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Chapter Text

Rafael Barba stared down the defense as they cross examined his witness, something he’d done hundreds of times for countless hours across his career, but something felt different today. If he was honest, something had been growing more and more different with each passing day for several weeks now.

He picked up the glass of water that sat in front of him, noticing the faint tremor in his hand. It was sweltering in court today, evidenced by the beads of sweat he kept having to wipe away from his brow. Even the air itself felt heavy. He sipped the water slowly, but it only aggravated the already gnawing pain in his stomach, acting as some sort of catalyst for the nausea that had steadily become a consistent presence in his life. What was wrong with him? Why did this keep happening?

“Mr. Barba?”

He swallowed hard, allowing the voice to pull him from his growing anxiety. “The people rest, your honor.”

By the time closing arguments were ready to take place the dull ache in his stomach had graduated to a sharp, burning pain. It had been flaring up occasionally all week and until this point he had chocked it up to the ulcer he pretty much roomed with thanks to the high stress nature of his job. But it had never reared its head like this, not enough to actually affect his work, his mood maybe. He swallowed the building nausea crawling up his throat, threatening to break the near silence of the room.

“Call a recess, judge,” he muttered under his breath. “Call it.”

To his momentary relief the judge did in fact call a short recess. Rafael started towards the bathroom, feeling as if the marble floors were tilting with every step. He pushed through the crowed, reaching out every few seconds to steady himself against the wall. If he could just get to the bathroom he felt sure he could revive himself. Only one more hour and he could sleep this off. He could do anything for an hour. He rounded the corner and threw open the bathroom door, collapsing immediately onto his elbows against the sink. The force of the landing did nothing to ease the nausea, but he was able to find relief in the splashing of cool water on his face.

He looked up into the mirror and felt his stomach give another cruel twist at the sight of the pale, sweaty man in front of him. This couldn’t be him. He never got sick. In fact it was something he prided himself on. How long had he looked like this? Had anyone noticed? Without warning he retched, spitting vomit into the sink as he lurched suddenly forward.

“Oh God,” he panted. “Oh God, please stop.” The last thing he needed was for someone to walk in and see one of the courts lead prosecutors reduced to a mess in a public bathroom. The rumors… After several long minutes and much false hope his stomach finally stilled long enough for him to gulp down a ragged breath of air. But what he saw in the sink quickly stole it back from him. Red. Blood? He felt the panic he’d been repressing for weeks beginning to rise in him again…or maybe it was another round of nausea. His grip tightened against the porcelain sink, turning his knuckles white as he pushed against the tilt a whirl this day had become. He couldn’t put this off anymore. It obviously wasn’t getting better by itself. He had to go to a doctor.

He groaned and leaned over the sink again as another retch brought up more of yesterday’s dinner. He could feel himself beginning to lose control, of his body, of his thoughts. He needed that control. He could not allow himself to fall apart over a stomach bug.

“Rafael, you alright?”

The door to the bathroom opened and ADA Dominick Carisi appeared around the corner. Barba glanced at him and tried to nod, but was interrupted by another harsh gag calling him back to the sink. A strangled cry of pain escaped his lips as his stomach twisted painfully inside him, the taste of iron just as sickening as the nausea. He doubled forcefully, almost slamming his head into the sink if not for the hand that grabbed onto his arm. He felt the room begin to tilt, darkness creeping into his vision, but he blinked it away long enough to see Carisi staring uncomprehendingly at the sink.

When Carisi looked back at him the concern on his face was palpable. Barba directed his gaze to his shoes, too ashamed to meet his eyes. “Jesus,” he swore, as Barba swayed again. “Here, sit down. Take it easy?”

Barba nodded, too exhausted to resist, too nauseous to risk opening his mouth in protest.

Carisi knelt beside him, taking in the appearance of the man slumped in front of him. “Try to relax. I’m gonna call an ambulance, alright?”

“Please, no,” Barba begged. “I’m alright now. Really.” He knew the more people involved in this, the less he would be. He couldn’t let that happen.

Carisi’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself? You’re throwing up blood! You look like you’re gonna pass out on me any second!”

Barba knew he was right. He had to get help. But he wanted to do it on his terms. “It’s just the pain. It makes me dizzy when it gets,” he swallowed thickly, “Really bad.”

“Raf-“

“Listen, I just really don’t want to make a scene.” As if he had any other choice. He was a wreck, shivering in a shirt soaked with cold sweat. It would be a miracle if no one noticed. “I’ll drive myself to the ER.”

Carisi shook his head. “You can’t even stand. There’s no way I’m letting you drive. I’ll take you. We can slip out the back.”

Barba recognized the steely lawyer look in Carisi’s eye and knew he wasn’t winning this battle. “Fine,” he conceded and allowed himself to be helped up.

Ten minutes later he was leaning against the outside wall waiting for Carisi who’d graciously agreed to make his excuses to the judge and pull the car around. He felt better now that he was outside, despite the frigid temperature. Something about the fresh air helped to dull the sickening ache in his stomach.

