Quinn adjusts the sling over her shoulder as she rides the elevator up to her office. Even though she’s been out of work for two weeks her shoulder remains slinged. She’s only had a few PT appointments thus far anyway. The old elevator squeaks as it travels between the floors, the sound bouncing through the all but empty courthouse; it's 6:30 in the morning so the courthouse is quiet. When she’s let out on the floor of her’s and Rafael’s offices she makes a beeline for hers. She quickly unlocks the door and flips the light switch; diving into her work before people start showing up over the next few hours.
She metaphorically blows dust off of her email inbox as she’s finally granted access back into the servers. Hundreds of emails assault her eyes, she’s quick to make an inventory of the important ones. The most pressing being ones surrounding the Rudnick case, a shiver cascades through her body just at the sight of the emails.
An hour later the courthouse is livelier, Carmen has just arrived and started the coffee pot in Barba’s office. The precious scent of the brewing liquid calls to her, looking at her stained coffee mug on her desk and back to his empty office she sighs and grabs the mug. Reaching the coffee pot she holds the mug in her slinged hand and brings the coffee pot closer to the mug to pour. The mug is half full when the growing weight of the mug becomes too heavy for her hand. As she slides the mug onto the countertop a hand appears over hers from behind. Looking over her shoulder she’s met with Rafael Barba’s five o’clock shadow, this Rudnick debacle is bad, she thinks to herself.
“I’ve got it,” he finishes pouring then hands the mug to her, handle first. “Welcome back,” he says once he’s sure she’s got a good handle on the mug.
“Thank you,” bringing the cup to her lips she takes a small sip of the beautifully bitter liquid.
“You saw the emails about Rudnick?” she nods into the steam emerging from the mug. “It’s a shit show,” he pours himself his own mug and takes a swig. “A monster like that, right there, this whole time.”
“The bail hearing is today, right?” he nods, “Mind if I tag along?” he shrugs again then turns toward his desk, wordlessly she excuses herself and moves to catch up as much as she can for the hearing.
Her welcome back visit from Mr. McCoy is tense, he’s cautious of her state of wellbeing but understands her need to keep working. “You need to ease back into things; I know what’s going on right now is tempting but slow-.”
“Heading to the bail hearing, you ready?” Barba emerges from his office with great fervor, briefcase in hand, eyes on his notepad. Quinn’s sapphire irises bounce between the DA and her co counsel, waiting for someone to say something. Barba’s eyes widen greatly at the sight of a silver head of hair sitting in her office, the older attorney turns to his loudmouthed junior. “Good afternoon Sir,” Barba manages to spit out.
“She’ll be right behind you Mr. Barba. But Ms. Brady is under strict instructions to ease her way back into work. Is that understood?” pointed eyes at Barba who nods and struts off. Mr. McCoy turns back to Quinn.
“Is that understood Ms. Brady?” Quinn nods rapidly.
Her ride down the elevator to the courtroom feels like it takes forever, her fingertips tingle with an electricity like hum as she inches closer and closer to the feeling of being in a courtroom again. She arrives just in time for Dr. Rudnick to enter the room, escorted by court officers. She makes her beeline to Barba, whispering to him over the bar.
“You’re gonna ask for remand right?” she lets her hair fall into her eyes to use as a shield before looking in the doctor’s direction, who unfortunately sees right through it.
“Oh Ms. Brady, I was so glad to hear you were okay after that unfortunate incident!” he calls across the courtroom, despite Rita Calhoun attempting to shut him up. Quinn’s eyes move to Barba’s face and remain there even as Dr. Rudnick continues to speak. “A gunshot to the shoulder could result in serious injury, but given your quick turn around in recovery I think we can rule out anything more serious than a minor brachial plexus injury and other superficial-”
“Rita, shut your client up,” Rafael rolls his eyes while Sonny appears at Quinn’s side, standing in between her and Rudnick - trying to block the doctor’s view of the recovering attorney. Even with the personal body guard her shoulders being to creep up with tension, her’s and Rafael’s eyes lock and stay like that as Rudnick continues to speak, “how awful it was for that to happen in open court, in a courtroom not so far from this one if I’m not mista-.”
