I’m writing a lot in the background. A couple things aren’t on Tumblr, but I may post here and add one shots in that verse. For now, I’ll throw up the link.
Hannibal
Frederick Chilton
The Blackout (In Progress)
Frederick Chilton x OC
Blackout
I Wish I Could Know What You’re Thinking
She May Have Even Liked Him Then
All Too Well
A thing I’m writing
Law & Order: Special Victims Unit
Sonny Carisi
If You Love Someone, Let Them Go (In Progress)
Sonny x OC
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11
Four Valentine’s
Two Weddings
One Shots
Down a Sitter : When Carisi’s wife is away, he has to bring his daughter to court.
Rafael Barba
Hallelujah (Never Ending)
Rafael Barba x OC
Started as a One Shot, and Now We’re Here
When I Became a Man, I Put Childish Ways Behind Me
Back Before You Lost the One Real Thing You've Ever Known
Here We Are as in Olden Days
Trust Me
Abuelitas, Tantrums, and Ropa Vieja
Happy Valentine’s Raf
Bring Your Daughter to Court Day and Dad Friends
Because You Don’t Have to do This Alone (What if Rafael Answered the phone? AU)
Miami (Jumpin’ the shark)
Accidental Feminist Icon
Rafael Barba x Carmen
Friendship or Romance? I don’t even know yet.
Accidental Feminist Icon
Delete the Twitter App, Mr. Barba
The Iowa Caucus Happened
Choices We Make (Hiatus)
Rafael Barba x OC
AO3 Link
Current word count: 17,001
BBC Sherlock
Mycroft Holmes
Folklore 4 Part
Love you to the Moon and to Saturn
I can see us Lost in the Memory
Meetings Over Dinner (In Progress but slow)
Mycroft Holmes x OC
AO3 Link
Current Word Count: 43,947
I like stories where a normal human child is being raised by a sinister supernatural being who is totally malevolent except when it comes to their kid. Those are so much better than the “kids are scary” changeling type horror movies.
Like a perfectly well-adjusted well-mannered friendly child that is like “This is my dad, Surazal. He comes out of the mirrors in dark rooms. He makes really good blood pudding but he’s bad at playing catch. Most people can’t see his corporal form but I can because he says I have special eyes.”
“Mom says that you can stay over but you have to promise not to leave my room between midnight and 1 am. You can play Mario Cart with me! But you have to knock on every closed door in the house before entering just because dad might be in there and if you look upon his visage without drinking the holy fruit juice, you might go crazy or something. Also dad is really excited I have a new friend and he’s going to to make hardtack and mystery stew for us! You’ll love it!”
In high school the kid gets a friend that is an amateur demonologist who initially befriends them in hopes of exorcizing their house but ends up becoming buddies with Surazal too because they crave parental affection.
Surazal stands at the end of the vast dark hallway and says “You Too Have Special Eyes, Little One. You Can See Me Without Being Taken By The Madness. Within You, I Sense Great Turmoil And Sadness. In My Younger Years, I Would Have Exploited The Sadness As Weakness In Your Very Soul. I Would Have Worn Your Skin Like A Mask And Run Through The Village Streets, Supping Blood From Every Man I Encountered. But Now I Have No Use For Woe. Perhaps You Would Like To Watch Beetlejuice In The Family Room With My Daughter While I Prepare Cupcakes. I Am Sensing You Have A Fondness for Red Velvet.”
rhod and greg (with a bonus appearance from barry) reminiscing about the time greg took rhod to a quad bike shop near the end of his cancer treatment, as shared during the comedy roast for su2c (2023)
truly the most american thing is Big Drink. more than late stage capitalism, more than an unparalleled cultural focus on individualism, more than 9/11 jokes
what binds all americans together culturally is Big Drink
and you might be saying "is this fat shaming" or "but mayor bloomberg outlawed Big Drink in nyc" or "gays are so annoying about their iced coffee" or some other dumb comment but no open your minds, Big Drink isn't just sugary or caffeinated beverages
every day i see one of you hydration bitches (affectionate) on the train with a water bottle so big a toddler could drown in it. that too is Big Drink.
we literally invented a bigger beer can (tall boy) in wisconsin in the 60s in the service of Big Drink
anyway i never feel more american then when i have Big Drink in my hands
Gwen Brooks was paying for school by dancing at the club, and one night, Daryl Dixon found himself there trying to keep his brother in line. When her car won't start, the two find out they might just be the company the other needs.
