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The Burden Of Proof

'When the NYPD fails to act in multiple SA cases, journalist!reader is there to investigate, but when the assaults become murder, (y/n) is faced with a dilemma and her path crosses with the SVU squad and ADA Barba who is less than happy with her involvement'

AN: Three chapters in three days? My keyboard is on fire. That being said, here's chapter seven, I was low key kicking my feet and twirling my hair writing this. TLDR, Rafael is a gentleman, reader is a lover girl, Olivia is their number one shipper. Happy reading! :)

TW: Mentions of r*pe, drugs, alcohol, some heavy petting and allusions to sex

Previous part

Chapter 7

If anyone had asked you to predict how that evening would have played out, you were certain that whatever you could hazard a guess at, would be a far cry from what actually transpired. Everywhere you turned was pandemonium, you were grateful for the stillness of the car, Rafael’s presence, the only thing grounding you to reality. Adrenaline pumped through your body, setting your limbs on fire. Despite the seriousness of the situation happening beyond the interior of the SUV, a small part of you was euphoric; the feeling of chipping away at rock and finding gold. Rafael, who hadn’t said a word to you since his outburst, clucked his tongue.

“I guess I owe you an apology.” He said it without looking at you, surveying the action taking place just beyond the door. You felt bolder then, shooting him a self-satisfied grin.

“I get the feeling you don’t normally apologise for much.” He huffed at you, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip.

“I don’t normally have a reason to.”

“And yet, is this your second or third time with me?” You were only trying to push his buttons a little bit. Judging by the sharp intake of breath, it had worked.

“I can always withdraw my offer.” His voice was stern but the twinkle in his eye told you a different story.

“No, no, I accept… And I want to apologize too.” He turned his head to you then, searching your face, waited for you to continue. “I… This was reckless. This whole thing is just so...?” You waved your hand about aimlessly, at a loss for words.

“If I had a dime for every time one of my detectives, for every time I got too close to a case, well… Noone is judging you for trying to do the right thing.” You let his words sink in. “This time things went well, next time you might not be so lucky, it’s not worth getting yourself hurt, you can’t help anyone if something bad happens to you.” He was looking at you so earnestly it made your heart clench.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were going soft on me counsellor.”

“Would you prefer it if I called you an impulsive dumbass instead?”

“There he is.” He chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling. Then, he reached for your hands, enveloping them in his, the contact warmed you to your core.

“I meant what I said (y/n)” You could feel the familiar pull reinstating itself between you. Less fiery this time though, it was sweeter, more wholesome. The moment was stolen from you as the car door pulled open. You and the ADA jumped apart like guilty teenagers, it was Olivia. You didn’t miss the smug look that crossed her features.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” You also didn’t miss the way Rafael rolled his eyes either.

“No, what’s the 411?”

“The vic is Alicia Garcia, they’ve took her to Mercy General, Carisi and Rollins are with her now. We couldn’t get anything out of her though, whatever they drugged her with is hardcore, she was completely out of it.”

“And the two kids?”

“Alex Martinez and Cole Mills. They work at the Lucky Cat, a bartender and a runner.” You exhaled sharply; Olivia shot you a look. Your mind was doing hurdles. The bar staff? It made sense, you’d heard of cases in the past of bartenders caught spiking drinks, some sick power play.

“(Y/n)?” She could see the gears spinning.

“If it was the bar staff then how do you explain the spread of attacks over eight venues?” She took a moment to ponder.

“Maybe these guys are job hoppers? It’s not unheard of in the industry.” You shook your head, no, the timeline didn’t make sense for that to be the case.

“What’s your theory?” Rafael asked you.

“If these are the guys… Then either most of the rapes aren’t connected to the ones that happened here, or there’s something else going on, something bigger.” Your heart had dropped into your throat. There was no best-case scenario here.

“We can’t remand them until Monday morning at the earliest, throw them in the tombs and see what you can dig up.” Rafael said, “Call me when you find something.” Olivia nodded.

“I will, CSU is on the way, there’s not much else for us to do here. (Y/n), I’ll drop you home, okay? It’s been an intense night; you need to get some rest.” You pulled the jacket tighter over your frame and nodded. Rest was the last thing you wanted, but you knew she was right, the adrenaline would wear off eventually and you were already running on fumes.

