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Nature of the Beast	By : Bucken-Berry Category: G through L > Law & Order Views: 3212 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own SVU and no money is being made from this.

Chapter List
- 1-Chapter 1
- 2-Chapter 2
- 1
- 2
A/N: I know, that took forever. Way longer than I wanted it to. But here we are! Here you are, reading an update, and here I am, being an evil bitch as always. :)
This chapter's short, but it gets the job done, so I'm leaving it. Hope you guys are still interested in this story!

For an indeterminate length of time, Rafael simply lay where he had fallen. Sometimes he prayed. Sometimes he panicked. Sometimes he cried silently as waves of despair crested and crashed over him.
Sometimes he passed out, waking up seconds or hours later. The sky gradually darkened. He passed out again after it had finally turned pitch black, and it was much lighter by the time he woke again.
But he barely paid attention to his surroundings. He just fought to breathe. A while after the sky started lightening again, his stomach churned and he finally vomited. Then breathing became even harder, as every breath required careful effort. He couldn't swallow- it would go in his lungs. He couldn't choke. So he had to focus on breathing through his nose, which was nearly impossible with his mouth full of acidic vomit.
He lost his sense of time, all meaning of everything. He lay there, panting, gasping, groaning, desperate to survive but even more desperate for an end to the pain. Moving hurt. Not moving hurt. Breathing hurt. Not breathing hurt. Thinking hurt. Existing hurt. But he had to keep thinking to keep existing and he had to keep existing to stay alive, so he did it, fighting against the pain.
He knew that no matter how much agony he felt, no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't allow himself to lose consciousness again. If he did, he would never wake up. He'd choke to death on his own vomit. That made him think of Alexandra Borgia from the Manhattan homicide unit. He'd never met her, but he'd heard about her gruesome death. All the New York City prosecutors had. He wondered if they'd feel that outrage and grief for him. Would Jack McCoy try Lewis personally? Or would his case be assigned to a more partial prosecutor, maybe someone from Queens? Rafael thought he'd prefer Jack- he wanted someone who would be livid at his death. But he also thought maybe Jack's rage might turn the jury off. It might make him attack Lewis on the stand, and Lewis was one charming man. He knew how to play people. Rafael wanted Lewis to go to jail for the rest of his life for killing him and whatever he was about to do to Olivia.
Oh, Olivia. He knew what she'd say: he wasn't dead yet. He could still fight. If he could survive this, he could survive anything. So many people needed him; he had to hold on for them, if not himself. Olivia needed him too. But she wouldn't say that because she didn't know. He wished he could call her. But if he could call her, he wouldn't be in this situation anyway, so he wouldn't need to. He laughed to himself. It was fun to think in circles. If he could call, he wouldn't need to call. If he didn't need to call, he wouldn't be here. But he was. So he needed to call her. But he couldn't because he was tied up. Why had Lewis kept him tied up? He'd already shot him. Rafael wasn't going anywhere anyway. Maybe Lewis had forgotten. Lucky. He wished he could forget. But he couldn't. It still hurt like hell. Hell. Satan. Beast. Lewis. Was Lewis a demon? It would explain his almost supernatural luck, his sadism. He imagined Lewis with devil horns and almost laughed aloud before remembering the vomit. Damn Lewis.
If Lewis was a demon, he was probably warm. Lucky. Rafael was freezing. He hoped Olivia punched Lewis when she saw him. Punched him and dumped ice on him. That would serve him right. If Lewis was a demon, maybe the ice would hurt Lewis as much as this gunshot wound was hurting Rafael. Maybe Olivia should freeze some holy water to make absolute sure it hurt. No pain medicine on Earth would fix that. Lewis could burn his own fingertips without pain but holy water- ice- icy holy water- he couldn't fight that. But he didn't think Olivia would have any anyway. She didn't go to church. He wondered if he could persuade her to go with him sometime, if he survived. Or maybe he could be her angel. He didn't want to be an angel though; he didn't want wings. He was afraid of heights. He didn't want to fall. Didn't want to fall, didn't want to let Lewis catch him. Maybe wings would be good after all, then. Wings would let him fly away. But demons could probably fly too. That was where the holy water would come in. He'd have a lot of it if he became an angel.