“Hello?” Gwen answered her phone, cradling it between her cheek and shoulder as she carefully checked the cooling chocolate chip banana bread on her counter.
“‘S Daryl,” he said, and she could hear the shop sounds behind him.
“Hi Daryl,” she smiled softly. “How goes it?”
“It’s just the wiring. Redoing the hose too. Think I’m gonna check all the wirin’ and hoses. Do an oil change. It’s slow today.”
“Daryl, you ain’t-”
“I ain’t gotta do shit, girl. If I offer, I wanna.”
“Sorry. Worried you’ll get in trouble.”
“Ain’t gotta be. It’s my shop. Pop left it to me. Means I can call the shots. When you gotta drive?”
“I can get rides to work, and school is out for break until January. I ain’t got anything. Take your time.”
“Couple days, max. I’ll see y’tonight anyway. Merle, y’know.”
“Meet me for a smoke again. I still ain’t got a lighter.”
“Deal.”
Gwen liked talking to Daryl. It hadn’t been much, but he looked her in the eye. He didn’t make her feel sexualized. And he knew about the club. She didn’t have anyone who did all three other than the girls she worked with, and with them, she felt bad being uncomfortable with the job. Some of the girls minded, but most of them didn’t. She’d been raised to wait until marriage, and there was a dichotomy between the personally virginal Gwen and the Gwen that learned how much money she could make here. It was nice to feel like what she did didn’t define her to someone. That night, she was happy to slip out the door when she saw Daryl slink out and leave his brother.
Daryl hated to admit he was happy to see her follow behind him. She was young, pretty, and smart, and he needed to not delude himself into thinking she might want to be friends with a redneck piece of shit like him. Still, when he bought a pack, he made sure he had his lighter on hand, and he picked up a candy bar just in case she’d want it. It was anticipation more than craving that led him to lean against the wall at the side of the club. She came up from the back, smiling with the cigarette already between her lips. In one fluid motion, he clicked the lighter and held it up with his free hand blocking the wind as she lit up.
“Thanks,” she grinned, exhaling slowly. “How was your day?”
“Normal,” he shrugged, pulling out the candy bar and offering it. She lit up and accepted it gladly.
“My guardian angel.”
“Weirdo.”
“You always answer with one word?”
“Not always.” There was that tug of his lip. He didn’t really look at her, but she’d only tease him for one thing at a time.
“Smart ass.”
“Whatcha in school for?”
“Elementary education. Wanna be a teacher.”
“You’ll be good at that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re sweet. Smart. Close to their size when ya ain’t in them shoes.”
“I’ll have you know the average child is under 5’2” so I’m taller.”
“Sure, princess.”
“You doin’ anything for the holiday?” Daryl stiffened at that.
“Don’t do that shit. You goin’ home?”
“They don’t talk to me because of all this,” she shrugged. It was quiet for a few minutes, and then she looked at him. “You wanna come over for Christmas? I like to cook. Could make hot chocolate and watch a movie.”
“What?”
“Nothin’. Nevermind. I’m not trying to be weird I just-” She was chewing her lip again when he looked at her.
“Stop that. I ain’t ever done that Christmas shit. You sure you wanna do that with me?”
“I’m sure. I like being around you. You’re funny. And nice. And accepting. And a good guy.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding tightly. “We’ll do Christmas.”
“Really?” Shit. He was a goner. The way her eyes lit up made him have to work to suppress a smile.
“Yeah. You old enough to drink?” The question sounded meaner than he meant for it to, but it didn’t phase her.
“I will be next month.”
“Shit. I could be your daddy, girl.” It took a concerted effort on her part not to make a joke that he ought to. She didn’t know if she’d want anything but a friend, and he felt pretty sure he wouldn’t want her.
“A young dad though.”
“Eighteen,” he shrugged. “You’re close enough I’ll still bring Wild Turkey for the eggnog.”
“So you do know that Christmas shit,” she teased, bumping his hip with hers.
“Little brother, you got a sm– Oh, hello, blondie.”
Merle stumbled out, and before he could stumble towards Gwen, Daryl put himself between them. Merle stopped staring down at his brother.
“I wasn’t talking to you, kid. You wouldn’t know what to do with her.”
“Merle, leave.”