You didn’t remember much of the drive, distracted thoughts about the past three hours playing on loop. Everything had changed, the theories and ideas you’d had for months flipped on their head. Your body was still tingling with energy by the time you pulled up at your apartment building. Olivia offered to walk you up to your door, but Rafael interrupted, volunteering to do it himself.

“Wait here a second.” He said, when you got the front door of the building. He turned on his heel and leant through the window of the car. He and Olivia had a quick, whispered conversation, Rafael nodded and stepped back. You watched in wonder as she started the car and drove off down the street. When he returned to your side, you cocked your head in question.

“If it’s okay with you, I thought I could sit with you for a while, you’ve had a stressful night, I just want to-“

“I’d like that.” You cut him off, relishing the shy smile he shot you.

…

It was a spur of the moment decision, one he knew Liv would rib him for later, but he was only half lying when he said he wanted to make sure (y/n) was okay. The evening had veered further off kilter then any of them could have imagined. He could still feel the dull irritation in the bottom of his chest at her carelessness, but it was overwhelmed by every other emotion that had followed. The horror of what they had almost witnessed, sympathy for the poor woman who probably still had no idea what she’d been saved from, tenderness for the journalist, but also a swell of pride at what she had unwittingly led them to. Things were about to take an interesting turn, that was for sure.

(Y/n) led him up the stairs, it was almost a play for play recap of the previous night. It won’t end like last night he mused to himself. She slid her key in the lock and beckoned him over the threshold. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected her corner of the city to look like, but he was surprised by how small it was. A tiny living area that was met by an even smaller kitchen, a narrow hallway off to the side that he suspected led to her bathroom and bedroom. She must have caught him staring because her cheeks grew pink.

“Sorry, I know it’s not much, but it’s rent controlled, and the neighbours are quiet so…” He shook his head, smiled at her.

“It’s… cute.” She shoved his arm playfully.

“And where do you live? The Ritz?”

“Something like that.” She rolled her eyes, throwing her purse down on the kitchen counter.

“You want something to drink? I have bourbon.”

“I’m more of scotch guy, but I’ll bite.”

“Sorry, I would’ve asked Olivia to stop off at a liquor store if I’d have known you were going to be so picky.” He chuckled smoothly, his back to her. He was studying the room. It was small but had a cheerful, lived in quality. There were several overflowing bookcases, a colourful array of art prints framed along the walls. A plush sofa, boxed in by lamps and house plants. Everywhere smelled like her perfume. He traced the mantle with his fingers, picking up a framed photo of her and another woman who he vaguely recognised from his late-night Instagram scrolling.

“My sister.” She said, making him jump slightly. He placed the photograph back in its spot and turned, to face her. His heart stopped and he had to fight to stop his jaw from dropping open.

(Y/n) had at some point removed the bulky NYPD jacket that Amaro had given her and a small part of him was thankful that she’d been concealed beneath it for the majority of the evening. He willed himself to avert his eyes, to be a gentleman, if his Mami could see him now she’d smack him around the back of the head. But as it turned out, Rafael was a red-blooded man, and she was the most infuriating, beautiful woman he’d ever laid his eyes on. His pants were becoming uncomfortably strained, and a coil of jealousy was tightening inside of him at the thought of her being ogled in that dingey little club, by sad little boys who didn’t deserve the honour.

“Earth to Barba.” (Y/n) chided, waving the glass of bourbon under his nose. He coughed, trying to play off the fact that he had been blatantly gawking at her. He took the glass from her hand, electricity jolting through him at the brief contact her skin made against his. He took a generous swig, trying to think of the least arousing things possible. Rafael Barba was well and truly screwed.

…

There was something delicious about the way he had momentarily lost control, eyeing you like a starved man. Something even better about the mortification that settled over his features, desperately trying to save face. You resisted the urge to mess with him, just about and took a sip of the wine you had poured for yourself, moving to the sofa. You tucked your legs underneath you.

“Make yourself at home.” You said, patting the space beside you. He actually looked nervous, despite his obvious attempts to conceal it. You were flattered, big bad Barba, king of the courtroom, reduced to red faced bashfulness. You couldn’t help the little smirk that twitched at your lips. “Barba… Rafael, is everything okay?” He forced a laugh, took a gulp of his drink and settled down into the cushions.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, long night y’know” His voice was husky, the heat rolling off of his body was tangible. You reached over, placing a hand on his leg, relishing the way his breath hitched.