When Carisi arrived Barba pulled open the passenger door and slid into the front seat. They rode in silence, but with every bump in the road Barba winced and clutched tenderly at his stomach. While he didn’t look over, he could feel Carisi watching him, or even worse, reading him.

“I’m fine, Sonny. You don’t have to look at me like that.”

“You’re not gonna throw up in my car are you?”

Barba rolled is eyes.

“Hey, I’m concerned. For the car and for you.”

“Don’t be,” he insisted. “I’m going to get checked out. It’s just a stomach ulcer from this damn job.”

The corners of Carisi’s mouth twitched. “You love this job.”

Barba paused. “Yeah you’re right…” He stared out the window to hide the rush of embarrassment he felt as he relived over and over what just happened at “the job he loved”.

“Speaking of love,” Carisi continued. “I think we need to call Liv and have her meet us at the hospital.”

Barba snapped his head back towards him so fast that the car started spinning. He closed his eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“You have to tell her,” he insisted. “She’ll kill you if she finds out you went to the ER and didn’t call. Or even worse, she’ll find out I drove you and kill me.”

“Sonny, please. Let me handle, Liv. I don’t want to worry her if it’s nothing…and it is.”

Carisi didn’t fight him, but Barba could feel his disapproval in the prolonged silence. When he spoke again it was much softer. “I just want you to take care of yourself, for her sake as much as yours.”

Barba nodded as a feeling a guilt joined the heaviness inside him. He assured himself he wouldn’t have to worry Liv. He was fine. It was just an ulcer. Lawyers get ulcers all the time. It’s basically part of the job. But still he couldn’t ignore that gnawing feeling that this was about to be a long journey, one he’d have to bring Liv on eventually.

Chapter Text

“Why don’t you let me get you a wheelchair or something, huh?”

Barba waved him off with the hand that wasn’t clutching his stomach. “I’m sick, not crippled.” He stood up slowly, but still didn’t reach his full height. He was hunched just slightly in an attempt to ease the searing pain while still maintaining his dignity. He was not going in that wheelchair.

Carisi hovered closely behind. He could read the pained expression on Barba’s face despite his stubbornness. “You don’t look good. Let me help you.”

“I’m fi-“

He held up his hand to stop the protest. “Please, Rafael. For me.”

Barba rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue with him. He braced himself on Carisi’s shoulder, leaning more and more heavily with each step. Carisi could feel the heat radiating from him, the sweat soaking through his shirt. He was out of his depth here. If Barba would just let him call Benson…

They halted together as Barba took a second to breathe through a particularly strong spasm. He was a sickly pale color and seemed utterly exhausted. Carisi’s gut twisted.

“You okay?”

Barba nodded, but didn’t meet his eye. So that was a lie… He swayed slightly and Carisi steadied him with one arm.

“Hey.” He bent down to see his face more clearly. “You’re not gonna pass out on me are you?”

Barba swallowed thickly. “No. I’m good…I’m good.”

Reluctantly, Carisi guided him again towards the entrance. The doors slid open and the cool air rushed at them, carrying with it the scent of antiseptic and anxiety. Thankfully the waiting room was sparse at this hour, but every eye that was present watched the pair enter. They approached the desk where, despite feeling too weak to hold the pen, Barba shakily filled out the entry paper and slid it to a nurse that never looked up. As they waited for her to finish entering their information, he could feel another cold sweat breaking out around his collar. Not again… Please…

He pressed his knuckles against his mouth, glancing around for the bathroom. Who was he kidding? He could barely walk, each step a painful reminder that something was terribly wrong. His pride took another blow. “Can I have a bag?” he mumbled, staring at a fixed point on the counter.

The nurse finally addressed him. “What hun?”

Barba pointed at the stack of vomit bags folded beside her on the desk. “Can I have a bag?” he repeated, his voice thick with nausea.

She slid him one through the glass without a word. He nodded his thanks and, unable to look Carisi in the eye, walked slowly to the nearest seat.

The nausea came in waves as time seemed to drag on. With eyes closed he clutched the hard rim of the white plastic bag, occasionally opening it to dry heave, but thankfully never bringing up anything substantial. He was keenly aware of everyone in the waiting room watching him. This was humiliating…

“Barba,” a voice called from a partitioned section of the entry way marked: Triage.

Carisi pulled him up and Barba hesitated before walking, feeling woozy. When the spell passed he leaned on Carisi again. He felt wobbly, like his knees may buckle spontaneously. They slowly approached the triage center while the nurse waited in the doorway. “That’s me,” he told her reluctantly.

She pointed to a metal chair in the corner which he gratefully accepted. Carisi hung back by the door, arms crossed, and noticeably worried. He grimaced when Barba briefly caught his eye. Barba returned it. His stomach continued to writhe, forcing him to shift restlessly in his chair as the nurse checked his vitals. He just wanted this to be over. He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to curl up on the couch with Liv, eat Thai take-out, and make fun of rom-coms together while pretending this never happened.