“Darlina, let the lady decide.” Merle started to try and shove his way around Daryl, eyes narrowing on the little blonde with a thick flannel wrapped tight around what he knew was near nothing. His face hardened when Gwen’s hand went to Daryl’s bicep and she stepped closer to his back.
“Leave,” Daryl repeated, and he tried not to think about Gwen’s hip under his hand when he reached back.
“What kind of dick must little D be slingin’ for you to cling on ‘im like this?” A hand to his groin, adjusting himself as he stepped back with his eyes on her. “Ain’t got nothin’ on ol’ Merle. I’ll buy a turn then. Bought a turn with all the other whores in there.”
“I don’t do extras.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and Daryl kept his hand on her. If he were to swing at Merle, it would cause more trouble. He wasn’t stupid. He’d stand his ground now. Watch her inside. Drive her home to make sure she was safe.
“Leave her alone, Merle.” Gwen could look up at him and see the way Daryl’s jaw flexed and locked as he kept his stare trained on his brother. The weight of his hand high on her hip was comforting as she stayed close. It wasn’t like her how quickly she’d taken to Daryl, not anymore. Too many people had changed their minds about her.
“Fine,” he finally said, appraising his brother. “You can keep one piece o’ pussy to yourself. Just glad you finally got one. Y’know, my brother cried after I took him to a hooker the first time? Said he didn’t like it. Easy pussy and he didn’t like it.”
“Just go in.”
“Fine. I’ll see you back home, Darlina.” When he slammed through the door, Gwen looked up at Daryl with wide eyes. She didn’t like the way that ended, not because of any offense but because she didn’t like the picture it painted of Daryl’s home life. Add it to the fact he’d never done a holiday, and she thought he was much more used to being hurt and alone than she was.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and suddenly his hand jerked off of her hip.
“‘S fine,” he shrugged, stepping away to give them space again. He hadn’t liked that night, and it still felt too fresh and familiar. He was only fifteen, and he still had hope one day somebody’d be kissing him because they wanted to and he wanted them to. The whole process was mechanical and uncomfortable and a reminder he wouldn’t get those happy experiences he’d seen when he snuck into movie theaters. He didn’t want Gwen to know about that.
“Come to the back in an hour. I’ll be leavin’ and I brought you a present.”
“You ain’t gotta do that.”
“Too bad. Tell Ronnie I said to come. It’ll remind him.”
That found Daryl outside the dressing room, steadfastly focusing on the floor as he waited. When Gwen opened the dressing room door with her bag on her shoulder and clad in flannel and denim, he thought she looked more like herself this way. She held out a tinfoil-wrapped item.
“Chocolate chip banana bread,” she smiled. “Thanks for yesterday. And today.”
“You ain’t had to do that, girl.” He wasn’t sure anyone had ever baked for him before. It made him give a hint of a smile as he took it. “C’mon. You’re getting a ride home.”
“You ain’t-” A lifted brow from him. “Thank you.”
That found him parked outside her place again, and he’d made her stay while he tore off some of the loaf and dropped it in his mouth.
“That’s real good.”
“Ain’t it? Wanted to do something for ya.”
“I ain’t done nothin’.”
“You have.”
“It’s just the right thing. Yesterday and today. All that happened.”
“It’s kind, Daryl,” she said softly, stretching across the truck cab and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Ain’t like seeing anybody picked on. All that happened,” he said, cheeks flushed red as he watched her walk up the walkway.
Gwen Brooks was paying for school by dancing at the club, and one night, Daryl Dixon found himself there trying to keep his brother in line. When her car won't start, the two find out they might just be the company the other needs.
“You got a lighter?”
Daryl turned to look at the little blonde dancer his brother had been harassing standing beside him with an unlit cigarette between her lips. She looked so young and so tired as she took the offered plastic bic.
“Thanks,” she murmured, lighting up and leaning back against the wall. The thick jacket was wrapped around her frame, and he thought she looked much less content with being here than her coworkers did.
“You ain’t cold?”
“Am. But ain’t out here long.”
“Sorry ‘bout my brother.”
“He ain’t the only creep.”
“Still.”
“Thanks,” she finally said after a long pause. “You don’t seem like ya like being here.”
“Don’t.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Merle. Make him act better.”
“That’s better?”
“You new?” She nodded. “Don’t go near him.”
“You tellin’ me what to do now? I work here.”
