Through the Looking Glass

by Mindy35

Elliot/Olivia. Missing scenes from "Bombshell". Elliot and Olivia discuss fashion and fidelity.

Title: Through the Looking Glass

Author: mindy35

Rating: K+, just URST

Disclaimer: Not mine, no monies.

Spoilers: thru to "Bombshell".

Pairing(s): Elliot/Olivia, Elliot/Kathy (boo).

Summary: Missing scenes from "Bombshell". Elliot and Olivia discuss fashion and fidelity.

A/N: This story basically arose out of the fact that I liked Olivia's second undercover outfit more than her first. And I like them posing as marrieds. And I needed to write some fluff after the intensity of my last few stories (but then it got kinda angsty anyway). Also, the film star references are deliberately dated as I was channelling Mariska's mum's era. Okay, enjoy!

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When she didn't immediately answer his knock, Elliot grasped the handle and cracked the door. "…Liv?"

Her voice drifted out from the bedroom. "El?"

"Yeah, it's me." He closed the door behind him and stepped inside.

His partner poked her head round the doorframe, curled hair falling in her face. "Come in, I'll be right there."

As she disappeared back inside the bedroom, Elliot wandered to a small bureau over which hung a gold filigreed mirror. "You leave your door unlocked?" he called out as he began sorting through a pile of unopened mail.

"What?" she called back.

"You left your door unlocked," he repeated, voice dropping to normal volume when she entered in the middle of his sentence. "Anyone could walk in."

"And start snooping," she muttered, snatching the mail from his hands and slapping it back onto the bureau. "Why do you always gotta start poking around the second you come in here?"

He shrugged unapologetically. "Habit."

Olivia rolled her eyes and turned her back to him. "Here. Make yourself useful and zip me up."

Elliot sidled closer, clearing his throat and reaching for the zip at the small of her back. "That's an…interesting dress."

"What's that s'posed to mean?" She glanced down at the gold and brown animal print then over her naked shoulder at him.

"I dunno…" He bit his lip, tugging the stubborn zipper up to her waist before hitting a snag. "It's just…not very you, is all."

"Well, you only see me at work," she muttered, holding the gown steady against her breasts.

Elliot snorted softly then looked up from his task, leaning to one side to peer at her face. "It's a loaner. Isn't it?"

"I practically live at the precinct," she said, returning the sidelong look, "I didn't have anything to wear."

"Why do women always say that when they have a closet full of clothes?"

"This is not a jeans and sweater kind of occasion, El."

She gave a little gasp as his cold fingers grazed her spine. Elliot mumbled a barely audible sorry and lowered the zipper to start over.

"And anyway," Olivia went on, puffing a curl of hair out of her face, "isn't this the sort of thing people wear to swing clubs?"

"You're asking me?" he murmured, bending to get closer to the snag at her waist.

She twisted, glancing down her bared back. "What're you doin' back there?"

"It's stuck, quit squirming." His fingers ironed back some of the bordering material then Elliot straightened and tried the zipper again. "So. Who'd you borrow this thing from? Zsa Zsa Gabor?"

This time the zipper slid all the way up, allowing Olivia to turn and face him, hands planted on hips. "You're saying it's too much?"

"You look fine," he shrugged, eyes skating over her. "Every bit the sexy swinger."

Her eyes darkened, "I'm going to change," and she turned to the bedroom.

"No." Elliot chuckled and grabbed her arm, head tipped at the door. "Come on. We're already late."

Olivia huffed and headed for an open shoe box sitting on the couch. "Hey, at least I made an effort." She waved a high heel at him before lifting her foot and slipping it on. "What did you do? Lose the tie and roll down your sleeves?"

"I changed my shirt. And I shaved." He ran a few fingers over his jaw then jutted it towards her. "Smooth as a baby's bottom. Feel."

"S'okay. I believe you." Lifting her other foot behind her butt, she slipped on the second shoe then took an unstable step in his direction.

"Whoa—" Elliot caught and steadied her, both hands cupping her elbows. "Are the shoes loaners too?"

"What tipped you off?" she mumbled, pulling herself up and adjusting to the added altitude.

"Okay…" He moved to her side and laced his fingers with hers, drawing her tight against him. "Hold onto me and you'll be fine. Just—" Elliot turned to look at her, a small smile on his lips, "don't take me down with you."

Her answering smile was slightly sarcastic but Olivia gripped his hand anyway and replied, "I'll do my best."

Then, hand-in-hand, they headed for the door. Passing by the ornate mirror, Olivia grabbed her purse from the bureau without ever letting go of her partner's hand.

-x-

By the time they pulled up outside The Swing Set, they had their cover stories straight, the basic whens, hows and whos of their mock marriage. They'd been married seven years – long enough for the adventure to still be alive but also long enough for that notorious itch to be setting in. They met through work colleagues and married quickly after a whirlwind romance and a failed marriage on each side. If asked, Olivia would say she was keen to explore some light bondage while Elliot was hoping to experience a threesome with his wife and another party.

There was just one last thing required to complete the illusion. Elliot glanced at the club's obscure entrance and released his seatbelt. Then reaching into his breast pocket, he handed across a plastic bag containing two rings. One a plain gold band, the other adorned with a delicate diamond.

"Here," he said without glancing her way. "I stole these from evidence."