The nurse paused when the blood pressure cuff deflated, squinting her eyes at the number on the machine. To ease her suspicions she ran the test again, comparing the new number on the screen with the original.

“Your blood pressure is very low. Do you have a history of low blood pressure?”

She was watching him now, scrutinizing him. Barba got the feeling she was trying to read his body language. “I’m an ADA. I don’t think any of us have that problem.”

“Hmm.” She copied the number down and picked up his clipboard. “And you’re in here for…stomach pain?”

He nodded.

“When did it start?”

Barba glanced uncomfortably at Carisi then back to the floor. “It’s been off and on for about a month.” He swallowed. “But not like this.”

She scribbled a note down. “Can you point to where it’s the most painful?”

Barba’s hand hovered over his stomach, trying to determine a central point of pain. “Just…everywhere,” he conceded.

“Any vomiting?”

Barba glanced from the nurse to the bag he was gripping like a lifeline. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Any blood?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Some.”

She looked up at him over the top of her reading glasses. “And when did that start?”

“This mor-orning.” His breath hitched as another sharp pain shot through his stomach. He felt the familiar wave of nausea rise in his throat. He fumbled for the bag, gagging into it, but thankfully nothing came up. Heat flooded his face as he felt the stares of the people around him. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

The nurse offered no reassurances, but continued to write. She then stood silently and took a wheelchair from the corner of the room, rolling it over to where Barba sat. “I can walk,” he assured her, still averse to the chair.

“We make all our lawyers ride. Keeps the law suits to a minimum if they pass out in the hall.”

He looked up at her and for the first time saw the corners of her mouth twitch. She winked at him.

He offered back a small, but grateful, smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She took them to a small room with a glass door where she left them with no more information and even fewer answers. Barba sat heavily on the bed, glancing around warily at the various medical instruments. He hated hospitals. Nothing good ever happened here. His grandmother… His father…

“You cold?” Carisi’s voice called him back to the present. He was sitting in the corner, arms crossed, on a hard wooden chair. “You’re shaking.”

He was freezing. The shivering that began in the waiting room had never let up. His muscles ached with the effort of it.

He smirked. “You should’ve stayed a detective.”

Carisi was unamused. “Please let me call Liv,” he said softly.

“No. Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “I’m fine. I just need a prescription and we can go home.”

“Yeah, I know. You keep saying that. But even if that is true and this is something minor she’s still gonna kick both our asses if we don’t call and I don’t want to join you in here.”

Barba hummed, dreading that future conversation. “Not yet…. Please.”

An exasperated laugh escaped Carisi’s lips. “You’re unbelievable, Rafael. I don’t know how either of you gets anything done.”

Barba tilted his head slightly. “I let her win sometimes.”

A few minutes later a nurse came in to start an IV. Barba winced as the needle entered his hand, but quickly forgot with the sharp pain that followed. He looked desperately around for his bag, pressing a hand to his mouth to stifle a gag. The nurse reacted quickly, grabbing a basin and holding it under his mouth in time for him to vomit into it, bright red. She held him steady as his body lurched, threatening to fall off the bed with every heave. His ears were suddenly flooded with the sound of ringing and his own pounding heartbeat. He felt cold sweat dripping down his temples and shuddered violently. The room started to spin.

“I think I’m gonna pass out,” he whispered between heaves.

The nurse remained composed, lending him no cues as to the severity of this sudden turn. “You’re alright. I’ve got you,” she assured him. “Let’s lay you down okay?”

Barba nodded and tried to lean back. He was trembling still and in the most pain he’d ever been. He was gasping for air, his entire body spiraling into chaos. Confusion crept in, followed by panic. His chest ached as his heart raced faster and faster. “Carisi,” he croaked.

Carisi jumped up and touch his shoulder. He looked nervous, antsy. “What can I do?”

Barba swallowed hard to suppress both nausea and his pride as he finally admitted to himself that this wasn’t going to just go away. It was time. “Call her.” His voice cracked as another spasm hit. He placed a shaky arm over his sweat soaked hair, gritting his teeth to suppress the wavering in his voice. “Tell her to come.”

Carisi faltered, looking paler now than he had in the courthouse. “You sure?”

Barba curled into himself as the pain in his stomach surged again. He cried out, gripping the sheets in a fist. The room was spinning. Sweat dripped down his brow and onto the pillow. Without warning he rolled over and vomited onto the sheets beside him. More blood. His nurse reassured him repeatedly that they were getting him some help, that everything was going to be alright, but he became vaguely aware of an alarm going off in his room. He was decompensating quickly and she had instinctively pulled the emergency cord. Two more nurses joined them shortly. “I n-need her,” he managed, as it grew more and more difficult to form words.

“I’m on it, Rafa. Hold on.”

Their faces were blurred as he struggled to concentrate. Dark spots were creeping into his vision, growing closer with every strangled gasp for air. “What’s happening?” he slurred.

An older nurse was working quickly beside his head. She smiled at him, but he recognized the look in her eyes. He saw it in court all the time. She was bluffing. “Your blood pressure has dropped, but we’re going to give you some medication in your IV to help you stabilize. I just need you to focus on taking some deep breaths for me.”