“Doctor, shut up!” Sonny’s Staten Island accent barks, which seems to do the trick. “Welcome back to the circus Counselor,” he smiles and leads her to sit on the bench next to him; he makes sure to leave space between them so he doesn't bump her injured arm.
An enraged hush falls over the SVU squad and company as Dr. Rudnick is only required to surrender his passport and is released pending trial. Sonny uses the bar to to pull himself up to a standing position and bark at Barba. “Counselor, what the hell?” Quinn uses her good arm to push herself up from the bench as well.
“What do you want me to do? You heard the judge?”
That retort stalls Carisi just long enough for Liv to appear with orders.
“Carisi, I want you and Rollins to keep close tabs on Rudnick the best you can without violating his rights,” her pointer finger bounces between the two aforementioned detectives.
“Yeah that’s a great idea, just do your best to keep him in sight and we’ll prepare to put on as airtight a trial as we can,” Quinn tries to catch and hold Barba’s eye contact even though his eyes are red with rage due to the judge’s ruling. She dips her head and finally catches his eyes. “Right, Rafael?” he nods, she watches as his shoulders fall from their heightened position by his ears. Her gaze is enough to snap him out of it.
“Yes, right. Let’s go do that,” not bidding farewell to the squad, he carries his brief case in one hand and leads Quinn away with his other hand gently ghosting on the small of her back.
The whirring of chopper blades jar Quinn’s exhausted body far before the rapid winds created by those blades do. The lights shining from the aircraft are blinding but she’s startled enough to hold her pistol up in front of her. SO1 Li’s head is in her lap - she’s not even sure if he’s still alive at this point.
Her hand shakes under the weight of the weapon as she squints to see her next enemy. Then, a helmet that looks much like her damaged one crosses her field of vision. The person standing in front of her is yelling at her.
“I can’t hear you! My ears!” she motions to the trail of dried blood running from both her ears. The man turns to his left and shows her the right sleeve of his shirt showing her the American Flag worn proudly on the uniform. Her savior reaches out to grab her hand, just as they’re about to touch -
"Holy shit." Quinn’s eyes shoot open as the pain meds start to wear off and she wakes up from sedation. The burning sensation crawls down her arm and across her chest like someone had lit a match under her skin.
"Hey doll, when did you join the Secret Service?" Sonny asks. He’s sitting in the chair next to her hospital bed, magazine in his lap. She also can see the tupperware that’s been placed on the table at the end of the bed, she’s sure that’s a Mrs. Carisi special she’s heard legends of.
Quinn raises her right hand to rub her face, sighing loudly; flashes of memories jump through her brain that make the pain feel like it’s intensifying. She pushes the nasal cannula further up her nose to attempt tocounteract the scent of burn pit smoke that she caught. There's a knock at the door, it's the doctor.
"Hi Ms. Brady, you gave everyone quite the scare with your heroics. I'm here to talk about your treatment moving forward."
"Okay. Sonny, give me a few minutes," the he nods and leaves the room. The doctor closes the door behind them and stands closer to her bedside. "Okay so what's up doc?"
The doctor chuckles, "Well, you were unbelievably lucky. The bullet was through and through, damage was generally mild. You'll have some PT, possibly a follow-up surgery. You'll be in a sling for 6 weeks at least. This is going to be a long journey," the doctor is curt, and readministers a new dose of pain meds.
“I can do PT, I’ve done it before,” Quinn admits.
“I know, I wasn’t able to pull any of your medical records but my request was flagged so I got a call from one of your former surgeons in Germany,” the doctor, Dr. Sarah Stein (Quinn finally was able to read her badge) admits. Quinn perks up at the mention of Germany, eyes widening. “Yes, I also spoke to your brother as well. I assured him that you are stable and we expect you to stay stable,” Quinn let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, that means Mac isn’t coming back to New York then.
“Okay, thank you Dr. Stein,” Dr. Stein smiles politely and then leaves.
Sonny walks in the door as Stein makes her way out, but he can already tell that Quinn is getting drowsy from the medications already. She slowly blinks, like her eyes are physically getting heavier and heavier.
"Amaro's down the hall, Amanda and Liv are in there with him," he informs her anyway; considering she wasn’t the only one who got shot.