“He don’t go to the back rooms and he don’t tip good. You ain’t got tracks. That’s what he tips with.”
“Oh.”
“Name’s Daryl.”
“Gwen.”
“Thought it was Ruby.” Gwen almost thought he was smirking as he ground the cigarette butt into the asphalt.
“Don’t tell.” She was smiling up at him now, and he suddenly realized she was definitely half of his age.
“Won’t tell.”
“See you in there?”
“Til Merle’s ready to go.” She nodded, and he went back into the club, dropping into the seat at Merle’s table. He already regretted coming back in, and when he saw Gwen on the floor, Daryl looked away. She thought that would bother her more, but he avoided looking at most of the dancers anywhere but the eyes. Merle was still there when her shift ended, and Gwen changed into jeans and an old flannel when the time came to go to her car.
When she tried to start the car, it didn’t, and immediately panic set in. She tried again and again, her hands coming down on the steering wheel again and again when she realized it wouldn’t start. It was the last straw of a long day. Her final in her science class hadn’t gone well that day, and then the way Daryl’s brother had cornered her earlier had shaken her. She hadn’t been working at the strip club long, and she’d been sheltered from the worst of the creeps. Alice had been gone that night, and that gave time for Merle to catch her in a corner. All she wanted was to go home and rest. It didn’t help that this would be her first Christmas without her family.
Her father was a pastor, and a parishioner had come into the club and told him how she was playing for school now. He was already not happy she was in school at all. She’d been raised in a loving but traditional family. Instead of being proud she was getting a degree, her father was disappointed she wasn’t more focused on starting a family and settling down. To him, a degree was a waste because she wouldn’t be looking for jobs. And now that he knew about the club, he didn’t even speak to her. The car refusing to start was the final straw, and she started to cry, hard heaving sobs that made her forget the window was still cracked.
“This cause of Merle?” asked a gruff voice from outside her window. She didn’t answer, but she did look towards him and started trying to breathe and calm herself. Daryl wasn’t good at this. Any of it. He didn’t like talking to strangers or risking making women feel uncomfortable, but she was so obviously hurting. Daryl knew what it was like to have everything go wrong in a day, and he didn’t know if she had anyone. He knew even better what it was like to feel everything was going wrong and not have anyone to tell. “I’m gonna open this door, okay?”
He opened the car door, kneeling. Wasn’t that what you did to make people feel more comfortable? He was careful to not box her in. She could push him over, and he thought that should be good. Should make her feel safe. He hoped he was right. Gwen was taking deep practiced breaths now.
“That’s it, girl. Breathe.”
“Sorry,” she managed to choke out.
“Ain’t got shit to be sorry for.” She was embarrassed, looking at the edge of her door and worrying her lip with her teeth. “Car ain’t startin’?”
“That’s the latest.”
“Good thing ‘m a mechanic. Try and start it.” It just clicked, and he nodded before reaching by her leg and popping the hood. She stared where she knew he was as though she could see him through the open hood. He came back around and dropped down again.
“How bad is it, doc?” He huffed what she decided to believe was a laugh.
“Wiring probably just ain’t good on the starter. Coolant hose might be bad and have dripped into it. Can fix either one. Got one of these out back at the shop I can the part from.”
“How much that gonna run me?”
“Labor’s free. Part’s free. Tow’s gonna be free.”
“That’s so much,” Gwen said softly. “You ain’t gotta do that. I can figure something out.”
“No. It’s free. You pay me and next time ‘m here, you’ll get it back.”
“Can I make ya banana bread?” That huff was definitely a laugh.
“Y’can make me banana bread. Merle left. You need a ride home?”
“I can walk. You ain’t-” He lifted a brow, and she turned pink. “I need a ride.”
“Atta girl. C’mon.”
She got her bags out of the car, loading them into his truck. Her keychain had a Georgia State University logo, and the little drawstring bag that had her cash from the night was one of those bags people gave away for free. He couldn’t read well, but elementary stood out under the same logo. Was she going to be a teacher?
“Thanks, Daryl,” she said softly.
“Ain’t a problem. My guy’s gonna tow it in the mornin’. I’ll call ya when I know what’s happening. Come get y’when it’s ready.”
It was quiet as they drove, and when they parked outside her house, she wrote down her number, handing it to him with her address. Daryl froze when she hugged him before getting out of the car.
