Chapter Text
15.
The first time he truly fears for his life is when he’s trapped in the elevator with a man who points out that he has an endless list of enemies.
It’s not that the guy is physically intimidating. He’s on the short side, with a baby face and a small smile that Rafael imagines he practices in the mirror so he looks above it all. It needs work.
Still, Rafael finds it difficult to breathe, to focus his vision, in that small space. He’d thought this building was secure. He’d thought…office, station, courthouse. Safe. Safe-ish. If this was a demonstration that Rafael could be gotten to anywhere, it worked. He’s done ignoring the problem, done trying to put on a brave face. The minute the elevator door opens, he grabs the closest guy in uniform for help.
Telling Rollins and Carisi is more difficult. He realizes it was probably childish machismo that had kept him quiet for so long, and he embraces that childishness when Rollins announces she’s calling Liv, feeling like he’s back in school and being sent to the principal’s office again.
Sonny looms in close, as usual, perching on his desk instead of sitting in the perfectly good chair in front of it, but the claustrophobia Rafael had felt in the elevator is gone. He’s feeling lighter, and not just because of the adrenaline crash. Tim’s alarms and cameras and panic buttons had helped, but he’d needed these people on this. It would be fine.
It’s not fine.
Dodds. Dodds is dead and Rafael can’t stop the thought that it was supposed to be him.
It’s not logical. Munson had nothing to do with the threats against Rafael. But he’d gotten it into his head that, if anyone on the team were going to get hurt, it was his turn. Not Dodds, who was engaged for Christ’s sake. Dodds who was brave, who’d made his daddy issues work for him, who’d had a bright future ahead of him and someone to live for. It wasn’t right.
The next few days are a bit of a blur.
There’s the funeral and wake, which Rafael had considered skipping before admitting to himself that he’d never disrespect Dodds like that, even if he’s feeling too guilty and vulnerable and raw to be around a bunch of drunk cops.
There’s Sonny’s dimply reassurances and awkward offer to sleep over at Rafael’s “for protection.” Rafael knows that would be a horrible idea, given the amount of booze in his system.
There’s the squinty-eyed promise from Liv that she’d figure out who’s after him, even if it’s obvious she’s distracted.
And then, there’s the arrest of Felipe Heredio.
It’s not as satisfying as Rafael had hoped, once it becomes clear that Heredio’s just a hired mouthpiece. Finding him is not the end of anything. Based on the fact that threat assessment’s leading to a 24/7 security detail, Rafael is sick to think that it’s the start of something worse.
While he’s in the station, Rafael does his best to act like it’s all a minor inconvenience. He chats with Sonny, asks after Liv, and then goes home, tailed by a black SUV filled with current and former NYPD detectives who will make up the day shift of his security detail for the foreseeable future.
He escorts them into his apartment building, and Tim is there waiting, as requested. They go over the systems already in place, both there and at his mom’s, talk about his routine and what to expect going forward.
“Am I allowed to have company over, or would they need to be vetted?” he asks, itching to get all of these strangers out of his home. He can almost feel the detectives eyeballing the way his pantry is organized by color.
“Ideally, you won’t have anyone over without advanced notice. We’re not going to search people you walk in yourself, so if you do bring someone home, make sure you know them well. We’re going to be as unobtrusive as possible unless the situation changes. We’ll post guards by the door, sweep the block, drive you to and from the office, that sort of thing. We’ll reassess in a week.” Hal Brady, the detective in charge, seems competent. Straightforward. Not too pissed off to be on this particular detail, which is the most promising sign.
“I’m guessing this will go on until it’s no longer perceived as a credible threat,” Rafael sighs. “What exactly is that decision based on?”
“Frequency and language of any future texts and phone calls. Direct confrontation. Evidence of surveillance. There are a lot of factors that go into this, counselor.”
“And if the people involved do turn out to be law enforcement, and presumably familiar with procedure here, what’s to say they won’t just wait until your guys are gone? Would you ever consider, I don’t know, a trap? Pulling your people back so it looks like I’m exposed?”
Tim looks at him like he’s crazy, and Rafael feels crazy for even suggesting it, but Brady nods. “It’s been done before. But I wouldn’t recommend it in this situation, and certainly not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because, if it is a cop, he might be a good enough shot to take you down from a distance and get away before we could move in.”
Rafael feels sick. He feels like he’s staring down his father’s belt and like he’s being shoved into that bathroom stall and like he’s being crowded against the elevator wall and he needs these people out of his home, right now.
“Right. Fantastic. Is this everything?”
He must look like hell, because they leave him alone soon after, the duty rotation and photos of his guard detail on the coffee table to memorize.
In the quiet of his apartment, he’s now at a loss. He’s simultaneously exhausted and crawling out of his skin. He wants to hide in his bed and he wants to fight, wants to call Eddie (God, he was a CO. Wonder if he hates me now, too) and he wants to call his therapist and he wants to call his abuelita. He hates that the security detail has made this more real and hates how grateful he feels for their presence. He worries that one or more of them won’t do their job because he’s who he is and he worries more that they will and will get themselves killed for it. He wants to undo every decision that led him to this moment and he wants to issue a press release calling these assholes out because fuck them, he did the right thing.
Finally, after twenty minutes of letting himself unravel, Rafael pulls out his phone and dials the safest number he could think of.
“Hey, it’s me. Do you think you can come over?”
Because what he wants most is someone who’s usually willing to hear anything he has to say, even an admission that he’s not sure how much longer he can do this.