For @yourtropegirl‘s Raul Appreciation Week - Chilton makes an unexpected friend on vacation…
Vacation.
It was hardly even in Chilton’s vocabulary, yet, there he was staring at cheeses in a small shop at a winery in Napa.
Anonymous asked:
seekret-fanfic answered:
Setting: Jonas Nightingale no longer is the scam artist he once was. Well, not an illegal one. In an attempt to make an honest living, he’s a salesman. Not a bad gig for him, really. He frequently drops by your office, selling the latest in office and technology products, always sure to give you a wink and a smile.
But today is different…
It had been a bit of a day for you, and not in the cheery, Lin-Manuel-won-eleventy-billion-awards sort of way.
Something went wrong.
bell88x9y asked:
seekret-fanfic answered:
Something with the numbers are off, BUT I got the right request done. Enjoy!
(I may have to send out messages to make sure there wasn’t a mistake on anyone else’s!)
Apologies for any errors. The eyes are finally starting to recover from this afternoon’s dilation.
You jingled your keys as you walked down the hallway, making your presence known as you approached your neighbor.
He’d given you a key to his place months ago when you offered to water his plants while he was away for the weekend.
Just because you lived in the city didn’t mean you had to stop being neighborly.
Good thing, too, for him, since he managed to lock himself out of his apartment this particular evening.
“Did I interrupt something?”
He looked you up and down, a move that would normally earn your disgust, but in this case, you understood.
Barba had only ever seen you in your usual daytime attire: jeans or sweats and an oversized t-shirt, glasses, hair pulled back in a messy bun. Standing in front of his door now in a simple black dress, hair down and styled, it was obvious you didn’t just come from the gym or a walk around the block.
“A date, but don’t worry about it.”
His face fell.
“Well, now I really feel bad. Did you get through dinner at least?”
“Appetizers had just been ordered when you called.”
“There’s takeout on its way. You’re welcome to join me. Unless of course you were going to return to your date.”
“No chance of that. He wasn’t too thrilled I took your call.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel worse for calling…”
“Not at all. There are some questionably old Lean Cuisines at my place, so takeout sounds great, so long as you’re sure you don’t mind me intruding. Don’t feel obligated.”
“Please. I always order too much anyway.”
You stepped inside and slipped your shoes off by the door.
“Make yourself comfortable.”
You walked over to the couch and took a seat. You’d been in the apartment before, but it was odd being here as an invited guest. You knew little about your neighbor, other than the fact that he was an ADA who worked long hours, and the apartment itself, while nicely decorated, didn’t tell you much about him.
“Wine?”
Barba set two glasses and a bottle on the coffee table.
“Perfect.”
He filled the glasses and sat beside you, quietly sipping his wine.
“So, I don’t think I know what it is you do?”
“For work?” Of course work, you thought to yourself. Small talk was never your strong point. “I’m a programmer. I contract mostly, and I do a lot of app creation.”
He tipped his head to the side and leaned forward.
“Programming?”
“Yes. What?”
“What do you mean, what?”
“Nine times out of ten, people tune out when I tell them what I do, or ask me if I make things like Candy Crush.”
“Do you?”
You were about to shoot him a dirty look when you caught the smirk on his face.
“Not really.”
“Actually, it just made me think of a case.”
“Oh?”
“There’s a suspect who’s been assaulting women and the thinking was that he was using social media to track them, but they all use different platforms and have different online behavior. We have a suspect, but the detectives are having a hard time finding a connection across victims.”
“Has your team looked to see if they have any other apps in common, maybe something not necessarily social media related?”
“You have something in particular in mind?”
“Something that required them to have their location services enabled. They didn’t have any kind of safety alert app on their phones, did they?”
Barba was texting someone as you spoke. “Why?”
“It would be the perfect way to track unsuspecting victims. If the creator made a backdoor that allowed them to cull personal data and the live location, he could easily stalk his victims. Depending on the app, he might even be able to access their camera on whatever device they were using.”
“Really?”
“Yup.
His phone buzzed and his eyebrows went up.
“Several of the victims have the same alert app. But not all.”
“Tell your team to see if the ones that don’t have the app ever downloaded it. It could have left a ghost app behind that runs in the background. The user wouldn’t know it was there. And then if they find that’s the case, if your tech team has the ability, they can search for a signature in the code and compare it to anything else the suspect has created.”