“Sorry, I guess I kinda blew your Saturday night up.” His eyes were staring intently at your hand, they travelled up your arm, stopping momentarily at your chest, sending a bolt of warmth to your core, before settling on your face.

“A slight hiccup, besides, I wasn’t doing anything exciting.”

“Oh? How was the DA’s finest spending his weekend?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“That’s why I asked.” His eyes glinted mischievously, part of you thought that he probably got off on your little tete-a-tete’s. He drained the last of his bourbon.

“Refill?”

“Please” When you rose, walking to the kitchen, you made sure to add a little extra sway to your hips. It was cruel and you had strayed far beyond the realm of professionalism, but you didn’t care anymore. The adrenaline was making you impulsive, it seemed. Mixed in with weeks of building tension between you and the ADA. That and his close proximity making you realize just how touch starved you had been.

You had your back turned, so you didn’t notice him as he followed you into the kitchen. But the space was narrow, and you could feel his presence behind you. You didn’t react, but your heart was hammering in your chest, a flush working its way up your neck. Rafael reached out from behind you, taking the bottle from your hand, placing it on the counter. He had caged you in between his arms and the worktop. His breath was like fire, setting your skin ablaze. Your thighs clenched desperately.

“We shouldn’t.” His words were like velvet, whispered against the delicate whorl of your ear. “It’s a conflict of interest.”

“It is.”

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

“And if I don’t want you to?” He practically growled as he spun you around to face him, his body pressing into you. You stared at each other, the tension between you was like a wave about to crest. He buried a hand in your hair and paused, like he was waiting for permission. You nodded and then his lips were on yours, the wave finally crashing. His mouth was white hot against yours; you could taste the smokiness of the bourbon and something else, something that was uniquely him. His free hand was on you, desperately pawing at the hem of your top, skimming the exposed skin. You whimpered and he used the opportunity to slip his tongue inside of you. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing into you, the intensity was making you light-headed. Rafael broke the kiss.

“No tienes idea de lo que me haces sentir.” He groaned, his fingers, feather light, danced over your swollen lips. You struggled to follow his words, you weren’t fluent. His eyes were blown with lust, looking at him like this had you weak at the knees, body gently trembling. He reached down again, gently grazing your lips with his own, sighing. He pulled away, much to your disappointment. You didn’t know whether to love or hate the neediness you felt in your core.

“Raf-?” You muttered, the question evident in your tone. He took your face in his hands gently.

“I want to… but not like this.”

“I don’t understand.” Your brows knitted together, your stomach swooping uneasily. You could feel tendrils of anxiety pulling at you, had you done something wrong? He kissed the furrow, smiling at you, sincere, pure.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you (y/n), it’s been a tough night, I don’t want to do something you’ll regret in the morning.”

“I’m a big girl; I can make decisions for myself.” You were only half arguing. You were frustrated, of course, you wanted him to bend you over and take you right there, next to the cookbooks and wine rack. But the other part of you, the sensible part was soaring. You couldn’t remember the last time a man had been so noble towards you, if a man had ever respected you like Rafael was in that moment. He kissed you again, chastely. You knew in that moment that you were well and truly in deep. Fuck.

“How about, I order us some takeout, you take a shower, and we can watch TV?” He proposed, rubbing your arms gently.

“Okay, but I’m choosing what we eat and what we watch.” He looked ready to counter but thought better of it.

“Deal.”

…

The next morning, you woke up tucked into your bed, pale yellow sunshine warming your face. You didn’t remember falling asleep in your room. You searched through memories of the night before. You had showered, like Rafael said and changed into one of your nicer pairs of pyjamas, wanting to make a bit of effort. When you re-entered the main room, he was sprawled out on your sofa, a pizza box sitting untouched on the coffee table. You remembered eating with him, eventually curling into his side as you watched trash TV, his fingers combing through your hair. You figured you must have fallen asleep there and he carried you to your bedroom, ever the gentleman. You wondered if he was still in the apartment, but you didn’t need to go searching because the answer lay in a folded-up piece of paper, tucked neatly under a glass of water. His neat handwriting read:

(Y/n) I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, so I’ve headed back home. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take you for lunch? We have a lot to talk about. Message me, if you’d like to. All my best, Rafael.

You threw yourself back down onto your pillows, unable to fight the grin, splitting your face or the butterflies dancing in your stomach.

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