He tried, but his body wasn’t responding to anything anymore, even his own commands. “Can’t,” he said through gritted teeth. He pressed his palm against his chest. “Hurts.”

“You’re doing great, Mr. Barba,” she lied again. “The doctor is on his way. We’re gonna take care of you.”

He retched again. The bed was covered in blood. He was covered in blood. He couldn’t make this stop. He was completely out of control. There were people everywhere now, shouting things to each other that his mind wouldn’t comprehend. The doctor was asking him questions, but he couldn’t understand what he was saying. It sounded like a different language. There was a nurse hanging bags on an IV pole, another cleaning him up. As he hyperventilated, the room began to spin again and he briefly noticed Carisi’s drawn, pale face pacing in the corner. He looked just as helpless as Barba felt.

“Is she-,” he panted, the words refusing to come.

“She’s on her way,” he offered, sounding panicked. “She’ll be here soon.”

The fluorescent lights flickered in and out of focus as chaos ensued around him. Every nerve was on fire, his body hurting as one now instead of any recognized, individual part. He heard Carisi’s voice talking to him from a few feet away, but couldn’t make out any words. They were probably prompting him to keep him talking, but he couldn’t anymore. He felt unreal, disconnected. He closed his eyes, letting visions of Olivia anchor him to reality. She’d be there soon. He needed to stay awake. But the pressure in his chest was growing and darkness came for him anyway.

Chapter Text

Captain Olivia Benson finally finished her report for One PP at six o’clock that evening. It was a slow day, full of uneventful documenting on her part, but she didn’t mind. There was a peace that came along with slow days like this.

This would be the last moment she felt peace for a long time.

The door of her office opened suddenly, causing her heart to skip a beat. It was Fin, wearing a look that she had come to recognize over the years.

Her stomach clenched instinctively. “What’s wrong?”

“Call Carisi,” he instructed. “Something’s happened to Barba and it doesn’t sound good.”

A chill crept down her spine, settling deep into her bones. She immediately grabbed for her cell phone, realizing she’d left it in her purse unintentionally after lunch. When she finally found it she saw the six missed calls from Carisi. Her breath caught in her throat, adrenaline beginning to pump as she immediately dialed back.

“Liv,” came the strained voice on the other line.

“What’s happened?”

“He got real sick at the courthouse today. We went to the ER. They don’t know anything yet.”

Carisi’s words sounded panicked and rushed. She grabbed her coat off the couch and started towards the elevators.

“How bad is it? Is he alright?”

The background of Carisi’s phone call sounded chaotic. She heard him apologize to someone in the room.

“Bad enough he asked me to call you. He’s- They’re-.”

“What, Carisi?”

He swallowed hard, searching for the best words. “It’s bad, Liv. You need to hurry.”

She nodded although Carisi could not see. It was more for her own resolve. “Tell him I’m coming.”

Olivia barely registered what she was doing as she pulled her car out onto the busy road, headed towards the hospital on autopilot. She had so many questions, exacerbated by the haunting of Carisi’s voice during the l call. Why didn’t Barba call himself? And even more importantly, why didn’t he call her immediately? Hours ago? She was angry and hurt and afraid and…needed to see him for herself.

She walked into the Emergency Room as she’d done hundreds of times as NYPD, but this time was different. This time the sound of the beeping, the smell of alcohol and sterility, the fluorescent lights, was overwhelming, even threatening.

She found Carisi pacing in the hallway. He had his arms crossed and one hand over his mouth, seemingly deep in thought. When he saw her he met her halfway.

“How is he?” she asked breathlessly.

“In and out.” He glanced through the glass at the bed in the corner. “They finally got him stabilized.”

“Why is he here? What’s wrong with him?”

Carisi held up a hand to stop her. “They’re not sure yet. They have to do tests, but-“

“But??”

He sighed. “He just…keeps getting worse. He was fine when trial started this morning. By the end of the day I found him throwing up blood. That’s when we came here.”

Carisi looked pale and exhausted himself. Olivia felt a rush of gratefulness toward him. “Are you okay?” she asked.

His eyes shot up. “Me? Yeah, yeah of course. Just freaked out, that’s all.”

She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for getting him here.”
He nodded and moved out of her way so that she could slide open the glass door.

Barba was lying, pale and vulnerable, on a stiff hospital bed, eyes closed, with his head lolled to one side. His breathing seemed shallow despite the oxygen line they had around him. It was difficult to believe they had seen each other just that morning. He had woken up in her bed. She reached for his hand, holding it gingerly in hers so as to not upset the IV. He turned his head and blinked up at her.

She gave him a small smile and squeezed his fingers. “So I guess dinner’s off for tonight?”

An exhausted laugh escaped his lips. “Rain check?”

She nodded. “Rain check.”

He grimaced and shifted uncomfortably. “Carisi okay?”

“Yeah.” She looked back through the glass and saw him talking emphatically to someone on the phone, probably Amanda. “You just scared the hell out of him.”