“You’re saying the guy would be stupid enough to sign his handiwork?”
“Ego is a powerful thing.”
Barba typed in his phone as he got up to answer a knock at the apartment door. He returned with a bag and set it down on the table, still staring on his phone.
“How would you feel about taking the food to go?”
You stood up and nodded. “Not a problem. You’ve got work to do. I can head back to my place.”
“Not what I meant. I was thinking of taking you over to the precinct. Maybe you could help the team look for this signature you’re talking about?”
~~~
“There.”
One of the detectives, Carisi, looked over your shoulder.
“What am I lookin’ at?”
“See that right there?”
He shook his head.
“It looks like everything else.”
His partner, Rollins, pointed to the screen.
“That bit of code right there?”
“Yeah. It doesn’t actually do anything. Is your suspect named Sam, by any chance?”
“His last name is Samuels,” Barba answered. “How did you…?”
“It’s there in the useless code. The first letter of every variable spells out a message, in this case, “Sam I am”. That’s his signature. Given that it’s a pretty old school way of signing your work, he’s probably been using it forever, so I reverse compiled some of his known work with a hex editor, and…”
You slid your chair back and pointed to the screens, showing the same code highlighted in several windows.
“I could kiss you right now.”
You and the two detectives all turned to look at Barba, still staring at the screens.
“Buy the girl dinner first, Barba.”
“Technically, he did,” you said, pointing to the half empty takeout container on the desk in front of you.
“Big spender,” Carisi chimed in.
Barba appeared to be ignoring you all as he put the phone to his ear.
“Carisi, Rollins, what are you waiting for? Fill in Benson and go.”
The detectives thanked you and took off, leaving you with Barba as he finished up on the phone.
“I guess I owe you again.”
“As I see it, I’m owed about two hours of consulting, a proper dinner, and a date. Is there paperwork I need to submit for that? A slightly less traditional expense report?”
Barba rolled his eyes.
“Come on, let’s get you home.”
“I guess that means the offer of a kiss is off the table.”
The two of you walked on to the elevator and he hit the button for the first floor.
“Put it in the report and we’ll see if it gets approved.”
He smiled without looking at you as the elevator doors opened.
Of course the minute I say I want to write a few quick pieces, everything goes crazy.
So, apologies for the delay! @vintagemichelle91
“Sorry!”
The woman rushed past in a blur, not even a pause to see if her apology had been accepted.
To be fair, Barba was consumed in texting Benson about the latest case when it happened, so the minor crash in the hallway was likely as much his fault as hers. And it wasn’t as if these things never happened in the courthouse. Everyone was in rush and wrapped up in their own reasons for being there.
Barba wouldn’t have given it a second thought, if it hadn’t happened again the next day.
Again, a rushed apology, the woman barely still long enough for Barba to catch a glimpse. If it wasn’t for the familiar timbre of her voice, and the scent of magnolia left in her wake, he wouldn’t have known it was the same woman.
For just a moment, he wondered why she was in such a rush. Was she a witness in a case? A court reporter, maybe?
Whoever she was, she seemed to have a bad habit of running late.
Barba hated dealing with people who couldn’t be on time. Whoever she was, he was glad she wasn’t heading for his courtroom.
~~
“Rafael!”
Barba glanced up from his phone and walked over to the counter to grab the coffee cup waiting there. His gaze shifted back to his phone as he walked toward the door, only to be stopped by a tap on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, but I think you have my coffee.”
Barba turned to find himself face-to-face with the voice from the courthouse halls.
“What?”
The woman held up the cup in her hand, pointing to the name on the side.
“I’m not Rafael, and I’m guessing you aren’t Mercedes.”
Barba examined the cup and confirmed what she was saying. Scrawled across the side was something that resembled a name, and definitely not his own. He held the cup out to her and exchanged it for his own.
“Sorry about that.”
“Yeah, well, it happens from time to time when you’re tied to your phone.”
“Are you blaming me for the last two days? As I recall, those run-ins might have been prevented if someone hadn’t been in such a rush.”
“I think we can share the blame for that. And considering I just saved your life, I think we can call it good.”
“Saved my life?”
“Or at least your stomach. You wouldn’t want my coffee. It’s basically jet fuel.”
Barba smiled. “Clearly, you’re unfamiliar with my coffee habits.”
“Is that an invitation?” She continued without waiting for a response. “I doubt they compare to mine.”