"How is he?" she asks.
"He'll be okay, long recovery, but fine; same as you," he shrugs, she looks around and notices the largely vacant and sterile room. She’s fighting the effects of the drugs but can still notice that there are no flowers like you would expect to get after being in the hospital, only the bag from the Carisi household.
"No visitors from my office?" Sonny shakes his head and he watches as she basically nods off mid conversation. "You need to get some rest Quinn," he reaches forward to pull her blankets up to her chin, she nods and shimmies down in her bed to get more comfortable. She’s out as soon as she closes her eyes, Sonny quietly slips out of the room.
Rafael rushes up to him as soon as he is outside of the room, gasping slightly. “I’m here, how is she?”
“You just missed her, she got some more meds and passed out. But I think she’s fine. Well, as fine as she could be for getting shot,” Sonny says and pats his mentor on the shoulder.
Sonny could tell that Rafael had been shaken by the shooting, but what he couldn’t tell was that in the three hours since it had happened, Rafael had spent two of those hours in a boiling hot shower, methodically scrubbing any atom of Quinn from his skin. If he had a fireplace in his apartment, he would have burned the suit too.
“Hey, Nick’s mom just got here. I’m going to head home to Noah,” Liv’s voice joins the pair. “Sonny, you should go home too.”
Her eyes fall to Rafael, who stays unmoved, eyes glued to Quinn’s hospital room door. She observes how his brow is furrowed and his hands, which hang at his sides, are trembling just ever so slightly.
As the squad leaves Rafael slips into Quinn’s room and takes the seat Sonny had been sitting in when she woke up.
***
"Sonny, Quinn, come in please," Liv opens the door to her apartment, the squad and its two ADAs are celebrating Noah's official adoption, just a week after the Johnny D. trial spectacle.
"Thank you so much for having me over, I really needed to get out of the house. The DA has me on house arrest," Quinn thanks, adjusting her sling slightly across her chest, Carisi pats her shoulder slightly and leaves her to her own devices.
"Of course, I'm so glad you could make it," Liv smiles sweetly. "Drinks and snacks are in the kitchen, please make yourself at home." Quinn crosses the floor, to stumble upon Mr. Barba who is drinking from a glass of wine.
"Mr. Barba, it’s been a few weeks," she looks up to meet his green eyes,
"Ms. Brady, I’ve been busy picking up your slack,” he grunts but the playful glint in his eyes give him away. Green irises trail from her blue ones to her slinged arm. “Can I get you a drink?”
"That would be great, thank you." Barba pours her a glass of red wine and hands it to her.
"So how have you been? Since you've been out of the office?" He asks, taking in her features since it's been a few weeks. She's thinner somehow, probably from the pain medications and the hospital stay, her freckles are now even more present with her somehow paler skin. The dark circles under her eyes are only lightly apparent under her makeup. Her ginger locks are down, un-styled, due to her temporary incapacitation. And the ginger isn’t as rich, the golden hues it normally held have dulled; probably the weight loss.
"It’s been okay. The DA locked me out of my accounts so I haven't been able to work at all. Sonny's been nice enough to bring a few meals over so I don't starve," she giggles, she also does a brief inventory of her co-counsel, he's the most dressed down she's seen him yet. A polo under a sports coat is Rafael Barba's version of dressed down apparently. She had settled on a daffodil yellow, cap-sleeved dress; so she didn't have much to say about that on that front. Before Rafael can respond Liv walks by with baby Noah on her hip. The smile that is stamped on Quinn's face irradiates her being, almost instantly returning the bright golden sparkle to her red hair.
"Oh my goodness, Noah, it is so nice to finally meet you. Look at those cheeks!" Quinn's tough persona is quick to slip when she makes eye contact with the baby.
"Oh, so you like kids?" Liv asks, honestly in shock at the reaction.
“Yeah, I do,” Quinn moves her wine glass from her right hand to her slung left hand to tap the boy lightly on the nose.
“That’s nice to know at least one of our ADAs does, Barba froze the one time I asked him to hold Noah.”
“How many painkillers did you take this morning?” Barba eyes her skeptically from her side.
“Just the prescribed amount Mr. Babra; I’m not always a heartless bitch.”
