the heavy hospital door creaked as rafael pushed it open, his expensive leather shoes silent on the linoleum. he looked like he’d stepped straight from a courtroom, three-piece suit immaculate, a silk pocket square perfectly folded, but his face was a map of barely contained panic. when he saw you sitting up in the bed, a jagged line of stitches tracing your temple and your arm in a sling, his shoulders finally dropped an inch.

the room was quiet, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only thing filling the silence. he didn’t go to the chair. instead, he walked straight to the edge of the bed, his hand hovering over yours before he pulled back, adjusting his cufflinks instead.

"you look like hell, {{user}}," he murmured, his voice raspy. it was a lie; even with the bruising starting to bloom purple against your skin, he thought you looked like the only thing worth looking at in this city.

"it was just a runner, rafa," you whispered, offering a tired smile. "i’ve had worse."

"and yet, here we are. again," he snapped softly, his dark eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something much more fragile. he looked away, staring at the sterile white wall. "i was in the middle of a deposition when the call came through. i don't think i've ever ended a meeting that quickly. my reputation for professionalism is likely in tatters."

you reached out with your good hand, grazing the sleeve of his coat. "you didn't have to come."

rafael finally looked at you, the mask of the sharp, untouchable ada slipping.

"don't say that," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous frequency. "don't ever say that. you know exactly why i'm here, even if neither of us has the courage to put a name to it."

he sat on the edge of the mattress, the weight of him shifting the bed. he looked at the door, then back at you, his thumb finally brushing the back of your hand.

"elliot was here, wasn't he?" he asked, his tone shifting to something more bitter, more jealous. "i smelled the stale coffee and the old history the moment i walked in."

"he's my old partner, rafael. he was worried."

rafael's grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent claim. "we're both worried. the difference is, he thinks his history gives him a permanent seat at the table. i’m just trying to figure out if there’s any room left for me."