He blinked. A haze seemed to have come over his apartment. Blink blink. Blink. Blink. Still there. So was the vomit and the gag and the restraints. But the dark wasn't. The sun had climbed in through his window. It stopped just short of his face, like it was shy and didn't want to say hello. Don't be shy, he thought. You're warm. I'm not.
Oh, he was so tired. He wished Lewis had left him a blanket. Then he'd be warm and he could sleep. He closed his eyes. He begged himself for sleep, but didn't receive it. Just more pain. As always. Thinking sure hurt. But he couldn't stop it.
"Rafael?"
He opened his eyes again. But no one was there but the sun. But he'd heard his abuelita's voice. Maybe the sun had used it. Maybe the sun wasn't shy anymore. He hoped so. He was still so cold. The least Lewis could have done was turn up the heat first, but he hadn't.
The sun reached out and brushed over his fingertips. He smiled around his gag. So warm. So yellow. So happy. It couldn't just be the sun, it had to be Abuelita too, because she had always been so happy and the sun had never made him feel like this before. So light and fuzzy and warm inside, like a sweater. He never wore sweaters though. Not fashionable enough. Screw fashion. No, he couldn't go that far. He loved the colors. Red and blue and pink, lots of pink. Like Abuelita. Pink and Abuelita and sunshine and plantains and dancing. He had two left feet but Abuelita had two strong arms, so she could bounce him around. Dancing and happy fast music that made his heart smile. And Olivia. She didn't smile enough. Abuelita would make her smile. She'd bring the sun to her and dance with her. And those fried plantains.
The sun hopped on his face. He liked the heat but not the light, not in his eyes like that. He squeezed them shut. Don't look at the sun, Rafael, his abuelita had scolded. But I want to see it, he'd protested. He didn't anymore. He wanted sunglasses. Or curtains. Or a blanket and pillow. His old worn mattress where Mama always read to him, stories about pirates and adventures. He always preferred stories about magic. But he'd never told Mama that. She seemed to like the pirate ones and he didn't want her to think he didn't like them. Then she'd go read to Carmen or Sofia or Samuel instead. He hated being the oldest.
He couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He was just so so tired. It was like when he had stayed up late with Eddie and Alex and Marisol had had to carry him to bed. Alex had started to laugh, but she'd scolded him. He hadn't seen Eddie, hadn't seen any of the Garcias in so long. Muñozes too. Yelina shouldn't be a Muñoz. Barba was so much better. Even her maiden name was better than Muñoz. He'd said he was happy for Alex but he wasn't, he was mad. He'd loved her and Alex had stolen that. Alex always got the best of everything. He liked Alex but God did he hate him. Alex was probably warm right now, like Lewis. They could be demons together. Alex had taken Yelina and Lewis had taken- was taking- everything else. Him. Olivia. He didn't want to die. He didn't want Olivia to get raped. She'd cry. He didn't want her to cry. He wanted her to smile. Like Yelina had smiled when he'd kissed her. But not like she'd smiled on her wedding day when she'd asked Rafael what he thought of her dress. Why, he'd asked, why ask me? And she'd said he knew Alex, knew what he'd like because they had the same taste anyway. And besides, he was Best Man, it was his job to do these things. He'd laughed and said she looked beautiful, of course, what else could she be? He'd laughed bitterness that he didn't think she heard because she was so happy. Then he'd walked into an empty room and laughed tears and rage and betrayal.