Quinn sits at counsel table while Barba questions the witness on the stand, one of Johnny D.'s former captives. But the air is thick with tension, the high stakes hanging heavily.
Even with the disagreement the pair had just a few weeks ago, they managed to pull together a trial that gave the state of New York a fighting chance at a conviction - granted all of the remaining witnesses remained alive.
The direct examination is going well, Quinn is taking notes, and checking off information that they needed to get on the record when there's shouting from the gallery of the courtroom. Barba spins to look at the women yelling and takes a few steps toward the table, Quinn turns to her left as well to look as the judge bangs her gavel attempting to restore order.
As she turns Johnny D. flips the defense table and grabs the court officer's weapon, holding the officer at gunpoint.
On instinct Quinn stands up and crosses the floor in between the jury box and the witness stand, going to stand in front of the witness. Her nude kitten heels allow her to move quickly. She passes behind Barba who has his hands up.
The movement of Quinn and the judge stepping down from the bench draws Johnny D.'s attention, Quinn spots his aim for the judge. Her eyes narrow, Quinn leaps in front of the judge, catching the bullet with her left shoulder. The thud of her body on the floor is dull as she lands on her right side and rolls to her back, her navy blue blazer flared open and showcasing the growing crimson stain on her baby blue blouse.
Johnny D. slips out of the side door and Nick Amaro follows, despite Liv's calls not to. Shots ring out for seconds then all is silent, except for the panicked public running from the courtroom.
Quinn groans and reaches up to touch her shoulder, she brings her hand into view. It's covered in crimson red blood, she rubs her fingers to her palm in amazement, well, shock. Sitting up her hand moves to reach back to her shoulder again the face of Rafael Barba is in front of hers. His voice sounds frantic, but echoed. She stares up at him; confused.
His words aren’t registering with her, like there’s a disconnect between her ears and brain; but, ironically, for once there’s no ringing in her ears. She starts to try to stand up but he holds her down by the top of her right shoulder.
He's panicking, all he can see at first is that she was shot in the chest and there's blood. A lot of blood. His three thousand-dollar suit is a lost cause, he's kneeling in her blood, but he doesn't care. He can feel his pant legs sticking to his knees thanks to the warm liquid.
"I’ve been shot" she states, holding her hand up to him, he blinks incredulously as his hands swiftly move to pull his tie off his neck. He moves her blood cover hand down and out of his face, but thanks god that she’s talking - her brain is working. He pushes her to lay back down on her back.
"Yeah, I got that," he grunts and folds the blue checkered tie quickly into a square small enough to cover her wound. He almost chuckles at the thought of their conversation last night about matching in court, there was something about blue being a more sympathetic color and that they needed the jury to sympathize with their witnesses today.
Truthfully he only agreed to wear blue because she was so passionate about the theory.
He presses down hard to stop the bleeding with his right hand, she shrieks in pain. The sound of her scream firmly etches itself in his brain, he’s sure it’ll haunt him for the rest of his life. Even though he’s trying to stop the bleeding, blood continues to fill the floor under her; he doesn’t know where it’s coming from. She squeezes her eyes tightly before speaking breathlessly.
“You need to check to see if it's through and through,” her blue eyes bore into his green ones, she reaches her uninjured hand up to tap his chest lightly as if to say you have to do this. The blood she had on her hand leaves a handprint shaped strain over his heart. He sucks in a deep breath before grasping under her shoulder to roll her onto her side, another shriek escapes her mouth.
"I'm sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry," like he’s begging, using his left hand he reaches to the back of her shoulder, where his middle and pointer fingers slip into the exit wound. "Shit, okay, hold on, help is coming," he curses, looking up to see the aftermath of the chaos. The blood soaks through his tie so he pushes harder but this time she nods off. "Hey! You've got to stay awake!" he quips, her eyes shoot back open momentarily before she fades again. He can feel his heartbeat racing, surely someone could see the blood pumping through the carotid artery in his neck. He pulls his eyes from her face to turn back to the group of first responders still standing in the gallery.
"I need paramedics now! Gunshot to the shoulder, she's in and out of consciousness!" He shouts, springing people into action.
