting in my stomach started to ease. His presence always did that—made everything feel less impossible.

He took my hand, squeezing gently. “Come on, mi amor. If we don’t leave soon, Mami will start calling to ask if I’ve forgotten how to tell time.”

I smiled, finally feeling ready. “Okay. Let’s go meet the women who raised the man I love.”

…

The drive to Washington Heights was quiet, filled with the soft hum of the city outside the car windows. My nerves fluttered again as we pulled up in front of a small brick apartment building painted with years of warmth and history. Pots of flowers lined the windowsills, and the faint sound of Spanish music drifted through an open window somewhere above.

Rafael parked, then turned to me, his hand resting over mine. “Ready?”

“Not even close,” I admitted.

He smiled. “Good. Neither was I when I first met your brother.”

That earned a laugh, which was exactly what he’d been aiming for.

He led me up the narrow stairwell, the scent of home-cooked food growing stronger with every step. Someone was cooking with garlic and saffron, the air rich with the smell of simmering rice and roasted vegetables.

Before we even reached the door, it swung open.

“¡Rafi!”

His mother was on him in seconds—short, dark-haired, full of warmth and energy. She pulled him into a fierce hug, cupping his face in her hands and speaking rapid Spanish that even I couldn’t fully keep up with.

Then her gaze turned to me.

“And this must be Y/N,” she said, her accent lilting, her eyes kind. “Ay Dios mío, you’re even prettier than he said!”

“Mami,” Rafael groaned softly, but there was no real embarrassment in it—just affection.

She waved him off, taking both of my hands in hers. “Welcome, mi niña. Come in, come in.” (my girl)

The apartment was small but cozy, filled with framed photos and the scent of love and memory. Every inch of it felt lived in. On one wall hung pictures of Rafael through the years—graduations, holidays, court victories.

And then I saw her. Abuelita. Sitting in a cushioned chair near the window, a knitted blanket over her knees, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“So this is the woman who has stolen my grandson’s heart,” she said, her voice soft but strong. “Ven aquí, cariño. Come here, let me look at you.” (come here, darling)

I knelt beside her chair, and she cupped my cheek, smiling warmly. “Bonita. I see it now. You’ve given him peace. I can see it in his eyes.”

My throat tightened. “Thank you, Ma’am. That means a lot.”

She patted my hand. “Please call me Abuelita. It’s true. My Rafi has always carried the world on his shoulders. Now he smiles again. That is your doing.”

Behind me, Rafael cleared his throat softly, a hint of color in his cheeks. “Abuelita…”

But she just chuckled. “What? You think I don’t see the way you look at her?”

Laughter filled the room, soft and genuine. His Mami ushered us toward the dining table where a spread of food waited—paella, roasted chicken, plantains, a dish of flan cooling on the counter.

We sat, and for the first time in weeks, maybe months, I saw Rafael completely at ease. His voice slipped effortlessly between English and Spanish, his laughter rich and unguarded. Every so often, his hand brushed mine under the table—a silent check-in, a reassurance.

At one point, his Mami leaned over and whispered to me, “You’ve made my son very happy. I can tell. Thank you for that.”

I smiled, my heart swelling. “Él ha hecho lo mismo por mí.” (he’s done the same for me)

Both women fell silent, looking at me with wide eyes while Rafael just smirked.

“Rafi! ¡No nos dijiste que hablaba español!” (You didn’t tell us she can speak Spanish!) His Mami finally broke the silence.

“No creí que fuera mi lugar decirlo.” Rafael smiled (I didn’t think it was my place to say)

The night stretched on with food, laughter, and stories from Rafael’s childhood that had me in tears from laughing so hard. When it was finally time to leave, Abuelita pressed her hands over ours.

“Take care of each other,” she said softly. “Love like this—it doesn’t come twice.”

Rafael kissed her cheek gently. “Siempre, Abuelita. Always.”

As we stepped out into the cool night air, Rafael slipped his arm around my waist, drawing me close.

“So,” he murmured, smiling against my temple, “was it as terrifying as you imagined?”

I laughed quietly, leaning into him. “No. Worse.”

He chuckled. “I told you they’d love you.”

I looked up at him, heart full. “Yeah. But I didn’t expect to love them so much, too.”

