Prosecutorial Misconduct // Rafael Barba

10 || TARGETED MISFORTUNE

Unlike the rest of the DA's office, Rafael was still sitting behind his desk as the sky grew dark and the streets fell empty. He knew he should really close up shop and head home before it got any later — or rather before he ended up pulling yet another all nighter. But with the piles of paperwork that were stacking higher and higher on his desk as the days passed by, he didn't think that would be an entirely wise idea for him to fulfil.

Now of course, it would absolutely be a wise idea for him to call it a night, as he knew well that he should really start prioritising his own health and wellbeing over the blatant stresses of his job. The amount of times he'd found himself running solely on coffee was more than he could count on both hands, and if he ever wanted to live to see the second half of his life then he should really start taking better care of himself.

And don't get him wrong, he would. One day, in the near distant future, he'd finally learn to put himself first and stop living off of coffee and take-out, however tonight... as he sat there fiddling mindlessly with his pen, he just couldn't shake the feeling that his office was where he was meant to be. He knew it sounded corny, like something pulled straight out of a cheesy hallmark Christmas movie, but it was true.

Each time he had tried to stand up and make the move to go home, there was a voice, from deep inside his heart — not his mind — that not so politely yelled out at him to stop, and each time it did he couldn't bring himself to do anything other than listen to it. He wasn't sure why he felt that way, or even how that lingering thought had entered his mind in the first place. All he truly knew was that until that feeling ceased entirely , throughout every fibre of his being, then he could not, under any circumstances, leave the warm sanctity of his office.

Rafael didn't care if that meant he was there all night. He didn't care if he eventually found himself rolling exhaustively into the next morning — again — so long as his subconscious kept telling him to stay, then he would stay. He would much rather grow to regret not going home, than have to live with the regret of missing out on...whatever the reason may be for his desperate need to remain in his office, so until he truly felt like it was time, he wouldn't be leaving his desk for anything.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you work too much?"

The split second that utterly delectable sound drifted blessedly through the air towards him, Rafael knew all too well of the reasoning behind his sudden desire to stay at work.

It made sense. There wasn't a single thing on the planet that had such a tight, intense, soul-bounding grasp on him as Melanie did, so it was no surprise to find out that she was the sole cause for the bellowing voice inside him — as though it somehow knew this whole time that this is where she'd end up. He glanced up from his desk immediately, his stomach already fluttering over simply hearing Melanie's voice that when he finally saw her after a long week of catching mere glimpses of her here and there, it all but grew wings and threatened to fly away.

Melanie hadn't moved an inch since she appeared. She was still hovering almost hesitantly in his doorway, her arm pressed up against the frame and a small brown bag hanging loose by her side. She smiled sweetly the second Rafael's tired eyes locked onto her own equally drained gaze, and the simple way in which it melted his heart made every minute of his night spent within the four walls of his office completely and utterly worth it — as had he listened to his mind over his heart and left when he should have... he'd have missed out on seeing her entirely.

And that was definitely something he'd spend the rest of the week wallowing in regret over.

"I, uh, I brought dinner..." Melanie raised the bag, showcasing the familiar logo of the local Chinese restaurant nearby. She then shrugged, adding quickly as she lowered it again, "If you're hungry."