Rafael Barba closed the manila file and slapped it on the desk. "Miami? Really? They don't have their own SVU?" One of his eyebrows quirked in disbelief.

"Of course they do. But this guy's mine, Barba. We almost had him back in 2006 when I was working Computer Crimes," Olivia argued. "He—"

Barba held up a hand, signaling her to stop. Then he massaged one temple. "There's no one else who can go?" he asked hopefully, but Olivia was already shaking her head.

"He knows Fin. And with all due respect to the rest of the squad, I was the one who was trying to collar him." She looked at him with a plea in her eyes. "He's a child trafficker, Barba. We can't let him reopen shop just because he's in another state now."

Rafael blew out a breath. "Fine. Go home, pack your bags, and a car will pick you up in two hours."

Olivia shouldn't have been surprised when the car arrived at her apartment and Barba exited to help load her suitcase, but she was. "I thought you would meet me at the airport. Or, I don't know, take a private jet."

He hoisted her bag into the trunk with ease before leading her to the back door and gesturing her into the car. "The fact that you think I have a private jet at my disposal says a lot about your perceptions of me," he replied as he slid in beside her. Their knees bumped as the driver merged into traffic, and Olivia scooted further to her side, tamping down the tingly feeling emanating from the point of contact. She refocused her attention on their thread of conversation.

"Well, I do know you own a yacht, or know someone who does," she pointed out. "A private jet doesn't seem like such a crazy leap."

Barba shot her a glance out the corner of his eye and the ghost of a smile played on his lips, but then he changed the subject. "Explain to me again why I need to be involved in this case?"

Olivia turned towards him, settling herself against the back of the seat so she could watch him. She hated to admit it since he was sort of like a boss, but his facial expressions endlessly fascinated her. She always liked watching him. "'El Hombre Grande' was identified as a child trafficker here in New York over a decade ago. But by the time anyone had ID Miguel DeSanto, he'd gone deep underground. We looked for a couple months but he was good at hiding, really good. Fast forward to two weeks ago when we got a call from the local precinct asking for our files on this guy calling himself 'El Hombre'. Apparently he's one of the backers of a new luxury nightclub opening in two nights. That's where we come in."

"I understand why you're invested, Olivia, I really do—but why me?" He turned to face her, mirroring her own pose.

Olivia smiled. "It's a Latino club. It's gotta be you and me, Papi."

"Do you always travel this casually?" Barba asked her, a bit huffily, several hours later. He was trying to shove her travel blanket back onto her side of the seat. She had the sudden, sinking feeling that he was the kind of person who insisted they each got half of the armrest.

Olivia glanced down. She was dressed comfortably for their flight: flats, a pair of worn jeans that fit her like a glove, soft camisole, and a swingy cardigan with oversized pockets. Then she looked over at Barba and the reason for his discomfort became clear—he was wearing a three-piece suit, like usual.

"There's actually no formal dress requirement for the plane ride," she stage-whispered to him. When he scowled, she merely laughed and tugged the blanket up to her chin. Adjusting her neck pillow, she leant back and closed her eyes. "You should have taken your private jet. Try not to panic if I drift into your personal space," she teased him.

She thought she heard him murmur "Too late" but just then their flight attendant's voice came over the intercom, walking them through the basics of flotation devices and emergency exits, so Olivia couldn't be sure. She spent the remainder of their flight to Miami decidedly not imagining what it would be like to end up in each other's personal space.

Late that afternoon, Rafael heard the swish of the patio door as Olivia came out to join him on the deck. She wolf-whistled in appreciation. "This is some hotel," she said as she reached the railing. They were standing thirty floors up, looking across the bay at downtown Miami as the sun set. Two torches on their patio gave everything in the vicinity a warm glow.

"Indeed," he replied, taking another sip of his scotch.

They stood in silence for a moment, both taking in the view. Then Olivia turned to face him—she did that a lot, he noticed—and he knew by the expression on her face that he wasn't going to like her line of questioning.

"You've been here before."

Since it wasn't a question, he didn't answer. Merely drank again, albeit more deeply than before.

"Did you fly down in your jet and meet a lover at this hotel?" she asked playfully. She went on without waiting for him to respond. "Let's see. I bet you took a boat out on the bay. Dinner at five star restaurants and dancing until the wee hours of the morning. Daiquiris on the beach and nude sunbathing by your own private pool... Stop me when I get to the part that's not true," she joked.

Rafael finished his drink and turned his head to meet her gaze. "You haven't hit an untruth yet," he deadpanned. The way her jaw dropped made him smile, and he left the railing to go back inside. She still hadn't regained her speech by the time he reached the sliding door, so he added over his shoulder, "I really hate tan lines."

Closing himself in his suite for the night, he reflected on how much he enjoyed getting one over on her. Olivia was smart as hell and quick-witted to boot, so it wasn't often that he walked away feeling like he'd won their exchanges. Which made his occasional victories all the sweeter, although he would never admit to her that he looked forward to their verbal sparring. Or that he increasingly found himself wanting to end her tirades by covering her mouth with his own. No, she could never know.

Rafael realized it was going to be a very long stay in Miami.