“I’ll see you when it’s ready. Thanks for bein’ my hero tonight.” He huffed and she swore his cheeks turned pink.
Poppy Watson sat across from Mycroft Holmes in his office, and the frown etched into delicate features said she did not appreciate the way a sleek black car had picked her up on the way to the fabric shop. She did not like that a strange woman knew her name and assured her it didn’t pertain to the husband in Poland on an archaeological dig. Sure, it was an assurance he was safe, but she’d moved into 221C and been told by her husband’s cousin Sherlock Holmes’ brother was sure to pull something like this.
“Of course, Mrs. Watson.”
The smile was genteel. There was a certain venom under it, but one that carried little weight. John and Sherlock had never told her the details of what happened at Sherrinford, but she knew whatever it was enough that John Watson had felt it needed to confess feelings for Sherlock and talked about it with the same steeling of his jaw that told her the conversation was over. She also knew that it centered around secrets from Mycroft Holmes that meant his parents no longer spoke to him outside of visits to a mysterious sister, though Sherlock insisted that would change. But now, his big brother wasn’t asking for his whereabouts to be tracked; Mycroft Holmes wanted to know Sherlock’s moods and growth into fatherhood.
“Have you tried calling your brother to ask how his week has been?”
Mycroft blinked for a moment before his posture returned. It was like the very idea was antithetical. Maybe it was because she’d only known the younger Holmes as a neighbor and in-law, one who saw him holding a crying little girl and pulling faces to get her to laugh.
“My brother, I’m afraid, has viewed me as the enemy his entire adult life. If I were to begin calling to,” a strained smile, “chat he would suspect I’m up to something."
“He knows you aren’t as strong as you’d like to think,” she said plainly, and her voice had the same intonation she’d heard it said into a phone in the kitchen when Sherlock spoke to his mother or Gregory Lestrade.
“Do you consider that a compliment?” he asked with a look of distaste.
“I suppose I do, Mr. Holmes. It means he knows you’re someone under all of this.” Poppy gave a dismissive wave at his office.
“The sentiment is fine, I suppose, but I’d encourage you to keep superfluous thoughts like that inside that pretty little head.”
“You think my head’s pretty?” His nose scrunched at her playful lilt before he rolled his eyes.
“Objectively, I suppose.”
“Mr. Holmes, this is an elaborate rouse to have meetings with me.”
“You are a married woman, Mrs. Watson.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Besides, what makes you assume we’ll have meetings?”
“I think you want company more than you’ll admit, Mr. Holmes.” She stood, smoothing the silky fabric of her flowing dress before tucking a handbag in the crook of her elbow. “I’ll see you out,” he said stiffly, and he did not like the way she rolled her eyes.
“Will this car take me back to the shop I was at? I have a commission.”
“Commission?” he asked, feigning surprise. “An artist?”
“Mr. Holmes, your omnipresent eyes have been outed. What don’t you know?”
“I’ve not looked at your medical records. Quilting. Quite antiquated, but a beautiful art. Your husband Rob is abroad in Poland leading graduate students at a dig site for the summer, leaving his wife to move into 221C until he can arrive and help her find a place to live. Would you like me to look into him, Mrs. Watson?”
Now it was her turn to tense, jaw steeling as she looked ahead. Sherlock had asked her it too, referencing the graduate students more directly. Hours were suddenly longer when he was in the same city, and he always came home smelling of merlot and someone else’s perfume. Poppy was still deciding what she wanted to do about it. She made enough money selling hand-stitched quilts and creating patterns and selling supplies. Internet commerce was her savior, as were galleries that accept textile art. But to leave her husband when she lived in a new country? When she looked up at Mycroft Holmes, the stories she’d heard had her expecting to see a smug satisfaction, but his gaze was softer than she expected, and it was soft in a way that made her suspect he had already looked into it.
“I don’t,” she said softly, reaching and giving his bicep a grateful squeeze. He looked at her hand and then to her face, the most dignified look of bewilderment she’d ever seen plastered on his face. “I have my suspicions. I wish to remain blissfully ignorant until I can’t anymore.”
“You know the reality. That is compartmentalization, not ignorance. If it ever comes to it, I will do everything within my power to assure you can stay in the country.”
“Is that sentiment or compassion, Mr. Holmes?” she asked with a gentle smile.
“Don’t strain my kindness,” he said, rolling his eyes now.