“Come on, come on,” he closes his eyes while he waits, getting tired of seeing the blood, her blood. It's seconds before paramedics are at their sides, her blood draping Rafael's hands like some twisted form of velvet, he keeps a hand on her even after the paramedics take over applying pressure to her wound. He rises with them as they raise the stretcher to wheel her out. He follows until Liv stops him.
"Amaro's got GSWs to the knee and abdomen. How is Brady?" Liv's hands are covered in blood like Rafael's. He reaches up to rub a hand over his face but stops when he's confronted by the red liquid again. He turns his hand over to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand, which is clean. The back of his hand rattles against his forehead, shaking from the trauma he’s just experienced; Liv notices the falter in his demeanor. Liv also notices the handprint splotch on his shirt, directly over his heart - that’s a sick metaphor.
"Uh, GSW to the shoulder. She lost a lot of blood," he looks over his shoulder to see the rather large pool desecrating the floor of the well. The well of the courtroom so many attorneys and judges hold sacred now stained with her pain. The historic floors of the New York City courthouse will likely hold onto that color for a period of time. He turns back to her, remembering the sick bastard that was responsible for this pandemonium. "So, Johnny D.?"
"Dead before he hit the ground, Amaro got him."
"That's good, but he took the easy way out," Ed Tucker says, approaching the two. "He wasn't looking to get out of here alive."
A/N: so this is the first chapter i ever wrote of Stare Decisis! so glad we finally made it to this point!!
“So we’re taking Johnny D. to trial and you’re just now telling me that Noah is his biological son?” Quinn’s eyes are wide, a blaze of fire glowing behind them.
“I only found out recently, and I wasn’t at liberty to discuss it,” Barba’s hands are up by his ears in defense. The charged encounter is happening across the thoroughfare in their shared office spaces, each attorney standing in the threshold of their office.
“He is having people killed in a manner that would make Noah a target and you didn’t think I should know?” pale fingers comb through warm hued hair, the pulsepoint in her throat bounces erratically under her skin. He moves to his office and sits at his desk with her hot on his heels.
“He’s not going to kill his own son,” Barba laughs it off.
“He killed the mother of his child! Literally set her on fire!” her voice raises an octave and she takes two steps closer to his desk. The slightest whiff of diesel fuel dances through her subconscious.
“It was trusted to me in a personal capacity. It wasn’t my secret to tell,” his nonchalant attitude only angers her more, steam practically blows out of her ears. Two more steps and she throws her hands down on his desk.
“You do not get to send us into a trial without telling me all of the information,” the flush in her neck has reached her jawline by now, glowing blue eyes pierce his skin as she dares him to brush it off again. They stay there, frozen, daring the other one to speak. “You do not get to send me in there to be blindsided while you hold all of the cards,” this time it's a whisper through gritted teeth. Her hands push her off of the desk, backing up she crosses her arms over her chest while continuing to stare him down.
“So you get to keep secrets and I don’t?” he never backs down from wanting to have the last word.
“My secrets aren’t at issue on the merits in a felony case we’re currently prosecuting. Use your brain,” she spits then spins to exit.
She slams her office door behind her, the wham of the wooden door in the wooden frame causes her to jump, eyes snapping shut at the sound. Upon opening her eyes again she’s met with a view of not her office but of the camp in Iraq, smoke from the burn pit flows through her nostrils while her feet sink into the sand. Blinking again she finds herself back in the office.
“God dammit!” she shouts, hands tugging at her hair begging her to snap out of it. Her hands being unsuccessful remove themselves from her hair and instantly reach out to one of the chairs on the other side of her desk. Her ragged breath doesn’t allow her time to think it through, she flips the chair through the air with great speed.
The sound of the wood clashing onto the floor releases something within her. Her eyes set on the second chair, which is flying into the wall before she can blink. White hot rage warms her body as she moves to her bookshelf next, pulling book by book from the shelf to discard them on the floor. She’s halfway through the shelf when a hand appears on her shoulder. She grabs the wrist attached to it and spins its owner face first into the bookshelf, holding their wrist to the middle of their back.
“Quinn, what the hell?” the male voice breaks her trance. Blinking around she notices the destruction she’s just participated in. Books lay open and strewn through the room, the chairs she’s thrown are upturn and stacked against a wall. “Quinn,” her eyes trace her arm from the shoulder down to her hand that is holding him in place.
