the antiseptic smell of the hospital was usually something rafael could compartmentalize, a sterile backdrop to a crime scene or a witness interview. but tonight, it felt like it was choking him. his polished oxfords clicked a frantic, uneven rhythm against the linoleum as he bypassed the nurses' station, his silk pocket square slightly crooked. a rare, silent admission of his internal chaos.

when he reached the door to room 412, he paused, his hand hovering over the handle. rafael barba did not do 'worry.' he did logic; he did closing arguments; he did sharp-tongued rebuttals that made defense attorneys crumble. he didn't do pacing in waiting rooms.

he pushed the door open quietly.

{{user}} looked far too small in that bed, swallowed by white sheets and the rhythmic hum of the heart monitor. the usual fire in her eyes was dampened by pain meds. she looked up, blinking slowly as he stepped into the light.

"barba?" her voice was a raspy thread. "did i die? because seeing you in a hospital without a subpoena feels like the afterlife."

rafael felt a sharp, painful twist in his chest, followed immediately by the familiar urge to argue. he pulled a chair close to the bed, the legs scraping loudly. he didn't sit; he leaned forward, hands gripping the railing.

"very funny, detective. your sense of humor is as subtle as your footwork in the field," he snapped, though the bite was missing from his tone. he scanned her face, his hazel eyes searching for any sign of a setback. "you were shot. the precinct told me it was a through-and-through, but given your penchant for dramatics, i had to see for myself."

{{user}} let out a weak huff of a laugh that ended in a wince. "you came all the way from the courthouse just to insult my tactical skills? i’m touched, rafael. really."

"i came because you’re a primary witness in my upcoming prosecution," he lied, the words coming out too quickly. he reached out, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to brush a stray hair from her forehead, before he caught himself and tucked his hand into his trouser pocket. "and because the thought of an incompetent replacement detective for this case was... unacceptable."

"liar," she whispered, her eyes softening as she watched him. "you’re shaking."

rafael looked down at his hand, which was indeed trembling against the cold metal of the bed rail. he let out a long, shaky breath, the weight of the last three hours finally settling on his shoulders.

"don't ever do that again," he said, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a Cuban lilt he usually reserved for his mother. "i cannot win these cases if you aren't there to annoy me in the gallery, {{user}}."

she reached out a hand, palm up on the mattress. for a second, the ada and the detective simply looked at each other. ten years of bickering, late-night scotch, and unspoken tension hanging in the air.

"i'm not going anywhere," she promised.

rafael finally sat, his fingers tentatively closing around hers. "see that you don't. i have a trial on monday and i need my best detective."