“I’ll see you when you decide it’s time for our next meeting.”
neck kissing is honestly the hottest, most seductive thing anybody could ever do to me. if you kiss my neck, if you playfully bite my neck, if your tongue touches my neck i will melt in your fingertips.
i like the concept of soulmates—not a “you’re destined to meet me, and love me” kind of soulmate, but a “i’d pick you, every time.” kind of soulmate. a “no matter what happens, and what has happened, i want to go through it with you.” kind of soulmate. a “i love you by choice, and you’re a blessing, and i’m going to continue thinking about you this way not because i have to but because i want to.” kind of soulmate. a “you help me rest easy when everything is difficult” kind of soulmate. a “in every possible outcome, i want you there, to share it with me.” kind of soulmate.
Feeling hands slide around my ass, thumbs pushing my folds apart, not being able to close my legs and just being stared at and studied like that while my clit throbs, desperate for stimulation and I squirm at the realization that I'm only getting wetter as time passes
Finally posting in the Hallelujah verse again, specifically messing with Richard Wheatley plot. Continuity is probably wrong but shhhh.
One., Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven
Because You Don’t Have to do This Alone (What if Rafael Answered the phone? AU)
Miami (Jumpin’ the shark)
“Papi,” Catalina squealed when Rafael came in the door. He was taking more defense work now, and Rebecca could see that she wouldn’t like what he had to say. His brow was firm, and he kissed the top of Cat’s head before setting her down and patting her back.
“Hi, Mija,” he smiled softly. “Papi can come play in a minute, okay? Why don’t you go put your blocks away while I talk to mami?”
“Okay!” Rebecca furrowed her brow, arms crossed as she watched him. She knew this look. Sure, it was like a dog with its tail between its legs, but it was also Rafael about to tell her something she didn’t like but had to deal with.
“Hey, Raf,” she smiled softly, kissing him.
“Hola, mi corazón,” he hummed, arms crossed before leaning back against his desk. Oh god, this was attorney Rafael.
“Out with it.”
“¿Qué quieres decir cariño?”
“Stop,” she sighed, lifting her brow and letting her hands rest on his chest. With a gentle pat, she pushed away. “You’re speaking exclusively Spanish and have puppy eyes. You know I’m about to be mad at you, and I want to know why.”
“I’m defending Richard Wheatley.”
“Richard Wheatley?”
“Yes.”
“Is your client?”
“Yes.”
“The man who killed–”
“Allegedly.”
“Killed Elliot Stabler’s wife. You do know that is the end of your friendship with Olivia Benson, right? From what you’ve told me, she will always choose him.”
“And that’s the problem, Becs! Procedure is going out the window. They cherry-picked this charge with hardly anything to go on. And if it isn’t me, the defense will destroy Olivia. Her career will be over. I agree he should be tried, but he needs to be tried fairly.”
“You’re going to do what you’re going to do.”
“Becs, if they had a fair case, I wouldn’t. But they don’t. It’s a mockery. And I’ll be able to shield my friend. Besides, this fee? We could put it into the bank and never worry about paying for college.”
“You’re doing this for a fee?”
“Can’t it be all three? They didn’t hold up their end of the bargain, I can defend my friend, and this fee will pay my child’s college tuition one day.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, and when she looked up, she realized he looked almost afraid of what she’d say next. He had every right to take on even the worst person, and he knew enough to know if the NYPD had cut corners.
“I won’t pretend I like it,” she said plainly. “But I’ll always be here, okay? Even if I wish you’d decided on teaching.”
“Yeah, well,” he chuckled lowly. “Doesn’t beat the thrill of the courtroom.”
“You do love it.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his forehead to hers.
“I love you and Cat much, much more. You know that?”
“I do.”
“I’ll set firm boundaries. I’ll come to dinner every night. I’ll cuddle up to you and do that thing you like….”
“You’re not in the dog house,” she teased, and Rafael was relieved to see she was smiling. She was displeased, but she understood. “You don’t have to suck up.”
“All the things I listed benefit me, Becs,” he teased, squeezing her ass before they went towards the kitchen.
“We just got through that without fighting. I think that’s growth.”
“Look at us,” he smiled, lifting Catalina smoothly. The little girl settled her knee on either side of her father’s torso, grabbing his face.