He smiled softly. “That’s how they get you.”

We started walking, the city buzzing gently around us, the kind of quiet happiness that doesn’t need words settling between us.

We hailed a cab to drive us most of the way home.

We made our way upstairs, the elevator ride quiet and close. By the time the door clicked shut behind us, I’d already slipped off my heels, sighing as my toes met the cool hardwood.

“Remind me,” I said, pulling the pins from my hair, “why do we wear shoes that literally try to kill us?”

Rafael chuckled, shrugging off his jacket and setting it neatly on the hook. “For beauty, mi amor.”

“Then beauty is overrated.”

He smiled, moving behind me. “Not when it’s you.”

I turned, expecting another teasing grin—but what I saw instead was softer. His tie was loosened, his hair slightly mussed from the evening, and there was a warmth in his eyes that made my chest ache.

“Come here,” he murmured.

I did.

He reached for my hand, pulling me gently into the living room. The lights were low, the city glowing through the window beyond. He reached for his phone and, without a word, a slow song began to play—a soft Spanish ballad, the kind that seemed to make the air itself sway.

I blinked up at him. “Are we… dancing?”

He smiled. “We are.”

“I’m not exactly dressed for—”

His hand settled at my waist, silencing the protest. “Perfect.”

The rest of the world seemed to fade away as we started to move, slow and unhurried. My head found its way to his shoulder; his chin brushed the top of my hair. His heartbeat was steady beneath my cheek, grounding me in a way nothing else could.

For a while, neither of us said a word. The only sound was the faint melody and the rustle of our clothes as we swayed together.

Then, quietly, Rafael spoke. “Mami said something to me after you went to help Abuelita with dessert.”

I looked up, curious. “Oh?”

He nodded. “She said, ‘You smile with your eyes again, Rafi. That girl—she’s your peace.’”

My breath caught. “She said that?”

He nodded once. “And she was right.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. I just reached up and traced the edge of his jaw with my fingers.

Rafael leaned into the touch, then dipped his head and kissed me—slow, deep, unhurried. The kind of kiss that said everything we didn’t need to speak aloud.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. “Te amo, mi amor.”

My chest tightened, eyes stinging. “I love you too, Rafi.”

He smiled softly, thumb brushing my cheek. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”

I smiled through the tears. “Then you weren’t listening, because I’ve been saying it in every way but words.”

He let out a quiet laugh, kissing me again—gentler this time. “Say it again anyway.”

“I love you.”

The music faded, but neither of us moved to stop. We stood there in the quiet of their apartment, the city lights casting a golden shimmer through the window, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Eventually, Rafael murmured against my hair, “Stay.”

I looked up at him, confused. “I practically already live here, remember?”

He smiled, a touch of amusement flickering in his tired eyes. “I mean tonight. Don’t overthink. Just… stay with me.”

My reply was a whisper against his skin. “Always.”

…

The next morning smelled like coffee and cinnamon.

Rafael was already in the kitchen when I woke up, sleeves rolled, tie hanging loose around his neck as he flipped French toast on the stove. There was music playing low — Sinatra, of course — and sunlight pooling across the counter like honey.

I leaned against the doorway, watching him for a moment. “You’re awfully cheerful for a man who was nearly interrogated by two generations of women last night.”

He smirked without turning around. “Mami and Abuelita loved you. I, on the other hand, was merely tolerated.”

“Oh, please,” I said, walking over and stealing a piece of toast from the plate. “They adore you. You’re their Rafi.”

He turned, spatula in hand, one brow raised. “And you’re their future favorite person. Mami texted me at six this morning to say you have ‘the heart of an angel and the patience of a saint.’”

I laughed, leaning into his shoulder as he kissed the top of my head. “Well, she’s not wrong about the patience part.”

“Ay dios mío, I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“Every single time.”

By the time we finished breakfast, it was already mid-morning. Rafael disappeared into the bedroom to change while I tidied the dishes, still smiling to myself. The world felt light today — the weight of the last few months replaced with something simple, something peaceful.

When he came back out, he was straightening his tie. “Olivia’s expecting us around noon.”

“Right.” I glanced down at my sweater dress, then up at him. “Do we bring something?”

“I already picked up a bottle of vino tinto yesterday. It should go nicely with whatever Benson has cooking.”