“Remind me to buy him a drink when I…get out of here.” There was a lingering silence around the uncertainty of that timeframe. His breath hitched suddenly and he wrapped his free arm protectively over his stomach. “I, uhh-,” he squeezed his eyes shut and groaned softly. “I think I really messed up, Liv. Something’s…wrong.” When he opened his eyes again they glistened with tears. His voice cracked. “I should’ve come in weeks ago. I just thought-“

“Shhh,” she soothed. “No one’s blaming you.”

“I’m…blaming me,” he said with a hint of desperation.

She smoothed his hair away from his face. It was soaked with sweat. She palmed his forehead, then cheek, “Jesus, Rafa.”

He swallowed thickly and shook his head. “It’s not as bad now. I’m alright.”

“You’re burning up.”

“Mmm. That’s what the nurse said.” He pulled her hand over his eyes and pressed down firmly. “Who knew your cold hands would be useful one day?”

In the silence that followed, with his eyes still covered, he whispered. “I’m afraid, Olivia.”

She moved her hand down to his chest and lay her head beside him on the pillow. “Me, too.”

She felt his lips press just over her eye, his shaky breath in her ear.

“But whatever’s going on,” she continued as steadily as she could muster. “I’m here. For all of it, if you’ll let me, Rafael.”

A nurse opened the glass door quietly and slipped into the room. “I’m going to start this transfusion for you, Mr. Barba.” Olivia stood to give her room to hang the pack of blood on the line. “Is the nausea any better?”

Barba glanced at the blood hanging over his head and looked away quickly. Olivia noticed his jaw clench slightly. “It’s better,” he said finally. “Not completely gone, but…”

She checked the screen on his monitor. “Your blood pressure is finally starting to come back up again. I think getting this blood will make you feel a lot better.”

“Thank you,” he said, expressionless.

She pressed a button on the IV pump and red began flooding the line. “There we go,” she told him. “If you start feeling any worse let us know immediately, but I’m going to be checking on you every few minutes. Okay?”

Barba grimaced and nodded. Olivia added her thanks as well and the nurse left them again to their thoughts. She resumed her seat beside him. “Would you like some water?”

He was shaking his head before she’d even finished the question. In fact he’d love some water. His throat was on fire. But he couldn’t risk causing another scene, not with Olivia there. “No thanks. Maybe later?”

His eyes fluttered shut. He was exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally. The pain medicine dragged him towards sleep, despite his desire to remain alert. He tried to prompt himself awake. “I jus-…s’want…” But the words wouldn’t come out properly, like his mind was falling asleep before his mouth.

He woke drenched in cold sweat and breathing hard. He pushed himself up in the bed, looking frantically around the room for any escape from this nightmare. Olivia was by his side instantly, her hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

His breathing steadied as the warmth of her touch anchored him back to reality. He rubbed his eyes and felt his muscles relax slightly. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Mid sentence, actually,” she said with a small smile.

“Sorry,” he panted. “Couldn’t keep my eyes open.”

“Yeah Carisi said they’ve got you pretty doped up.”

“An understatement, I’m sure.” She helped him lay back down and he wiped the sweat from his eyes. “How long was I out?”

She checked her watch. “About two hours.”

He grimaced as a wave of pain shot through him, accompanied by nausea. He swallowed it back and covered his face with his hands. “I’ve never been so sick in my life,” he groaned.

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? Not even in college?”

He returned the look. “I went to Harvard, Liv. We’re not exactly known for our wild parties.”

“Welcome back to your twenties then, Counselor.”

He groaned, rolling to his side as he doubled into himself. He gripped his stomach, silently begging it to still. “I think I prefer the first time around.”

They had been waiting on the doctor for an eternity. The blood bag had been depleted over half an hour and Barba was still insisting he was okay. But Olivia couldn’t ignore the tossing and turning growing more frequent with each passing minute, the way he kept his eyes closed tightly, and the feverish, glazed look in them when they were open. He shivered slightly as if on cue, glancing up at Liv to see if she noticed. She did…

Wordlessly she pulled the blanket up higher over him and stroked his back. He suppressed a groan as his stomach spasmed painfully.

“I’m sorry you’re having to do this,” he mumbled into the fabric.

“You should know by now that you couldn’t force me to be here if I didn’t want to be.” He issued a small smile. She continued, hoping to keep it there for just a bit longer. “Besides, it was slow today. I needed a good panic.”

“Right. That’s what your life really lacks, stress.” He sucked in a quick breath and clenched his jaw, swallowing back another round of nausea.

She took his hand, it was sweaty and trembling. He gripped her so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Liv bit her lip. It was disturbing to see someone who was usually so put together unraveling in front of her. She wiped away the sweat on his hairline with a towel from the bedside table. “I’m going to get the nurse, okay?”

She thought he would fight her, but he just nodded, tightly. His silence unnerved her. She left him briefly to walk down the hall to the nurse’s station where she recognized an RN from her previous work with assault victims. The woman acknowledged her immediately. “Captain Benson, how are you?”