“Excuse me, papi, it’s my turn for attention.” Rafael’s laugh was loud as he nodded.
“Fair enough, mija. How was school?”
“Fun. I miss being home with you. Pre-K has been cool, but it’s not the same.”
“I miss it, too. I like court, but it’s not as cool as hanging out with you.”
He liked the opportunity to be around grown-ups every day. Having an office again gave a good separation now that he exclusively took defense work. That said, he missed sitting at his desk, Catalina setting up in the room with him. There were no more tea parties, the ones he’d never admit to where Catalina gave him a plastic cup of water and made him wear her plastic jewelry. That was much better than meetings and assistants and never stopping. He’d missed a lot, but the glorious eight months where he decided if he was going to teach or practice let him feel he’d caught up. He’d spend four of the five working days with his daughter. Only one or two days a week saw them separated, and Rebecca had teased him when he called her, worrying Catalina wasn’t okay at school. She’d cried on her first day, telling her teacher she wanted to keep staying home with papi. He’d cried at work, telling Rebecca he wanted to be home with Catalina from a bathroom in the shiny new firm.
“Come with me to the precinct tomorrow?” He’d asked that night, nose in her hair.
“Sweetheart, I have three more school days.”
“Worth a shot.”
“You’ve got to tell her yourself.”
“I just like the idea of leaving, and you’re there to roll your eyes and take me to Starbucks.”
“That makes it sound like I don’t think your feelings are valid.”
“You do. You also don’t let me pretend these situations aren’t my own design.”
“Keep showing this growth and communication, and we’ll have to practice again for another baby.”
“Don’t tempt me, amor.”
He took Catalina to school himself the following day. Sometimes, there wasn’t time, but today he would take an uber to the precinct before going to his office, so he decided a later start would be okay. He liked holding her hand and walking to the door with her. She’d picked his shirt that day. Daddy! Wear blue like my dress. He obliged. Catalina often picked the colors of his clothes now. Rafael had started asking her to when he’d felt almost invincible every time he saw the pink dots of the first tie she’d picked on a hard day. He was tired, and when he saw it, he could hear Catalina. It matches the flowers in my window, papi! That was all it took to bring him back to center, keep him from over caffeinating and lashing out like he would have when he was an ADA.
“Papi, can we get hot chocolate?” she asked with big eyes as he stopped at the coffee cart. He lifted a brow and looked at the vendor, grateful when he nodded.
“Of course, mija,” he smiled, motioning for him to keep the change. “Are you cold?”
“It’s cold, but I just want to have a drink too!”
“You do?” he laughed, adding cream to cool it enough for her to sip. He’d learned his lesson in a Starbucks weeks ago.
“Yeah, just like you!”
He was glad the cup was in Cat’s hand because the affection and contentedness hit him like a punch in the gut, and he had to brace himself. The fact his daughter loved him and wanted him around was one thing. The implication she wanted to be like him had him lean down, wrapping her in a hug, pressing a kiss to her temple. It also made him feel guilty for taking Wheatley’s case, no matter the reason. If Catalina knew, she wouldn’t be proud, would she? The same for when she learned about the Householder case. Or why papi wasn’t there at first. But right now, standing on the street, she wanted to be like her papi, and he decided that if Wheatley needed an attorney again, he wouldn’t touch the case.
“I love you, mija.”
“I love you too, papi.”
He offered her his hand again, and Cat took it, her hot chocolate in her other hand. Each time he sipped his own coffee, Catalina took a sip of hers. He was grateful for this morning. First, he’d tell Wheatley he would represent him, then he’d go to talk to Liv. He didn’t want to. He wished he could take the case and not have to deal with the ramifications or somehow beam an understanding of why he took the case into her mind. It didn’t feel as foreign to walk Catalina to her classroom. She held out her empty cup, and he took it, kneeling in front of her.
“Have a good day, Cat,” he grinned, and she kissed his cheek.
“You too, daddy. Tell Noah’s mama I said hi.” He hugged her, choosing not to acknowledge the upcoming meeting. Once she was with her friends, he made his way out carefully. The precinct was just as painful as he expected. Seeing Elliot face to face certainly didn’t help. He was blinded by grief, and Olivia was overwhelmed by her loyalty to her partner. Rafael couldn’t pretend to blame Stabler. If someone had killed Rebecca, he couldn’t fathom what he would do. It would be dark, impulsive, and reckless, especially if Catalina were an adult. He stood outside, fumbling with his phone, firing off a text.