“Oh, fuck,” releasing him, she removes herself from his proximity, back against the opposite wall. A groan escapes his lips as he massages his shoulder, he takes two steps toward her but she throws her hands up in caution. “No, don’t,” her voice is soft as she pushes her back further into the wall behind her.
“I’m okay. Are you okay?” his voice is gentle as he tries to take another step toward her, she responds with a shriek.
“Don’t come near me!” wild blue eyes inventory the room once more before landing on the door. “I can’t be here,” her feet carry her from her’s and Barba’s office spaces and out of the courthouse.
Sonny watches from her office doorway while Barba stands in his.
“What the hell just happened?” Barba’s eyes peer around Sonny’s figure, falling on the chaos of the office. Sonny’s blue eyes are wide as they also survey the damage.
“Something is wrong with Quinn.”
***
Quinn is sweaty and out of breath when she returns to the office an hour later. Her cheeks are flushed and her normally pin straight hair is tangled into a rats nest at her shoulders. The clicks of her heels give her away as she rounds the door to her office. She takes a deep breath before opening the door she had slammed behind her not long ago.
The room is no longer in disarray, he stands on the other side of the room, re-shelving the last of the books. His eyes turn to meet her, “did you go on a run?”
Her eyes count the threads in the carpet, “yes.”
“In heels?”
“Yes.”
“What is going on with you?” her eyes remain down, the shift in the air tells her he’s fully facing her now. She raises her eyes just enough to see that he’s placed his hands in his pockets.
Her walls snap up to guard her, fake smile falling to her lips. “Just having a bad day. You picking a fight with me didn’t help.”
“Bullshit,” the quick quip draws a sharp breath out of her lungs.
“This,” he motions to the room, “was more than a bad day aggravated by having to work with me. We’ve been through those, this was different,” cautiously, he takes the tiniest of steps in her direction but stops when he notices her back pressed against the wall.
“Please, I can’t talk about it right now,” just barely a whisper reaches his ears.
“You have to talk about it at some point, if not with me, with someone else,” his brow furrows with concern as he watches her fingers pick at the hem of her blouse.
The woman standing before him is a subdued, torn down version of the woman he met last year. Realizing a response from her isn’t on the way, he gingerly moves past her, gauging her body language before placing a light hand on her shoulder.
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“She’s a witch, counselors, she killed him, the drugs, the hospital, what she did with the body afterwards,” Carisi explains to the ADAs.
“As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right Carisi,” Barba quips at the night school student. Dismissing the detective, Quinn and Barba strategize in his office. The gears in her head turn over and over, massaging the facts of the case until she decides on the charge best suited.
“It has to be a manslaughter charge, homicide in any degree would be the longest shot of all,” she scrolls through the New York State Criminal Code on her laptop. Rafael’s eyes comb her face as if they were a fine tooth comb, taking in her every feature; a smirk graces his lips as he forms his next sentence..
“Did you know you bear a resemblance to her?” he asks from his side of the desk causing her to stop her scrolling and look up to meet his eyes.
“What the fuck do you mean?” she laughs, he leans closer over the desk.
“No, literally. She’s tall, pale complexion, red hair like yours, high cheekbones. She could be your sister,” her eyelids tighten at the suggestion, “your much older sister, of course,” the glare still causes him to sit straight up and get back to work.
“Right, well let's get this charged and set for a bail hearing,” they both start typing up separate documents to complete those tasks and get it set for a hearing the next day. Once both satisfied with their documents her laptop shuts with a thud, swinging it to her side a groan leaves her lips as she rises from her seated position.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, his eyes following her figure as she reaches the door to his office. Stopping at the door and turning to face him again, she grins at him, “And food for thought, don’t compare a woman you know to an accused you’re about to charge with killing her husband,” she kisses her teeth and leaves before he can respond.
The next morning Quinn sits rigidly next to Liv in the gallery of a courtroom while Barba mans the podium. “How does the defendant plead?” the judge asks.
“Not guilty, Your Honor. And the defense requests ROR,” Mrs. Briggs' attorney smugly retorts after reaching their feet.
