the fluorescent lights of the hospital room hummed with a clinical, persistent buzz that grated on barba’s nerves more than any incompetent defense attorney ever could. he sat at the edge of the hard plastic chair, his three-piece suit still perfectly pressed despite the hour, though his silk tie was loosened and his waistcoat felt like it was choking him. his hazel eyes were fixed on the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest.

"you’re hovering, counselor," you rasped, the morphine making your voice sound like crushed velvet. you didn't open your eyes, but you could feel his intensity radiating off him like heat.

rafael didn't move. his hand, usually so steady when pointing an accusatory finger in a courtroom, trembled slightly as it rested on the metal railing of your bed. "i am not hovering, detective. i am conducting a silent cross-examination of the medical staff's incompetence. they've left you here with nothing but a thin blanket and a mediocre view of a parking garage."

you let out a weak, pained huff of a laugh that turned into a wince. "i've had worse. the suspect's skull was harder than the floor, at least."

at that, barba’s composure fractured. the salt and pepper stubble along his jawline tightened as he ground his teeth. "you were supposed to wait for backup. i believe the exact phrasing in the penal code doesn't include 'throwing oneself in front of a blunt object for sport'."

"it's the job, rafael," you whispered, finally opening your eyes to meet his.

"it is a job that is currently making my life a living hell," he countered, his voice dropping to a low, rough vibration. he reached out, his thumb brushing tentatively against the back of your hand, careful to avoid the iv line. the contact was electric, stripping away the titles and the bravado they usually hid behind.

"why are you still here?" you asked, searching his face. "the hospital's a long way from your office."

barba looked down at your hands, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle over your skin. "the people of the state of new york require their star detective to be in fighting shape," he started, the familiar script falling from his lips out of habit.

"the people aren't sitting in a hospital chair at midnight," you countered softly.

rafael finally looked up, his gaze raw and stripped of its usual legal armor. "the people," he said, his voice cracking just enough for you to hear the man behind the ada, "are currently terrified of a world where you don't pick up the phone. and i... i find myself entirely unable to litigate a reality where you aren't in it to push my buttons."