(un)welcome visitors
Rafael Barba x gn!reader
"I didn't know every coffee maker between here and the DA's office mysteriously combusted."
He purses his lips in a humorless smile, leaning against the wooden sideboard and tapping his fingers impatiently as the machine heats up. "Carmen's out sick," he explains, his voice clipped. "The coffee stand's closed, and even I can't make myself drink the courthouse sludge."
Rafael may be using you for your coffee maker, but when a personal issue arises he offers some unexpected support.
tags: established friendship, fluff, mutual pining, hint of family angst on the reader's side, gender neutral reader, no y/n, no reader physical description
word count: 1400
note: it's only vaguely alluded to but reader is a law librarian at the county law library, which happens to be located right across from 1 hogan :) essentially you research, gather, and analyze legal materials for the public, courts, and recently a certain ADA
read on ao3 here
You lean back in your office chair with an amused grin. "Nice to see you too, Barba."
The man currently beelining it to your office's single cup coffee machine doesn't have the good grace to look chagrined. Rafael shoves his thermos underneath the spout, drops a pod in the machine, and slams the lid without even looking at you. "Yes, hello, you look good, how've you been," he rattles out dryly.
"You talking to me or the Keurig?"
The withering look he shoots you is mostly without teeth. It's not enough to deter you.
"I didn't know every coffee maker between here and the DA's office mysteriously combusted."
He purses his lips in a humorless smile, leaning against the wooden sideboard and tapping his fingers impatiently as the machine heats up. "Carmen's out sick," he explains, his voice clipped. "The coffee stand's closed, and even I can't make myself drink the courthouse sludge."
You raise your eyebrows.
He glances over, then does such an utterly offended double take that you have to turn your surprised snort into a cough. "That was under duress," he warns, raising a finger in your direction.
You can't help it.
"I come to you in my time of need and you mock me," he deadpans as you laugh.
"Right, except I was your third choice."
He opens his mouth to deliver what promises to be a scathing retort, but the machine chooses that moment to finally hiss to life and the aroma of vanilla beans starts to fill the office. Rafael sighs, and some of the bristling tension seeps out of his shoulders. You decide he's probably suffered enough.
"Look, not that I don't appreciate the visit," you lean forward on your elbows against the desk, "but have you ever thought about just buying one for yourself?"
You knew he rarely used the old drip maker collecting dust in his office, preferring to buy it fresh - or, when he's particularly desperate and can't get away, send Carmen out with his card. In fact, you weren't even sure the damn thing worked until you'd found half of SVU camped out in his office late one night, going over the details of a difficult case with the carafe passed around the table. But surely, when caffeine-withdrawal was at stake...
"Then people would ask to use it." Rafael's nose wrinkles at the thought as he watches the thermos fill.
The stunning lack of self-awareness doesn't seem to register.
"Hmm," you hum, "says the man raiding my coffee stash." He blinks, pausing as he screws the thermos lid on. "The man with his own snack budget at the 16th."
He rolls his eyes. "They should consider it payment for goods and services." He says it with no small amount of smarm, but as he turns towards the loveseat you managed to cram into the corner of your small office, you watch him cradle the warm thermos in his hands like a prized possession.
"Speaking of," you say slowly, reaching down into the bottom drawer of your desk and tossing the contents to him. "Here."
He deftly catches the bag, and you feel inordinately pleased when you see his eyes light up at the chicago-style popcorn. "What's this for?"
Because you see how hard he works. Because you like that your office has become a place he frequents. Because you want him to stay a little while longer.
Because you're starting to like him more than the professional bounds of your positions, even the personal warmth of your friendship, and a small, foolish part of you can't help but hope he might feel the same way.
You clear your throat a little, shifting under the way his observant gaze turns thoughtful at your silence. "Let's just say Sergeant Benson isn't the only one with a snack budget."
He huffs a laugh, murmurs his thanks, and just like that any moment you imagined is gone.
With warm drink and food in hand, he finally collapses into the old, worn loveseat. He settles, sinking into the cushions and letting his eyes flutter shut as he tips his head back with a sigh, the long line of his neck and hint of scruff bared above his slightly loosened tie. You give him a moment, quietly shuffling some papers around, trying not to think about the warmth in your chest at seeing him so comfortable in your own space.
It isn't until he sits back up, taking a sip from his thermos with a pleased hum, that you speak, your voice quiet. "So how are you Raf, really?"
"Tired." He breaks open the popcorn. "Sick of fighting off motions for this case. You?"
You grimace, thinking about the pile of work growing in your inbox. "About the same."
"Well aren't we a pair." He gives a little crooked smile as he says it, and you try not to look too pleased with his choice of words.
You settle into quiet conversation - about his mother (she's doing well, and he talks about her work at the charter school with no small amount of pride), about the latest inter-office gossip (there's at least two affairs going on but he only complains about O'Dwyer's latest promotional pet project), about the request his office sent over yesterday (you're already working on the case analyses).
He's just explaining what details he'd like you to look out for when there's a light rap at your door.
Rafael pauses. You unconsciously straighten in your seat before you call out. "Yes?"
The door creaks open and one of the front desk assistants steps just inside the threshold. "I'm sorry to interrupt." She looks between you and Rafael, then turns back to you. "But your father is here to see you."
You blink.
"That can't be right," you frown. "My parents don't even live in the city."
She glances again at Rafael - who's watching you intently over his thermos - before she turns back to you with a strained smile. "Just passing along what he said," she says, her voice apologetic.
"Did he give a name?"
When she says it you sigh, cursing internally. "Alright, I'll... I'll be down in a minute. Thank you."
And with that, she nods at you both and closes the door behind her. In the ensuing silence, the easy, friendly air from before seems to have been sucked out of the room after her.
"Should I go?"
"No." Your reply is fast enough that Rafael'e eyebrows raise in surprise. "No, I'll just see what he wants and send him home. He shouldn't even be - I can't believe he's - fuck." You trail off into a groan of frustration, burying your head in your hands.
"One of those, huh," he says softly. It's not spoken as a question.
"Yeah," you mutter into your hands.
"Want me to scare him off?"
You know he's just trying to lighten the mood but your heart still jumps when you look up at him, foolish and half hope. "Would you?"
It slips out before you can stop it but you can't regret asking, not when he holds your gaze with a kind of warmth and sincerity he usually can't afford to show.
"For you?" he murmurs, "Of course."
You're proud that your next breath comes out relatively steady.
"Thank you," you say softly. "But you really don't need to get in the middle of my family drama."
His lips twitch into a wry, crooked smile. "I'm paid to get in the middle of family drama all the time. Yours is no trouble, trust me."
Your chest shakes with a laugh despite yourself, and his smile softens, his eyes crinkling. In the light of the setting sun from your window, it makes him look younger. Lighter.
It looks good on him.
"At least let me walk you down."
He never was one to give up on a tough case. If you're honest with yourself, you never want him to stop.
"Alright, alright," you cede with a small smile. "It's a deal, counselor."
Looking entirely too pleased with himself, Rafael pushes up from the loveseat, thermos in hand. He takes his overcoat from the rack by the door and holds out your own, and your elbows brush as he steps out of your office behind you.
As the two of you walk down the hallway towards the elevator and whatever unpleasant surprise awaits you in the lobby, you realize that somehow - with Rafael beside you - you don't dread it.
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