I could get used to this, Olivia thought the next morning as she soaked in the giant whirlpool tub in her en suite bathroom. The hotel they were staying at was as high-class as she'd ever seen, and their penthouse suite had enormous bedrooms and bathrooms for both of them. They shared a kitchen, living space, and patio.

At least, they were supposed to share. After last night on the porch, Barba had retreated to his room and stayed there. Olivia had spent another hour or so outside, relaxing on a chaise lounge while she watched the sun sink the rest of the way. Then she'd puttered around in the kitchen and living area for a while, but Barba's door had remained firmly shut. Eventually she'd given up on company and gone to bed.

The gigantic bed was no help, though. It was made for two, and the silken sheets positively begged for amorous action. Olivia had tossed and turned for most of the night, thinking about Barba and whether or not he really jetted around to expensive hotels and met lovers and tanned in the buff. And trying not to think about how jealous that made her feel. After all, she couldn't afford for an attraction to ruin their working relationship. Barba was the best ADA they'd had, and he had some stiff competition. Besides, she didn't think he returned her interest. Even once she'd made it her own personal goal to become better acquainted with his expressions, she couldn't always read him. She supposed it was part of why he was so good at his job, but it was damn frustrating for her.

Olivia twisted the faucet to add some more hot water. Maybe she would just stay in the tub all day until it was time for their debriefing with the Miami SVU. She was certain this was an establishment that would never run out of hot water, no matter how many times in a day she filled the huge tub. Sighing, she sank into the water up to her ears, enjoying the muffled sound of the running water from beneath the surface.

A flash of movement at the edge of her vision had her springing up and grabbing for her gun. When she realized she had it pointed directly at Barba's forehead, she huffed out a breath. "Christ, Barba, don't you knock?" she asked, her shoulders sagging in relief.

"I did," he answered calmly. "Several times, in fact. I was worried you were drowning in here." He looked her up and down, then spoke slowly, enunciating every word very carefully. "Although I see now that worry was misplaced." When his eyes completed their circuit of her body, he met her gaze and raised his brows. "Care to put your weapon away, Sergeant?"

"Oh. Right." Olivia put the safety back on and set the gun back down on the shelf by the tub, next to the towels. THE TOWELS!

Letting out a small shriek, Olivia grabbed at the stack and covered herself as quickly as she could. When he'd barged in on her, she'd forgotten for a moment that she was completely naked. Now, however, her entire attention was focused on the fact that she was standing in front of Rafael Barba, naked but for a towel, and that there was water sluicing seductively down her body. Her naked body. Naked, naked, naked...

Clearing her throat and attempting to drag her mind away from other activities that involved being naked, Olivia said the first thing that came to mind. "I do have tan lines," she offered lamely. Immediately she felt herself blushing even harder than before. Idiot, she chastised herself. He can SEE that!

To his credit, Barba kept his eyes on her face this time. "You might want to leave yourself enough time to un-prune before the Miami captain gets here at noon," he suggested. Then he spun on his heel and left, shutting the door softly behind him. Olivia sank back into the tub, groaning quietly and completely unmindful of the towel.

"How do you feel about dinner?" Rafael asked later that evening.

"Favorably," Olivia murmured, stifling a yawn behind her hand. The Miami SVU team had left a few minutes ago after several long, grueling hours of debriefing and plan-making. At least everything was set for tomorrow night, a fact which made Rafael feel a bit less tense than he would have otherwise.

"There's a fantastic Cuban place around the corner," he offered.

"I'll go get dressed," Olivia said, but she didn't move from her slouched position on the couch. Rafael smiled. They were both worn out, it was true; but something about having her undivided attention to himself tonight was making him feel—on edge, he supposed.

"Why don't you stay here. Grab a glass of wine, watch the sun set. I'll run over and bring it back here." Matching actions to words, he stood and shrugged into his suit jacket. "Shouldn't take more than half an hour."

"You don't have to," she protested, but it was weak. She'd draped her arm over her eyes and he would bet his best suit that she would be asleep before he'd reached the lobby.

He knew exactly the argument that she couldn't—wouldn't—refute. "We probably shouldn't be seen together until tomorrow night, anyway," he pointed out.

Olivia peeked one eye at him from beneath her arm. "That's playing dirty," she said.

"Mami, you don't know me at all if you think I ever play clean." He winked at her. "I'll meet you on the patio in forty minutes."

Olivia dragged herself up off the couch after the door closed behind Barba. He was taking care of dinner; the least she could do was clear away their case files and make the place a little homier. She spent the next fifteen minutes doing exactly that, pleased to find that their suite had wireless speakers and a built-in stereo. After their files were safely boxed, she poured herself a glass of wine and spent some time swaying around the place to an upbeat Cuban music station.

A few more songs found her shimmying and shaking around the living space, hopping up on the couch to belt out the lyrics to one of her favorites. Once the song ended, she flopped down on the couch to take a breather and finish her glass of wine.