Olivia took a deep breath. “I’m fine, but my…,” she searched for the correct word. Boyfriend? Partner? Lover? He would make fun of any of those titles. They made a point not to advertise their relationship publicly. But in private…they were in a good place. “…I just came from Rafael Barba’s room,” she began again. “He’s obviously getting worse again. Could someone come check him?”

She stood immediately. “The doctor just mentioned he was seeing Mr. Barba next. Let me walk you back and we’ll meet him there.”

“That’s so nice of you. Thank you.” She felt comforted that she knew at least someone in the building, had some sort of rapport. It was incredible how big this Emergency Room felt when you were the one in crisis.

When they pushed aside the curtain again, Olivia’s heart dropped. He was sitting on the floor, braced haphazardly against the wall, writhing in pain. The nurse hurried forward, as did Olivia, and they both pulled him up by an arm. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, his face turning a pale shade of pink. “I stood up too fast.”

The nurse began looking him over for any bumps or bruises. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Your blood pressure is still low. Are you dizzy?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Did you hurt your head?”

He sighed heavily. “No, no. Just…my pride.” He glanced up at Olivia, looking mortified.

She squeezed his arm sympathetically. “It’s okay.”

The words left a bitter taste in her mouth and she regretted them immediately. None of this was okay. Who knew if it was ever going to be okay? She saw them hit his ears and seep deep into his skin which, despite his protests, was not as thick as he insisted. He felt deeply, as much an empath as she, herself. The flash of anger in his eyes before he looked away did not go unnoticed. She knew that look too well.

“I didn’t mean-“

He held up a hand to interrupt, but still didn’t meet her eyes. “I know. It’s alright.”

“Rafa…”

She was interrupted by the doctor entering the room and pulling up a rolling stool. Barba had collapsed heavily back down onto the bed, obviously in a great deal of pain and trying to suppress it.

“How are you, Mr. Barba?” he asked.

Barba gritted his teeth. “Been better,” he managed.

The doctor was flipping through his chart, pausing briefly to pull out a pair of reading glasses from his pocket. Barba, Liv, and the nurse waited in silence.

Finally the doctor looked up, directly into Barba’s eyes. “I’m concerned,” he said matter of factly.

Barba caught her eye. He looked like he was going to be sick and Liv wasn’t far away herself. The sense of dread grew quickly in the air, yet no one said anything.

The doctor continued. “We’re going to admit you until we can get this bleeding and fever under control. You’re anemic. Your blood pressure’s wild. Question is: Is this an ulcer or something a bit more complicated?”

“Complicated?” Barba asked, his voice a little less steady than usual.

The doctor sighed. “There are a few indicators in your bloodwork here that could be a sign of something more serious like cancer. But there’s no reason to jump to conclusions without more testing.”

There was a palpable silence in the room as the weight of the word “cancer” settled over all parties. It was several seconds before Olivia noticed she was holding her breath. She tried to read Barba’s expression, but it was blank of all thought and emotion, the color of wet paste.

“We’re gonna get you settled in upstairs and prep you for an endoscopy first. That’ll give us more information on what we’re looking at here. Alright?”

Barba nodded. “Alright,” he forced out, as if any of this was alright.

The rest of the doctor’s words were white noise and after a few more minutes both he and the nurse left them alone with promises of more pain medication and anti nausea drugs soon.

Olivia watched Barba closely. He was staring blankly at the ceiling, but she could see a hundred thoughts behind his green eyes. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his feet into her lap. “What’re you thinking?” she asked softly.

“I’m thinking…I don’t even have my toothbrush,” he mumbled.

She exhaled a small laugh. “I can get your toothbrush. I can go get anything you need from home.”

He ran his hand through his hair and it stood wildly on end. He shook his head. “What have I done, Liv,” he whispered frantically. “Why did I wait?”

“You don’t know it’s anything terrible yet-“

“This isn’t just an ulcer, Olivia,” he bit. He was still addressing the ceiling, keeping her at arm’s length emotionally for as long as possible. “I know it. I feel it. I’m- freaking out.”

“Look at me, Counselor,” she said sternly.

He ignored her and she leaned forward, covering his heart with her hand. She could feel it pounding underneath her fingertips.

“Rafa…” He finally looked into her eyes and she saw there the fear, the confusion that she saw often in trauma victims, but never in Rafael Barba. He took the hand on his chest and held on tightly, squeezing her fingers in a way that was familiar despite their shared uncertainty. “You’re exhausted. You’re feverish,” she pleaded with him. “You’re not thinking clearly. You need to rest.”

“How?” His voice broke and tears spilled finally from his eyes.

She laid down beside him the same way they did in his bed, in her bed, in the bed they woke up in this morning, together, and blissfully unaware of what the day would hold. He kissed the top of her head, hanging on to her for dear life. She held him until the trembling subsided, until his breaths steadied and deepened, and until he fell quiet again, finally giving way to exhaustion.