“Of course you did,” I teased, slipping my coat on. “You always think ahead.”

“Someone has to,” he murmured, but his eyes softened when he looked at me. “You ready, mi amor?”

I smiled. “Always.”

…

The streets of Manhattan were dressed for Christmas — garlands twined along railings, snow dusting the sidewalks, the air smelling faintly of roasted chestnuts. Rafael’s hand brushed mine as we walked, and he caught my fingers in his, the small gesture grounding and sure.

When we reached Olivia’s building, I could already hear laughter echoing down the hallway. He gave my hand a squeeze before knocking.

“About time!” Amanda greeted us the moment the door opened, her blonde hair tied back, her baby bump front and center under a festive red sweater. “We thought you two got lost!”

“Traffic,” Rafael lied smoothly.

“Uh-huh.” She smirked. “Or maybe you just didn’t want to leave that fancy apartment of yours.”

Rafael opened his mouth to retort, but I slipped in first. “Merry Christmas, Amanda.” I hugged her gently, careful of her bump. “You look beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes but grinned. “Flattery will get you everywhere. Come on in — food’s in the kitchen, drinks on the counter, chaos everywhere else.”

The apartment was warm, full of chatter and the sound of Christmas music. Nick and Fin were by the tree trying to string popcorn garland (badly), Sonny was talking with Rollins’ daughter Jessie, and Olivia was in the kitchen laughing with Noah.

It felt like family.

I followed Rafael through the small crowd until Olivia turned and spotted us. “There they are,” she said, smiling as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. “You two clean up nicely.”

Rafael smiled back. “You say that like we don’t always.”

Olivia rolled her eyes, then leaned in to kiss my cheek. “I’m glad you came, sweetheart. It’s nice to see you both smiling again.”

“It’s nice to feel like smiling again,” I admitted softly.

Rafael’s hand brushed the small of my back, gentle but protective. Olivia noticed — of course she did — and her grin widened. “You two look good together,” she said quietly. “I meant what I said the other day. Y/N looks good on you, Barba.”

He chuckled, a little embarrassed. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

…

The afternoon melted into easy laughter and warmth. Sonny and Fin started a ridiculous debate over who made the better eggnog, Amanda roped everyone into decorating cookies, and at one point, Rafael ended up on the floor helping Jessie put together a toy.

Watching him — tie loosened, sleeves rolled, a soft smile tugging at his lips as Jessie handed him a tiny screwdriver — I felt something deep and quiet settle in my chest.

When Rafael looked up, catching me watching him, he smiled — that small, secret smile that was his alone to give. He mouthed, Te amo, and I mouthed it right back.

And for that moment, with laughter filling the air and snow falling softly outside Olivia’s window, it felt like the world had finally come full circle.

…

Rafael’s P.O.V

The night had settled into that comfortable sort of chaos only Olivia Benson could host — half a dozen conversations happening at once, the smell of cinnamon and roast turkey lingering in the air, the sound of Noah’s laughter echoing down the hall.

Y/N was across the room, sitting with Amanda and Fin, her head tipped back in laughter as Amanda recounted some story about Nick nearly falling off a ladder while hanging tinsel at the precinct. The sight tugged at something deep inside me — that lightness in her, that joy. After everything she’d endured, she deserved this.

She deserved peace.

I was halfway through rinsing glasses in the sink when Olivia joined me, leaning against the counter with a quiet smile.

“You look like a man who’s trying very hard not to look sentimental,” she said.

I glanced up. “Sentimental? Me?”

“Uh-huh.” She crossed her arms, amused. “You’ve been staring at Y/N like she hung the moon for the last ten minutes.”

I didn’t deny it. “Maybe she did.”

Olivia’s teasing softened into something gentler — something only she could pull off. “You love her.”

It wasn’t a question.

I set the glass down carefully, drying my hands on a towel. “Yeah,” I admitted. “More than I ever thought I could love anyone again.”

She smiled faintly. “Good. Because she loves you too. You know that, right?”

“I do now.”

For a moment, we stood in silence. The kind of silence that said everything words couldn’t. Olivia had been there through the worst of it — through every late-night call, every argument, every impossible decision. She’d seen me fall apart, and now, she was seeing me whole again.