Do you have lunch duty?
Not today. Need me?
If you can.
If you come straight here, you could get a visitor’s pass and have lunch with me.
Deal.
Rafael waved down a cab; it would be faster than an Uber. Rebecca called the office to let them know Rafael would be getting a visitor’s pass. Meredith, the grandmotherly secretary, made her delight to meet the mysterious Rafael apparent. In fact, Rebecca knew he was there when she’d gotten the students to lunch and answered her ringing classroom phone.
“He’s handsome,” Meredith cooed.
“Are you doing this in front of him, or does he get to think you’re not?”
“He’s filling out the form, don’t worry. Say hi to your girlfriend.” Meredith angled the speaker to the man, who sighed and said a gentle hello. Rafael’s cheeks were a deep red as he placed the sticker on his chest.
“Thanks for the heads up.”
“He’s well dressed too. And polite. I like him.”
“I’m glad to hear he has your approval,” Rebecca chuckled, leaning against her open door frame so she could watch to see him turn the corner. She gave him a wave, mouthing an apology.
“Enjoy your cute little date.” Rebecca rolled her eyes as she hung up, kissing Rafael softly.
“You charmed Meredith.”
“Would you have run off if I didn’t?” he chuckled, setting a bag of Chinese takeout on Rebecca’s desk.
“You brought lunch, so nah. How’s the trial starting?”
“Liv doesn’t understand,” he said softly, chewing as he looked out the classroom window. “Between how blinded she was by Elliot and the NYPD’s missteps, she hates me, Becs.”
“He did try to kill her.”
“Allegedly.”
“He allegedly tried to kill her.”
“And if I don’t take this case? Another defense attorney desperate to discredit Elliot? Desperate to discredit her? They’d insinuate the most salacious, tawdry-”
“I know, Raf. But, protecting her may not end up how you want. Because it also means protecting someone who hurt her. This is going to end your friendship.”
His brow furrowed as he set his mouth into a straight line and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. He didn’t think to sit on Rebecca’s desk or in the rocking chair set up on a carpet. Instead, he dropped into the nearest chair. It was small, made of green plastic, and she’d have laughed at him if he didn’t look so wholly miserable.
“Am I a bad person? For doing this?”
‘You know as well as I do it’s not black and white.” She dropped to kneel beside him, and when she hugged him, he let her pull him from the terrible plastic chair, falling to sit on the floor as she held him. He didn’t like feeling small for something he’d chosen but still believed he was right. Even Wheatley deserved a fair trial and representation. If he could defend Olivia and provide for his daughter while providing that, he would. That didn’t stop him from letting Rebecca hold him near, his torso across her lap and head on her chest as she smoothed his hair.
“Do you ever feel like this?” He asked gently, looking up at her.
“A little,” she murmured, kissing his temple. “When the neglected or abused students come through, I have to focus on making them achieve academically instead of just being there for them. And when I was pregnant, I always wondered if it was fair to Cat. We were lucky and had the apartment after mom died. But I wondered if it was fair to her or you. Then defending you when people would try to say it was good I had her alone. I think you just want good to be more definable. Not to hurt anyone good. But good can be just as painful as bad.”
“I’m supposed to be the wise one here. Something about age and wisdom.”
“You’re just a different wise. And you’re finally okay.”
“I don’t want to go to the office.”
“You have to.”
“I’m taking Friday off. That’ll be my remote day.”
“That’s not an off day. You'll still work.”
“But I’ll be able to play hooky. At least a little.”
“Mr. Never missed a day in my life is playing hooky?”
“You could join me. Stay in bed all day. I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”
“Friday is the class winter holiday party, mister. And last day before break.”
“Need any volunteers? Can the teacher’s fiance help?” He’d let himself relax now, and though his back would regret it, he found himself laying with his head on her lap on the reading carpet where they’d settled.
“If Meredith gives you another pass.”
“She called me handsome, well dressed, and polite. I think I can swing it.”
“Would you even come in for decorating?”
“Of course. Plus, it’s a half-day for you. We’d already promised mami she could spend the afternoon with Cat. What if I take you to lunch? But somewhere nice. Not just grabbing something.”
“I’d like that a lot, Raf,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
“Thank you. I’m grounded now. I’ll never stop thanking you for that.”