“Are we competing for who is more caffeine dependent now?”
She laughed, her nose crinkling as she did. Barba found himself smiling as she tucked her hair behind her ear and shook her head.
“It would appear that’s the case. What’s sad is I’m actually enjoying this.” She glanced down at her watch and frowned. “Unfortunately, all good things come to an end.”
“Running late for something else?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she managed a smile.
“Very funny. It was nice running into you again, Rafael.”
Barba finally sipped his triple espresso and nodded. “You too.”
She walked out the door, Barba left wondering if he might be lucky enough to crash into her once more.
.
locke-writes asked:
seekret-fanfic answered:
7) A very old letter, a wolf, a family heirloom
Whew! This is a tough one, @locke-writes! Challenge accepted.
Barba reached for his cup of coffee, letting out an exasperated sigh as he felt the lack of weight within.
Already empty.
It was his third cup and it was barely 10 o’ clock.
He pushed back from his desk, dragging himself over to the fancy coffee maker Carmen bought him last year for Bosses’ Day.
As he sipped from the freshly made cup, he made a mental note to go all out for Administrative Professionals’ Day this year. Carmen more than deserved it.
The door to his office swung open, his mother standing in the doorway, Carmen behind her giving him an apologetic shrug.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mami?”
He walked over and kissed her cheek and she waved him away.
“You cancelled lunch. Again.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a long week.”
She stared at her son, her head cocked to one side, eyes narrowing. It was a look Barba knew well, as he’d seen himself copy it unconsciously many times.
“You don’t look well.”
“I’m just tired.”
“No, I know what tired looks like. This is more than that.”
Barba sat on the couch next to his mother, staring silently, before finally letting out a long sigh.
“I had a nightmare,” he paused, feeling out of place, a man of his age and stature talking to his mother about bad dreams. “I had the nightmare.”
“El lobo?” [The wolf?]
He nodded.
“I don’t think I’ve had that dream since I was a kid, but it felt just as terrifying as it did then. I woke up sweating, and after that I couldn’t really sleep.”
Lucia squeezed her son’s hand.
“Pobrecito…” [poor baby]
“I know it was just a dream. I feel like an idiot letting it get to me.”
“Sometimes our dreams are telling us something. They say that wolves in dreams have to do with facing a fear. Maybe there’s something you need to face? Or you’re afraid to?”
Barba shrugged. “Or maybe I just ate some bad Chinese.”
“Well, that’s definitely possible. You eat like a teenager sometimes, Rafi.”
Barba put his hands up, smiling.
“I know, I know. I’m working on it.”
Lucia glanced over at his desk and suddenly stood, walking over and picking up a small copper figurine in the shape of a flower.
“I didn’t know you kept this here.”
Barba stood, shoving his hands in his pockets, his voice quiet. “It was hers. I like seeing it there.”
“Your Abuelita loved you so much. You know why she gave this to you?”
“It’s the national flower. She was proud of where she came from. Wanted me to be proud to?”
“That might have been part of it. But the flower means more than that. It represents strength and pureness of heart. It’s what she wished for you, especially in the face of all the things you see.”
“Even when facing wolves, Mami? Not so subtle.”
“I wasn’t going for subtlety.”
Barba let out a quiet chuckle as she set the flower back on his desk and pat him on the cheek.
“Dinner, tomorrow night. I promise.”
“Don’t promise. But yes, you better be there.”
He smiled and shook his head as she left his office, running his finger along the small figure of a flower, picking it up and placing it in his pocket.
~~
He sat down with a glass of scotch, pulling out the tattered album his Abuelita left for him, gently turning the pages, looking at the images of family long gone, finally stopping when he got to the letter.
She had told him about the letter, a correspondence between her grandparents before they were married. The words in the letter weren’t flowery, far from purple prose, yet they still painted a picture of two people who were in love. Two people who were completely devoted to one another, no matter what they faced.
He closed the album, setting it aside, leaning his head back as he contemplated what his mother told him.
Was the wolf a sign that he needed to face a fear?
Maybe.
But which fear was it?
His phone buzzed on the table, a familiar name lighting up the screen, and he couldn’t help but wonder…
His life was so consumed, he often thought of himself as someone who wasn’t ready to settle, to commit.
Was that the fear he needed to face? Fear of committing? Or was it the fear that he’d never find love like the love in that letter?