“You’re different with her,” she said finally. “Softer. Happier. You’ve got that spark back, the one you used to have before…”

Before everything.

I nodded once, quietly. “She reminds me why I do this. Why I fight for people. She… grounds me.”

Olivia smiled, her eyes warm. “Then hold onto that, Barba. You’ve both earned a little happiness.”

“Thank you, Liv.”

“Don’t thank me.” She reached out, resting a hand on my arm. “Just don’t screw it up.”

That drew a laugh from me, low and genuine. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good,” she said, giving my arm a small squeeze before stepping back. “Now go steal your girl back from Rollins before she convinces her to name your future kid something like Blanche.”

“Dios mío,” I muttered under my breath, setting the towel aside.

As I crossed the room, Y/N caught my eye, her smile soft and knowing. I slipped an arm around her waist, pressing a light kiss to her temple as Olivia’s laughter drifted behind us.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right. The noise, the warmth, the people — all of it.

And as I held her close, feeling her fingers curl around mine, I knew I didn’t need anything else this Christmas.

Because somehow, against all odds, I’d found my home again.

…

Y/N’s P.O.V

The morning sunlight was soft — the kind that filtered lazily through the sheer curtains of Rafael’s bedroom, painting gold across the sheets. Somewhere down on the street, a car horn sounded, muffled and distant, but up here it was quiet. Peaceful.

Rafael was still half-asleep beside me, his arm draped over my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the calm rhythm of it grounding me in a way coffee never could.

For a long moment, I just stayed there — breathing him in, memorizing the sound of silence that wasn’t empty anymore.

Eventually, though, the smell of coffee reached my nose. Rafael stirred with a sleepy groan. “Hmm,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “You’re thinking about getting up.”

I smiled into the pillow. “I’m thinking about coffee.”

He made a quiet noise of protest and tightened his arm around me, pulling me back against him. “You’re warm. Stay.”

I laughed softly. “Rafa, it’s almost ten.”

“Then we’re early,” he muttered, pressing a lazy kiss to my shoulder.

That earned him another few minutes, but eventually I managed to slip free and pad toward the kitchen. By the time I’d poured two mugs, Rafael appeared in the doorway, hair mussed, tie draped loosely around his neck, wearing the most dangerously comfortable-looking henley I’d ever seen.

He leaned against the counter, still blinking sleep from his eyes. “You’re smiling,” he said.

I handed him a mug. “You’re observant.”

He took a sip, watching me over the rim. “I like seeing you happy in my kitchen.”

My heart tugged a little at that. “It feels… normal. Like we get to have a life outside the chaos for once.”

He nodded, setting his mug down. “We do. For the next two weeks, we’re officially free. Jack signed off on extended leave — no cases, no briefings, nothing.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

He smiled, a little proud of himself. “Seriously. Even I need a break from the justice system.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “So what are we going to do with two whole weeks off?”

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Sleep. Eat. Maybe take you somewhere that doesn’t involve a court summons.”

“Somewhere warm?” I offered hopefully.

He smirked. “I was thinking more… Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. But I’ll take suggestions.”

“Rafa,” I said, feigning exasperation, “you’re terrible at vacations.”

“True,” he admitted, stepping closer. “But I’m excellent at spending time with you.”

The words hit me soft and deep. I set my coffee down before I could drop it, meeting his eyes. There was something in them that hadn’t been there months ago — peace. Maybe even joy.

I smiled up at him. “You’re sappy before caffeine.”

He grinned, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I’m in love before caffeine.”

My breath caught — not because it was the first time he’d said it, but because every time he did, it felt new. Warm. Certain.

“I love you too,” I whispered.

He kissed me then — slow and gentle, the kind of kiss that didn’t demand anything except to be felt.

When we finally pulled apart, Rafael rested his forehead against mine. “So,” he murmured, “two weeks. Just you, me, and absolutely no crime.”

I smiled. “I think I can live with that.”

He kissed my forehead, the corner of his mouth curling into that rare, easy grin. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I’m not letting you out of my sight until next year.”

…

Rafael’s P.O.V

By the time we reached Mami’s apartment, Y/N was already laughing. She could hear the salsa music from the hallway — Mami’s signature Christmas soundtrack — and the smell of roast pork and garlic had both of us hungry before we even knocked.