“Your Honor, Mrs. Briggs is the heir of a hefty estate and has the means to flee, she was arrested just before boarding a private plane.”
“You’re right Mr. Barba, bail is set at $100,000.”
“Oh that’s a little low,” Quinn quips under her breath to Liv who nods along. The banging of the gavel ends the hearing, and Quinn follows Barba as he leaves the courtroom. From a few steps behind she watches as an older woman approaches her co-counsel.
“Mami, what are you doing here?” she hears Rafael ask the woman before Liv passes her in a b-line straight to him.
“Barba, $100,000? What the hell?” Liv interrupts his conversation with his mother. Quinn rushes forward to try to pull Liv away.
“Liv, why don’t you and I talk about that?” She starts to lead Liv away before Barba stops them.
“Quinn, it’s fine,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes bounce between the three women, “Liv, Ms. Brady, this is my mother, Lucille Barba.”
Mrs. Barba’s eyes zero in on Liv first, “Liv? You drive him a little crazy,” Mrs. Barba’s speech is forceful but well meaning, Liv smiles back at the older woman.
“Just doing my job.”
“And you’re the infamous Ms. Brady. Glad to put a face to the thorn in my son’s side,” again, a well meaning and witty jab from the maternal figure.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you ma’am, Liv, let’s go strategize for the trial,” Quinn’s thin hand on Liv’s arm is enough to pull the sergeant away from the mother/son duo.
“Rafi, you didn’t tell me she was so beautiful” she hears Mrs. Barba remark as she and Liv briskly move away from them.
After explaining to Liv that there’s really nothing he could have done, Quinn meets back up with Barba in their office spaces.
“Your mother thinks Liv is beautiful huh?”
His eyes shoot up to meet hers from his seated position at his desk. She leans against the doorway, per usual her blazer is discarded and hanging across her arm showcasing the evergreen silk camisole shell she had chosen today. His tongue just barely wets his lower lip and just as he blinks away his stare, delicate long fingers enter his eyeline, the snap coming from them bringing him back to the present. A deep breath fills his lungs,
“You’re not going to believe this. They were undercover at a brothel, fucked it up, and had to arrest their former Lieutenant in the bust,” Barba briefs Quinn through his cellphone’s microphone as he watches the SVU squadroom move frantically with the big bust and numerous arrests. “I think you should get down here,” he admits. He hears rustling through the speaker as Quinn is pulling a sweatshirt over her lavender tank top.
“I’ll bring the caffeine,” she says before hanging up the phone and placing the cell in the back pocket of her jeans. Grabbing her tote bag and slipping into a pair of grey sneakers she rushes out the door.
She abandons the subway a stop before the precinct to hunt down a caffeine fix for New York’s finest - and Barba. Walking into the first coffee shop she finds open in the late hour she quickly orders eight black drip coffees and makes the treacherous trek to the station with the two drink carriers stacked on top of each other.
As soon as the elevator doors open Barba is waiting with open hands waiting to receive said caffeine. He gulps down the hot liquid of the first cup he can get his hands.
“Hello to you too,” she follows him from the elevators into the main area of the squad room.
She observes his state of dress, a tuxedo, odd attire for a night at the office. Uniforms bustle across the floor, there’s a group of what look to be underage girls in the “soft” interview room with a few detectives. The blinds to Liv’s office are shut as well as the door, but that doesn’t stop Barba as he busts through the door. Amaro and Liv’s eyes snap in his direction.
“Welcome to the party,” Amaro grumbles as he removes the top drink carrier from the stack and sets it on Liv’s desk.
“So your former lieutenant huh?” Quinn asks, Amaro nods and motions to the window into the interrogation room.
“Deep, deep cover. And still no sign of Ariel,” Liv explains.
“Don’t leave the best part out Liv,” Quinn can see Liv’s eye roll in the reflection of the one way glass. “Ms. Brady, Liv, Carisi, Fin were all undercover in that brothel tonight,” Barba’s eyes shoot daggers in the back of Liv's head.
“We’re not their attorneys Barba, they don’t have to tell us every time they go undercover,” Quinn comes to the squad’s defense.