He pulled the flower from his pocket, rolling it around between his fingers as he answered the call.
Facebook thought it was important I remember…
Apologies for holding the story hostage for so long!! (–> insert many excuses here <–)
You can get fully caught up here:
ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR , FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, ELEVEN, TWELVE , THIRTEEN, FOURTEEN, FIFTEEN, SIXTEEN , SEVENTEEN
A quick refresher since it’s been a while:
“Gotta say, I can only assume someone who would give you something that nice would be trying to impress,” he tapped precisely at the suit of the card-charms, “or win your heart.”
A hot blush rose to her cheeks, and she picked up a coffee mug with both hands so the bracelet in question would stop being the focal point. “Maybe you shouldn’t assume things so much, Fin.”
Without even thinking, he accidentally dropped his fork to the table, causing a distraction for both them and the nearby busboy. Fin knew that was familiar, but was taking a moment to place precisely where this conversation had occurred before.
“By the way,” Reina interrupted, hoping to bring the topic away from her new trinket, “I’m going to that flea market again this weekend, does your son need anything for the baby? They have so many things there-”
That was it: Fin flinched, suspiciously narrowed his stare and kept a close watch on her face; “Yea, the flea market… didn’t they have that Christmas booth set up year round?”
The corner of her mouth, oh so slightly, twitched. “Yea, you made fun of it last time we went, so why? You gonna be Grampy Santa Clause? Think indulging in the Christmas Spirit will get you brownie points?”
Maybe not, but at least now he knew where he had seen little snow globes recently… well, one of two places… “Nah,” hoping not to appear to be mulling over the confirmation as much as he definitely was, Fin took a drink of his own coffee and stared at the checkered tablecloth. “But I’m starting to think I may be on to something…”
So, we can see the puzzle pieces starting to fall together for our favorite Sargent… but what does he do from here?
a) Bring it up with Barba- where did those gifts come from, precisely, and for what actual purpose was he so fond of them?
b) Confront Reina- after all, it’d be proactive of him to make sure whoever is sending her presents has good intentions… right?
c) See Carisi… that guy did seem to have a way of knowing anything, and Reina had been spending an awfully lot of time with him lately…
d) Let it sit, keep an eye on any developments, hope someone slips up eventually…
It was close, but B won, so here we GO.
Fin was determined to dig a little deeper.
When he added it all up, he felt certain that there was something happening between Rey and Barba, but what?
Hey guys! If you were reading this series, you’ll be (hopefully) happy to know I’ll be working on the next part - feel free to get your thoughts/votes in, or just keep an eye out for the next installment.
This is new ground for me, so I hope it does Chilty justice.
Besos.
(ed. you can view all parts of this fic here)
He looked in the mirror and took a deep breath in, sucking in his stomach and straightening his back as best he could.
The suit had been tailored specifically for him, falling just so at his sides, his ascot a purple and green paisley, her two favorite colors.
“It brings out your eyes,” she’d said when she gave it to him.
He scoffed.
“Eye, not eyes.”
She was used to such remarks, the constant doubt and self-deprecation, and merely kissed him and shook her head.
It wasn’t as if she couldn’t understand. She’d seen him worse off than he was now.
Before the countless surgeries. Before the facial reconstruction.
She’d been at his side early on, without the benefit of the filter being in love casts on these sorts of things.
Before he saw her, when the burns were still so bad he couldn’t see, he always imagined her as this doting, matronly type of woman. She had an air of authority when dealing with the rest of the staff, but with him, her voice was always so gentle and kind.
Her touch, too, was gentle, but there was never a hesitation to it. She was undeterred by the open wounds, scarred flesh, the remnants of a man that was once whole.
When he could finally see, he was shocked to find her younger than he’d imagined, and while she kept a plain appearance, practically attired and little makeup, he found her alluring. His attraction only served to increase his self-consciousness, assuming a woman like that couldn’t find him anything more than pitiable.
Yet she would linger well past the hours required for his care, even taking her meals with him while he remained in recovery. It was those hours when he would bare his soul, revealing the emotional wounds and scars from childhood that were sometimes more painful then his physical ones.
When he was ready to return home, he never thought she would accept his offer to hire her for his continued care, yet he made the proposal anyway. He fully expected her to say ‘no’, but when she responded in the negative, he wasn’t prepared for her reason.