I didn’t even have to get my key out before the door swung open. “¡Rafi! ¡Mi amor!” Mami exclaimed, sweeping us both into a hug that made Y/N giggle.

“Hola, Mami,” Y/N said, returning the embrace easily. “Something smells amazing.”

“Of course it does!” Mami declared proudly. “I made your favorite, mi cielo. And Abuelita’s been asking all day when her nieta americana is getting here.”

Y/N flushed at that — though I could see the smile tugging at her lips. Mami had started calling her that months ago, and my grandmother had followed suit not long after. It was as close to family as anyone could get without the paperwork.

Inside, the table was already set — too much food for four people, as always — and Abuelita was waiting in her favorite chair by the window.

“Ay, mira quien llegó,” she said, beaming as Y/N crossed the room to greet her. “Ven aquí, mi niña.”

Y/N knelt beside her chair, accepting a warm kiss on both cheeks before helping Abuelita to the table. I watched her move around my family like she’d been doing it her whole life — passing plates, teasing Mami about over-seasoning, insisting that Abuelita sit and eat instead of fussing.

Dinner was loud and perfect. Mami was halfway through telling an embarrassing story about me hiding in the pantry as a kid when Y/N reached over and squeezed my hand under the table. She mouthed, “You’re adorable.”

“Don’t encourage her,” I muttered, earning a soft laugh that only made my mother more pleased.

When dessert came out — tembleque and flan, both — Abuelita made a quiet toast. “To family,” she said in Spanish, her gaze settling fondly on Y/N. “And to love finding its way home.”

Y/N blinked fast, eyes glassy, before raising her glass. “Salud,” she said softly.

After dinner, when we were packing leftovers, Mami cornered me in the kitchen while Y/N chatted with Abuelita. “She’s good for you, Rafi,” she said, lowering her voice. “You smile more. You breathe easier.”

I looked over to where Y/N stood laughing, helping Abuelita fold napkins into neat little triangles. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I do.”

When we finally left, Mami handed Y/N a small wrapped box. “For you,” she said. “Something from Abuelita and me.”

Y/N blinked, touched. “You didn’t have to—”

“Of course we did,” Mami said with a wink. “You’re family now.”

Out in the cold, Y/N slipped her hand into mine and leaned her head against my shoulder. “They’re wonderful,” she murmured.

“So are you,” I said, kissing her hair. “They’re just smart enough to see it.”

…

Y/N’s P.O.V

The first thing I felt was warmth. The second was the weight of Rafael’s arm draped across my waist, his breath soft and even against my neck. For a long, peaceful moment, I didn’t move — just listened to the city muffled beneath the snow and the sound of his heartbeat pressed against my back.

Eventually, I rolled over to face him. He smiled without opening his eyes. “Buenos días, mi amor.”

“Merry Christmas,” I whispered.

We spent the next half hour in that perfect, sleepy tangle — trading lazy kisses, half-laughing as he tried to convince me that coffee could wait another ten minutes. It couldn’t, but I let him win.

By the time we made it to the kitchen, the smell of cinnamon and espresso filled the air. He’d already set two mugs on the table and placed the small, wrapped box Mami had given me the night before beside my plate.

I ran my fingers over the wrapping paper. “She told me to wait until Christmas morning.”

Rafael nodded, sitting across from me, his chin resting on one hand as he watched. “She and Abuelita spent a whole afternoon arguing about what to give you. That box nearly started a family war.”

I laughed softly and peeled back the paper. Inside was a small velvet pouch tied with gold thread. When I tipped it open, something delicate slid into my palm — a thin gold chain with a single charm hanging from it: a tiny, intricate locket shaped like a heart, etched with vines and the faint outline of an angel.

I opened it carefully. Inside was a tiny photograph — Abuelita on one side, Mami on the other — both smiling at the camera.

“Oh…” My voice cracked before I could stop it. “Rafa…”

He stood and came around behind me, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders. “They wanted you to know you’re part of the family now,” he murmured, his voice low, warm. “That you have people who love you here. Always.”

I blinked hard, wiping a tear with the back of my hand. “They really didn’t have to—”

“They did,” he said gently. “You’ve done something I never thought possible — you made them feel at peace about me. About us.”