Chapter Text

Rafael was moved to a room on the in-patient floor within the hour. He slept almost the entire trip, curled up under the blankets. He opened his eyes briefly as the elevator doors closed, just long enough to squint groggily up at Liv.

“…’m I okay?”

She furrowed her brow but pushed her lips into a small, forced smile.

“You’re okay.”

He wasn’t awake to hear her. He slept as they pushed the bed into his room. Slept as they transferred him over to his new bed. He stirred only briefly when a nurse offered him some warm broth to try. She set the bowl down on the side table and rolled it over top of him, raising the head of the bed to meet it. He thanked her, but Liv saw the grimace with every subtle shift of the mattress. He managed only a few bites of his dinner before propping his elbows on the table and leaning into his hands. He was breathing fast and deep, swallowing hard.

“Here,” Liv said softly, pushing the broth to the side and setting the plastic bin down in its place. They waited in silence with her hand resting on his shoulder.

“I was fine this morning, Liv.”

“I know.”

“I was fine last night.”

“I remember,” she teased.

He looked up at her and grinned despite himself. His eyes were bloodshot, but still held that look in them, the one she loved. “You’re so pretty.”

She giggled and helped him lean back against the pillow, scooting the table, the broth, and the dreaded bin away for now.

“I think you need to go back to sleep. They gave you some pretty strong pain meds.”

He nodded although his head was already lolling to the side.

“I’m going to go get you a few things from home, okay?”

But he was already asleep, exhausted from pain and from worry and hopefully from the good drugs. She turned down the TV that they had put on habitually the second they’d come in and brushed his hair back, kissing the top of his head.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered, then picked up her keys and closed the door behind her.

She made the trek through the halls, down the elevator, across the parking lot, feeling heavy with uncertainty. She finally slipped into the driver’s seat and noticed her purse riding shotgun. She must’ve forgotten to take it in through the ER earlier. Was that really just hours ago? She leaned back against the headrest, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Exhaustion crept in as a dull ache behind her eyes and she debated going to the bodega down the street to just buy him a new toothbrush, but thought better of it. He’d want pajamas, his pajamas.

She put the car in drive as her mind began to spin a list of what if’s and to-do items. How long would they be at the hospital? What did she need to get him? She needed to tell Fin she wouldn’t be there tomorrow, maybe the next day, maybe… She picked up her phone at the first red light, but chose a different number.

“Hey, Liv,” Amanda’s cheerful voice answered over the speaker. She could hear children’s voices in the background. Carisi’s, too, as a few words slipped in about spaghetti. They were making dinner. Liv struggled to wrap her mind around something so routine still taking place outside the hospital. Amanda distanced herself from the noise. “Sorry. Let me get somewhere quieter. Have they let you guys go yet?”

“No, actually. They got some results from the lab that were,” she drew a deep breath and exhaled, “Concerning.”

A beat of silence. “What do you mean ‘concerning’?”

“They said that his blood levels indicate something other than an ulcer.” Liv’s voice was robotic, like she was reading the information from a pamphlet left behind in the waiting room.

“Like?”

She paused. Then quietly, “Don’t make me say it, Amanda.”

“Okay,” she soothed. “But they’re not sure, right? It could just be a precaution?”

“That’s…what we’re hoping. They’re admitting him tonight and they’ll take him for an endoscopy in the morning.”

“Hmm. How’s he taking it?”

“He’s sleeping mostly. Ignoring me when I try to bring it up.”

Amanda breathed a small laugh. So did Liv.

Carisi’s voice emerged over the line. “Dinner’s ready. That Liv?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Go,” Liv insisted. “I’m at home anyway. I have to find Rafael’s forty dollar toothbrush.”

“Liv.”

“I’ll call again soon. And please thank Sonny again for me, for us.”

She hesitated, but agreed. “Promise to keep us updated and call if you need anything. Alright?”

“I will.”

She wouldn’t.

XXX

“Hey,” Liv smiled when she opened up the door again. Rafael was awake and watching TV, this time looking much more alert. His color was coming back and he looked significantly more alive than when she had slipped out the first time.

“Thank God. I’ve been bored out of my mind.” He reached out, squeezing her hand when it met his. The familiarity comforted her beyond words. “Do you know they only get TV Land here?”

She sat down on his bed and rolled her eyes. “God forbid we miss the news.”

“Speaking of missed. The doctor came in while you were gone.”

She gave him a hesitant look.

“It was good,” he assured her. “My vitals are stable and he’s starting to feel good about an ulcer again.” He arched his brow. “If it’s possible to feel good about the probability of an ulcer.”

She smiled at him. He was beginning to look more and more like himself. “And?”

“And if the endoscopy goes well in the morning and I can eat lunch then they’re probably going to discharge me and handle this outpatient.”

“That’s great,” she breathed. “What a relief.”

“I know. Now all I have to do is survive the night and one minor procedure and I can go home and sleep in my own bed.” He brushed a wrinkle from the cheap, green hospital gown. “In my own pajamas…”

She tossed him the bag she’d brought with her from home. He unzipped it and pulled out a t-shirt and his favorite pajama pants.

