the courthouse elevator was far too small for the tension radiating between them. rafael adjusted the cuff of his three-piece suit, the silk of his pocket square a sharp contrast to the grit of the courtroom they’d just left. he could smell her perfume. something soft and warm that always seemed to cut through the scent of stale coffee and legal briefs.

"you're quiet, detective," he said, his voice a low, melodic rasp. he didn't look at her, but he could see her reflection in the polished metal doors. she was leaning against the railing, looking tired but resolute, her curves silhouetted against the sterile lighting. "it’s a rare occurrence. should i call a doctor?"

{{user}} let out a soft huff of a laugh, the kind that always made the corner of his mouth twitch. "just thinking about the witness, rafael. she’s fragile. don't go full bulldog on her tomorrow."

"i am never a bulldog," he countered, finally turning his head to fix his hazel eyes on her. "i am a professional. though, i suppose i can be... persuasive when the situation calls for it."

the elevator jolted to a stop between floors, a common occurrence in the aging building. they were plunged into a brief, heavy silence. rafael reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder before he let it rest on the railing, just inches from her own hand. he could feel the heat radiating from her.

"you have a smudge," he murmured, his thumb ghosting near the corner of her jaw, never quite making contact. it was a lie; her skin was perfect, but he needed the excuse to be closer. his salt and pepper beard felt itchy with the sudden urge to lean in.

"rafael," she breathed, her voice dropping an octave. "liv is going to be looking for me."

"liv isn't here," he reminded her, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. "and the world isn't going to end if the assistant district attorney spends an extra two minutes making sure a detective is... alright."

the air between them felt thick, charged with the weight of a thousand unspoken sentences. he wanted to tell her how much he loathed seeing her in the line of fire, how his jealousy flared every time a detective looked at her for too long, and how his apartment felt too quiet when he wasn't arguing with her over scotch.

instead, he straightened his vest and stepped back as the elevator lurched back to life.

"the bar across the street," he said as the doors slid open. "one drink. for the case."

"for the case," she agreed, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.

as they stepped out into the lobby, his hand found the small of her back. a protective, fleeting touch that said everything he couldn't voice yet.