I turned, meeting his eyes. “They’re incredible. And you—” I swallowed, voice breaking on a laugh. “You really are their Rafi.”

He smiled, brushing a thumb across my cheek. “Only when they’re not calling to lecture me about eating too much takeout.”

That made me laugh again — the kind of laugh that bubbles up and stays with you.

I slipped the necklace around my neck, the locket settling warm against my skin. “How do I look?”

Rafael tilted his head, studying me like I was something rare and precious. “Like someone who belongs.”

For a moment, it was quiet again — the snow falling softly outside, the city still waking up. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small envelope, smiling faintly.

“Now it’s my turn,” he said.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

I tore it open, a grin already forming as I read the words printed inside — one week in California. My breath caught. “Rafa…”

He shrugged like it was no big deal, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “You mentioned Disneyland once. Sonny might’ve said something about you wanting to go. I thought…” His eyes softened. “Maybe we could go make some memories of our own.”

I launched myself at him, laughing as he caught me, his arms wrapping around me tightly. “You’re unbelievable,” I whispered against his shoulder.

“Increíblemente enamorado,” he corrected softly.

“Hopelessly in love,” I translated with a smile, pulling back just enough to kiss him. “Yeah, I think we both are.”

…

The moment we stepped through the door, the warmth of the Carisi household hit me like a wave. The smell of roasting meats, garlic, and something sweet baking in the oven wrapped around me, instantly making me feel at home.

“Y/N! Rafael!” Mom, Serafina, shouted before we even got our coats off. She practically flew across the room to engulf me in a hug, and Dad, Dominick, gave Rafael a firm, scrutinizing hug that ended in a thumbs-up and a nod of approval.

Sonny was already in the middle of the living room, playfully arguing with Bella, our eldest sister, about who had brought the better dessert. Teresa and Gina were bustling around, keeping an eye on their kids while trying to snag seats near the table. Teresa’s daughter, Mia, dashed past me squealing, followed by my baby niece cooing in Gina’s arms.

I laughed, scooping Mia up and spinning her around. The chaos of the room was loud, joyous, and perfectly normal for an Italian Christmas.

“Y/N, come look at this!” Teresa called, waving a plate of cookies like it was a trophy.

“Save some for lunch!” I teased, laughing.

Rafael hung back, letting me dive into the madness. I caught his gaze over the crowd, and he smiled softly, letting me have my space. He always knew when to step back and when to step in, and I loved him for it.

Once we finally gathered around the table, Dominick started the blessing, his booming voice mixing with the kids’ chatter and the occasional squeal from Mia. Plates were passed, laughter erupted at nearly every story, and Rafael handled it like a pro, jumping in politely when asked, smiling and laughing at just the right moments. I kept stealing glances at him, feeling a little thrill every time our eyes met.

At one point, I leaned over to Mom. “So, he’s finally meeting the whole family, huh?” I teased.

Serafina grinned knowingly. “This is Rafael the man whose stolen my girl’s heart,” she said, eyes twinkling.

I blushed, muttering, “Mom…”

Rafael leaned over and kissed my temple. “I told them a lot about you,” I whispered.

“About me?” he asked, half embarrassed, half giddy.

“About how amazing you are, how you’ve stolen my heart completely,” I said, my voice low enough for only him to hear. “They’re going to adore you.”

And they did.

The afternoon was a blur of laughter, kids running underfoot, arguments about who got the last meatball, and multiple toasts to family, love, and new beginnings. Rafael jumped in whenever I needed a hand—helping the kids with their drinks, smoothing over a minor squabble between Bella and Gina, or keeping the baby quiet when she started fussing. By the time we were done, I realized he hadn’t just blended into my family — he’d become a part of it.

At one point, Mia leaned on Rafael’s leg and whispered, “Auntie’s lucky.”

I looked down at him, caught in that moment of quiet pride. “We are,” I said softly, and he smiled back.

The meal ended with the chaos tapering into smiles, satisfied sighs, and sleepy kids curling up on laps. Rafael and I exchanged a look — one that said without words that we had survived the madness, that we belonged, and that we had each other.

It was the kind of Christmas I had always dreamed of — loud, messy, full of love, and perfect in its imperfection.

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