“Bless you, Olivia Benson.”

She winked.

The next hour was peaceful despite the long day. She helped him change, quite the feat with an IV, and ignored the way he paled when he sat up to slip on his shirt. He brushed his teeth with his “state of the art” electric toothbrush. Then they watched TV Land. She curled up beside him, her head on his chest, his fingers in her hair as if this were nothing more than some grotesque parody of a staycation hotel. The Golden Girls was on, a show Olivia loved and Rafael pretended to hate, but with her ear against his chest she could hear his amusement, however stifled.

XXX

“Liv…Olivia.”

His voice pulled her from a deep sleep. It took her a moment to remember where she was. She was sweating. Her hair clung to her cheek and forehead.

“Olivia,” he whimpered again.

She pushed herself up. Something was wrong. The grogginess of deep sleep made its way into concern, then fear. His body was rigid. One hand gripped, white-knuckled, the side rail of the bed while the other hovered just over his belly button. He panted, drawing quick gasps of air.

“Rafa,” she whispered. “What’s wrong?” She touched his chest and realized his shirt was drenched in icy sweat. He was shivering so violently that his teeth chattered, but his eyes were screwed together in agony. She felt like she was choking. Finally she forced out the question: “Is it worse?”

His eyes shot open and through gritted teeth he spat, “I think I’m dying.”

Olivia had heard him say this exact sentence multiple times, sometimes multiple times a day. In line for coffee, walking up the stairs to her apartment, stuck in traffic, dinner that night with his mother. But the look in his eye this time…he believed it. So she did, too.

She searched the sheets for the call button that had disappeared during the night, accidentally shifting him in the process. He jolted like he’d been hit and cried out pitifully.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she soothed and pressed repeatedly for the nurse. “Someone’s coming, sweetheart.”

He reached blindly for the gray bin that still sat beside the abandoned cold broth on his bed table. She slid off the bed and grabbed it for him, shoving it into his shaking hands just in time for him bring it to his mouth and vomit, bright red.

Blood.

Blood again.

Blood a third time.

Olivia was torn between going to get someone and being afraid to leave him like this. She pressed the button again, looking over her shoulder towards the door. How long did it take to walk down the hall?

The blood pressure monitor started shrieking, a shrill score to the horror movie they found themselves in. A nurse arrived suddenly and went straight to work raising the head of the bed. She pulled on her gloves and examined the bucket of blood then went to the door and called down the hall.

“What’s happening?” Liv questioned when she returned. “Is he okay?”

The nurse pulled the blanket from him and tossed it onto the couch. She pressed down on his stomach, feeling around like living braille. Rafael cried out again and Liv tried to take his hand, but he flinched away from her. Every touch was agonizing to him no matter where on his body it landed. The nurse stilled and turned to meet Olivia’s eyes.

“There’s about to be a lot of people in here. But we’re going to do everything we can for him.”

Liv’s mouth opened slightly, but she had no time to respond before two more nurses arrived, then a respiratory therapist, and finally the attending doctor.

“Let’s get a CBC. Give him some omeprazole, another round of Zofran and Dilaudid,” he called to one of the nurses. He glanced in the bucket and grimaced. “Also call the blood bank. Have them on standby.”

The respiratory therapist slipped an oxygen mask over Rafael’s head, but he pushed it immediately off again and vomited more blood. He could barely turn his head and it splattered down his shirt and onto the mattress beside him.

“Mr. Barba,” one of them called. “Rafael, can you hear me?”

He mumbled something unintelligible before his head drooped to the side once more.

“Start another line. Let’s get some warm saline in him. He’s freezing.”

Liv watched helplessly as they pushed drug after drug into his IV. His eyes fluttered open again and locked onto hers. It took her a moment to notice through the chaos. But when she did, she squeezed into organized swarm to stroke his hair. He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes again.

“We’re going to get him to the OR.”

Liv turned, realizing suddenly that the doctor was addressing her.

“Instead of the endoscopy?”

“No time for the endoscopy anymore. We’re going in for the source.”

A stack of papers were shoved into her hands. The pen shook as she signed…legal name, relationship to patient, allergies.

“How soon,” she asked, sounding less than brave.

The doctor stilled. He reached out his hand to touch her shoulder and Liv finally looked up from the forms. There was a look in his eye that caught her off guard. Sympathy?

“Just as soon as we can get him there.”

Liv gaped at him.

“BP 88/56. Heart rate 146.”

“Second line in. Hanging blood.”

“OR’s ready.”

The mask was placed back over his face, this time successfully, as the drugs began to do the hard work for him. They moved quickly and Liv kept up with them for as long as they would let her. They warned her she’d have to stop at the end of the hall. She didn’t realize tears were dripping down her cheeks until she felt them drop onto her hand, the one in his. He felt it too and looked up at her.

“Love you,” he slurred weakly, almost inaudible through the mask.

“I’ll be here,” she said, doing her best to smile. They stopped briefly and allowed her to kiss his forehead once more. Then they were gone.

And Liv was not.