Olivia wouldn't smile like that. She'd smile a getting invited for dinner smile. A laughter smile. A sunshine smile. Not a running off with Rafael's best friend smile. Not a stealing Rafael's would-be-fiancé smile. Not a crushing Rafael's heart in a vise smile. Not a burning Rafael with a lighter, shooting him, and then hurrying away to rape and murder his best friend smile. No, it would be a smiley smile. It would stroke his face and warm him up like the sun. He hadn't realized how much he loved the sun until now. It was warm and friendly and happy and just a little shy still. But it liked him. It was even helping him relax so he could sleep, how nice was that? He felt so full and happy. Like Abuelita. Like dancing. Like sunshine.
He remembered Abuelita showing him butterflies on his eighth birthday. She'd put a plastic one on his slice of cake and that night he'd dreamed about bright butterflies of all colors carrying him to the sky. He'd been scared of falling, as always, but they'd made a thick carpet for him that he couldn't fall off of. He wanted that dream again. Maybe the sun and Abuelita would give it to him. His birthday was soon, after all. He wanted those butterflies for his birthday more than he wanted another book or paisley tie. Not that he'd say no to anything. If he got anything for his birthday that meant he'd be alive. Which he wanted, still. Maybe. Maybe not if he had Abuelita and Olivia to keep him company. He probably shouldn't think that. Too late.
Maybe he should live. He didn't hurt that much anymore. He felt light and so happy. No more Lewis-pain here. Maybe the sun had washed the burns off. It had definitely dried the blood. Except the puddle right under him. That was still wet and sticky.
Puddles. Rain. Water. Holy water. Demons. Lewis. Olivia. Don't hurt her, Lewis, you already have me. I'm enough, aren't I? Probably not.
His phone was ringing. Like an alarm clock, but he was falling asleep, not waking up. Or he would be if the phone wasn't so loud. How rude of them, whoever it was.
He waited for the ringing to stop and then let his eyes drift closed. He didn't fall asleep, but stayed in some sort of limbo between sleep and wakefulness. He was aware of himself, barely, but not the world around him. His breath slowed, his heart slowed. He felt it wiggling feebly in his chest. It didn't feel all that good but he didn't really care. He just wanted to sleep. He was so very tired.
Rafael didn't hear the knocking on his door. He didn't hear the detectives opening the door. He certainly didn't hear them come his way. He had no idea he wasn't alone until his restraints were finally cut and two strong hands rolled him over. They took out the gag, which finally, at last, allowed the vomit to drain from his mouth.
He blinked up at them. Nick, Amanda, Fin, Captain Cragen.
He licked his lips, but his tongue was even drier. Not that he'd be able to talk, anyway.
Amanda knelt next to him, pulling his arm towards her and setting her thumb on his wrist. She bit her lip and looked up at the others, mouthing something he couldn't understand. Telling them he was cold, probably. He hoped. If they got him a blanket, he could finally sleep.
He tried to mouth something of his own. Olivia. That got Amanda's attention. She said the name aloud and he nodded. He didn't follow what happened for a few seconds after that because the motion made blackness dot his vision.
When he was aware again, Nick and Amanda were hurrying away, while Fin and Cragen were tending to him. Fin pressed two hands on the gunshot wound, which was still bleeding sluggishly. He wanted to swat his hands away, but didn't have the strength. That annoyed him. So did the fact that both of them kept shaking his shoulder when he closed his eyes. It hurt, and it was irritating. He wanted to sleep.
His eyelids started to feel like magnets. So hard to pry apart, so easy to slide together. Fin and Cragen were still trying to rouse him but Rafael wasn't fighting to survive anymore. He'd told them about Olivia. Whether she lived or not was out of his hands. He'd done everything he needed; he'd earned some rest.
He didn't care if he woke up. Sleeping forever actually sounded nice. No more shivering.
His friendly rays of sunshine were still bouncing on his face. Maybe he wouldn't have Olivia, but he would have Abuelita again.
He lapsed into unconsciousness just as the EMTs arrived at his side.
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Nature of the Beast