“I’m sorry,” she’d said, “but I can’t be your nurse. I’ve actually been looking forward to this day, because it would no longer be a terrible breach of ethics for me to ask you to dinner.”
Chilton would have assumed this was a sick joke, planned by someone who hadn’t seen him in enough pain already, except he knew she wasn’t capable of such a thing.
So they dated.
He insisted on doing everything he could to court her properly. Gifts, fancy dinners, love letters; he even tried his hand at poetry.
It wasn’t necessary, as she insisted she was happiest when he would allow her to snuggle against him, quietly listening to music and reading.
When they lay together in bed, she’d trace his scars, the waffled imprints of his grafts. She told him his skin was a map of his life, a series of journeys she could never grow tired of. He wasn’t sure that could be possible, saying he should marry her immediately before she could take back her poetic exaggerations.
“I’m not exaggerating, Frederick. Are you?”
That’s how he ended up proposing in nothing but his underwear, a story she loved to tell at future dinners and social events.
And that’s how he ended up here. Staring in a full length mirror, still in shock that he was about to become anyone’s husband, let alone such an amazing woman as she.
“Chilty? Are you ready yet? Are we meeting in the garden still?”
The voice came through the door, the voice of his beloved bride-to-be. He leaned his head against it, smiling knowing she was probably doing the same on the other side.
“Yes. I’ll give you a head start and meet you there.”
“Okay. Look outside the door before you come. I’ve left you something.”
He listened to the sounds of fabric brushing together as she rushed away, silently counting as she did.
When he opened the door, a wooden cane was leaning against the wall. The head was red jasper carved into the image of a phoenix, with words etched along the length of cane. He examined it, reading the inscription aloud in the empty corridor.
Arise phoenix
born of broken heart…
that hath burned
and been all consumed
here from
mere ash silhouettes
of memories
take wing
and with your rebirth
let once more
the beating of your wings
be the beating
of my heart
Chilton swallowed against the lump forming in his throat.
He was determined to see his bride through clear eyes and not a veil of tears.
He made his way to the garden, the same garden where she’d take him in his wheelchair during his recovery, and later took him for walks as he continued his rehab.
It was here that he wanted to have his first look at her as his bride. Not in front of a room full of people. It was to be intimate and meaningful. Something that was theirs and theirs alone.
As he slowly made his way around the final hedge, he caught a glimpse of her standing before a stone bench, her hair swept up away from her face, her cheeks rosy, lips their natural pink hue.
She looked up, a warm smile spreading across her face, her eyes sparkling as they reflected the late afternoon sun.
“Remember to breathe, Frederick.”
He closed his eyes, taking a breath, returning her smile. She stood before him and he reached out his hand to touch her face, her cheek smooth against his scarred fingers.
“Are you sure you’re ready to be Mrs. Frederick Chilton? You can still walk away from this.”
“I have no doubts. I never have.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek and motioned to the wall of hedges behind her.
“Go ahead. I’ll see you in a moment.”
Relucantly, Chilton walked beyond the hedge where the guests were seated, waiting for his arrival. He didn’t want to be away from her side for even a moment.
He slowly made his way to the front, standing by the officiant and waiting for her to turn the corner.
He was breathless once again as she walked down the aisle. A rush of pride pulsed through him as he watched the faces in the crowd, the looks of awe and appreciation upon seeing his beautiful bride, the woman who had chosen him over any other.
Gaining her love was beyond any accomplishment he’d ever achieved.
They exchanged simple vows, wanting to keep the most special and intimate words for just each others’ ears.
The officiant told him to kiss his bride, and he was overcome with the joyous thought that he would never be without her kisses, as he breathed in her sweet scent, her lips gently caressing his.
When they were introduced to the guests as husband and wife, he pulled her close, burying his face in her neck, no longer able to contain his emotion. Although he hid them from the guests, she could feel his tears, and know the happiness he was feeling in finally having found what it is to be what he never thought possible.
Completely loved and whole.
Rerun for the newbies.
Finally watching Raúl’s final episode and this is just SO BAD.
Barba’s actions are so OOC, and they’ve written Liv to a point where I can hardly stand her character anymore.
I just can’t with how they wrote this…
I was able to sneak away this afternoon and get a much needed massage, and it gave me a little inspiration for a quick story for y’all.
So, enjoy?
“Seriously, Barba, unclench. You’d think this was your first time.”
Rerun because poor Barba needs a massage. 😂