“Oh, most important part - they brought Martha Thornhill in on it too,” he hand points a finger at Liv’s back before shoving it into the pocket of his pants. “That’s the part they’re supposed to tell us about, when they open the department up for copious amounts of liability.”
“Okay, well no one got hurt right? And your former lieutenant’s cover is still intact?” Nods from Liv and Amaro. “Well, you guys got lucky, let’s not do this again,” but seeing as Barba still has steam escaping his ears she realizes that he’s far from backing down off the soapbox. “Hey, so I’ve got an idea about the Gundy case, walk through it with me?” Quinn opens the door to Liv’s office, hoping that he’ll go quietly. His eyes meet her as if to say ‘you’re really going to let them get away with this?’ Her light sapphire eyes plead silently, begging him to cool the charged atmosphere; thankfully he does. His footfalls are heavy as he leaves, not sparing Liv or Amaro another glance.
“Enjoy the coffee,” Quinn smiles sheepishly at the cops before shutting the door on the way out to catch up with Barba who is already stepping into the elevator.
“Do you think you were a little harsh on them?” She joins the car at his side; she can see his head snap in her direction in her peripheral vision. He stays silent. The elevator doors let them out on the ground level of the precinct, passing more uniformed officers the building spits them out onto the streets of Manhattan. She huffs before walking away without another word to the suddenly silent man.
“Where are you going?” he calls after her.
“To get a drink, since you pulled me from my home in the middle of the night; and you owe me one,” her voice carries over the street sounds. His outward groan meets her ears as he jogs to catch up with her. The walk into the first dive bar either one of them spots, it reeks of NYPD as they enter but the two empty seats at the bar suffice for the night they’ve had.
“I’ll do a shot of tequila, chilled,” the bartender has barely acknowledged them when Quinn orders, Barba sticks with his usual Scotch.
“A shot of tequila? Who pissed in your cereal?” he doesn’t think before he speaks.
“You did, when you called me to come to the precinct,” the shot is placed down in front of her, which she prompt shoots, “just so you could use me for backup to bitch at the squad, when you were overreacting,” the slam of the glass on the wooden bartop draws the bartender’s attention, Quinn nods.
“You’re right about that,” the large mouthful of scotch over Barba’s tongue calms him almost instantly.
“Yeah no shit,” another shot down and another nod to the barkeep. The next two rounds are silent, then, Quinn’s tooth numbing buzz lets her speak freely.
“You don’t get to pick and choose when you want to help them toe the line and when you are going to lecture them for doing it. You’re the attorney, so you should always be against them crossing the line, but I’m learning that’s not really how this squad operates,” she finally turns to look at him for the first time since they entered the bar; he’s already looking at her.
“Maybe you’re right,” he holds the lowball glass up to his mouth, “maybe.”
“I’m always right Mr. Barba,” her hand slaps the bartop for one more shot.
“You really like tequila,” he watches as she throws her head back for another shot, how her auburn hair flows effortlessly with her every move and how she manages to keep a straight face as the liquor burns her throat.
“I like alcohol Mr. Barba, I don’t discriminate,” a drunken smile graces her lips, “but I think it’s time I head back home,” she starts to pull cash to cover all but one of her drinks from her wallet, he did owe her one after all. His warm hand stops hers from moving, he lightly grips her wrist.
“I got it, I owe you remember?” her eyes follow his fingers up to his eyes.
“You owed me one, I had way more than one,” she tries to continue to count cash when his fingers tighten ever so slightly around her wrist.
“Really, let me get this,” she surrenders and stows her wallet back in her bag.
“I’m not going to get you back, I try not to make a habit of being in the owe to people,” she explains and slides sloppily off of the bar stool. His hand catches her shoulder to steady her.
“Let me give you a ride home.”
“I can get home, I can take care of myself,” the strap of her bag is haphazardly deposited on her left shoulder.
“Quinn, please,” she violently shakes her head, the movement allows the scent of her shampoo to waft into Barba’s nostrils, lavender.
“I don’t like to owe people things, I can get home. You’ll know if I made it if I show up to work tomorrow,” a lavender cloud follows her figure as she leaves, his eyes follow her until the door shuts abruptly behind her; he takes the rest of his glass in one swallow.
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