"Oh, damn," she hissed when some of the red sloshed onto her shirt and pants. She stripped off her blouse as she entered her bedroom, tossing it onto an armchair before removing her slacks. Reaching into her suitcase for another shirt and pair of pants, a flash of purple caught her eye. It was the dress she'd packed for their foray into the nightclub, a frivolous purchase from several months before when a rough case had knocked her for a loop. It was bright purple, form-fitting, and had made her feel like a million bucks when she'd tried it on at the store. Rationalizing that she ought to give it a test drive before the big event, she plucked it from the suitcase and hurried to the bathroom.

Thirty-nine minutes after he'd left, Barba strode onto the patio where Olivia was currently relaxing on one of the loungers, music playing softly through one of the portable speakers. "You're prompt," she said inanely. Not that I've been timing your absence...

His eyebrows rose as he began to methodically set out their dinner. "You're vivid," he replied nonchalantly.

Olivia sat up, a curl of heat spreading through her belly. "I had to change," she explained. "I, um, spilled wine on my other clothes. And I figured this number could use a trial run before tomorrow." She smoothed a hand nervously over her abdomen, suddenly feeling silly and overdressed.

"Olivia Benson, a sloppy drunk. I never would have imagined." Barba's droll tone told her he was just teasing. She leaned back on one hand and watched him as he continued to lay out their food.

"I'm not drunk, Barba."

"Just sloppy, then."

She grabbed one of the pillows off the lounge and threw it at him. Smiling slightly, he caught it in one hand and tossed it carelessly behind him. "Are you ready to eat?"

"Of course." She straightened to stand when his hand appeared in front of her. Glancing up to see nothing but a bland politeness on his face, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to tow her up.

He didn't release her hand right away once she was standing, and she tried to meet his gaze as steadily as he was looking at her. She was just an inch taller than him when she was barefoot, and as they stood together so closely, Olivia had to fight the urge to sway into him. Something about the intensity of his undivided attention was doing things to her insides. The Latin music pulsing through the air and the relative privacy on their balcony wasn't helping, either. Just as she opened her mouth to do something truly stupid—like ask him to dance with her—he spoke first.

"Did you leave me any wine or is it all on your clothing?"

Stepping back, Olivia told herself she was relieved the spell was broken. If he hadn't spoken, who knows what would have happened? Unfortunately, her mind supplied all the possibilities in sparkling detail. Olivia shook herself and moved to sit at the table he'd set for them.

"There's a full bottle inside. And this one's only..." she peeked, not wanting his joking to be right, "half-gone. Enough for us each to have a glass." He held her seat out for her and Olivia tried not to read anything into it. Barba was regularly holding doors and touching the small of her back to guide her through crowds—it was just his mannerism. She focused on pouring them each a glass of wine, then turned her attention to the food spread out before her. "This looks amazing, Barba. Thank you."

"I think you can call me Rafael tonight," he said as he took his seat across from her. She watched as he loosened the knot of his tie and undid the top two buttons on his oxford. Luckily, he didn't glance up to catch her staring, and with great effort she returned her attention to their food. Barba—Rafael, she mentally corrected—had chosen well and they fell silent as they devoured the delicious meal.

Eventually Olivia's belly was beyond full, and she sat back in her chair, closing her eyes and feeling the breeze ruffle her hair.

"Surrendering already, Sergeant?" Rafael asked.

Olivia smiled, her eyes still closed. "I'm afraid so."

"Well, thank god. I don't think I can take much more but I didn't want to be the first to stop. It's rude."

Olivia laughed. They lapsed back into silence until she heard Rafael's chair scrape the floor. Opening her eyes, she saw him sprawling out on one of the chaise lounges and decided he had the right idea. Plopping down onto her own lounge, she exhaled deeply. The music was still flowing from the speakers, the heat of the day had faded enough to be comfortable, and she was full of the most delightful Cuban food she'd ever eaten. Perhaps she would just drift off and sleep under the stars... It was close to ten o'clock now, anyway, thanks to their marathon debriefing session earlier in the day.

She felt rather than saw when Rafael turned his attention to her. A prickling sensation crept up her neck and her stomach tightened. Turning her head, she saw that he was indeed on his side facing her, his eyes boring into hers.

"So what do you usually do on the night before an undercover op?" he asked.

She twisted onto her side as well, pillowing her head on her arm. "Read a book or watch a movie, anything, really; and try not to think about it," she replied.

He nodded slowly. "And does that work?"

She smiled slightly. "Never," she said honestly.

He nodded again, looking as though he had expected that answer but hoped for a different one anyway. Taking pity on him, Olivia stood and pushed her lounge chair right up next to his before settling back down. "You're going to do great, Barba," she murmured, stifling a yawn.

"Obviously," he answered, his usual swagger back in place. She grinned at him before rolling onto her back.

"I'm going to listen to the music with my eyes closed for a bit," she told him.

"Just don't fall asleep," he warned her. "I have a rule about not sleeping with colleagues."

Olivia reached out and blindly smacked whatever part of him she could reach. "Shut up, Barba. You would be so lucky."

She could practically hear the smile in his voice when he said, "I have no doubt."

A/N: I'm supposed to be writing a Harry Potter gift fest piece but this poured out instead. I love their chemistry onscreen and refuse to accept Tucker as Olivia's love interest. More to come!