Olivia just looked at him. "Tell me you didn't."

He jangled the bag at her then met her disapproving gaze. "They belonged to some fat pimp's dead mistress. I think."

"Wow." Her eyes widened and her head shook but she took the bag and tipped the rings onto her palm. "You really know how to make a girl feel special."

"Just—" he sent her a sideways smile as he pushed open the door, "put 'em on. 'Kay?"

"Whatever you say, baby."

He was ducking back into the car for his jacket so he caught the sly grin on his partner's face. Elliot didn't respond though. He just straightened, shrugged on his jacket and shoved the car door shut. Walking round to the passenger side, he glanced through the windscreen to see Olivia slide one then the other ring onto her left ring finger. He looked away, continuing on to open her door for her just like the dutiful husband he was. Olivia smiled up at him as she swung her legs out. And when he offered his hand, she put hers in his and rose to her feet. Elliot squeezed her fingers lightly, feeling the rings dig into his flesh.

"Okay," she said, lifting her brows at him. "Let's do this."

Elliot nodded at his wife for the night, "Let's do it—" and re-laced his fingers with hers, "…baby."

-x-

On the second night he and his partner were duty-bound to pose as an adventurous married couple, Elliot decided to wait outside. Calling her on the drive over, he said it was because they were late again. Standing on the curb outside her building, he knew it was because it was safer that way. For him. For his questionable sanity and permanently rocky marriage. Watching her approach though – her sleek silhouette visible through the glass doors before she pushed out onto the street and headed toward him – Elliot realized the futility of such a strategy. Because not in recent memory had he experienced anything quite as dangerous as the sight of his partner walking towards him in a simple black dress and heels, her hair shining under the streetlights, her eyes fixed on his and her lips curved into a warm smile. One hand clutched a purse that presumably contained her badge and weapon. The other glinted with the twin rings he gave her before their first excursion into swing culture.

Despite the palpable danger, a wide smile spread across his face the nearer she came. "See? Now there's my Liv."

She arched a brow at him. "Your Liv?"

Elliot shrugged. "You know what I mean."

Her head tilted, her smile growing sardonic. "You don't even know what you mean."

"I just mean that that…" he gestured up and down, indicating her attire, "is more you."

Olivia glanced down at her dress then back up at him. "I bought this for a funeral."

"That is one lucky corpse," he commented before turning to the car.

"Well…" she shot him a look as she stepped off the curb and headed for the passenger side, "no way was I going to risk being compared to Zsa Zsa Gabor again."

"No Zsa Zsa in sight," he assured her over the hood of the car. "Pure Sophia Loren."

With a roll of her eyes, Olivia opened the door and ducked inside the car. There was a moment of suspended silence as Elliot slid into his seat, belted up and started the engine. When he turned to survey the oncoming traffic, his eyes met hers in the enclosed darkness. His partner's were still glittering with residual amusement.

She tipped up her chin, murmuring, "Nice shirt, by the way."

He pinched the brand new shirt with two fingers. "Yeah, I made an effort."

"I see that," she replied with a throaty giggle.

Elliot drew in a breath and focused on finding a gap in the dense evening traffic. The breath didn't help. Whatever scent she was wearing only heightened the danger. Just as that rare, throaty giggle heightened the danger. God help him if she called him baby again. Warning bells were going off in his head, the same warning bells that had been clanging relentlessly away for twelve years. Veering out into the traffic, he did what he always did to mute those guilt-inducing bells. He initiated a conversation about their case, the dullest he could think of. When his partner responded in her usual professional tone, Elliot knew that danger had once again been averted.

For the present moment, at least.

-x-

Olivia had been riffing sporadically on the subject of fidelity for most of the drive home while Elliot remained relatively quiet. They'd locked up their dirtbag-of-the-week but decided to leave collaring their swinging seductress until the following morning. Cassandra wouldn't be too hard to catch up with. The mini scuffle at the club seemed to have energized his partner, who probably preferred playing kick-ass cop to playing thrill-seeking wife. Elliot was feeling weary though – weary with their work and weary with the charade. As he pulled up outside her building and cast a glance up at her darkened window, she concluded her solo spiel by turning to him and asking:

"I just couldn't do it, could you? I mean, if you're married, you're married, right?"

Elliot scratched his temple and said nothing. He'd hoped that since they'd arrived at her place, she'd let the topic drop but he should've known better. Olivia leaned forward in her seat and gave him a lilting verbal prod:

"Hello…?"

He killed the engine and released a sigh. "In principle? Yeah, I agree with you. But in practice…" Elliot shook his head and tried to avoid fingering his wedding band, "it's not that easy."

"I can't believe you of all people are saying that." Releasing her belt, she shifted in her seat to face him, forehead creased with urgency. "You and Kathy—"

"Kathy and I got married when we were kids," he interrupted, a dull undertone to his voice. "The acne had barely faded before we were saying our vows."

His partner paused momentarily, lips pursed as she resisted a smirk. "You had acne? Don't tell me you wore braces too."

"Look—" he shot her a stern look to both dispel her amusement and dismiss the topic, "am I faithful to my wife? Yes. Do I plan on being faithful to my wife til death do us part? Yes. But, you know…" he turned away, gazing out the windscreen instead of at her expectant face, "do I also understand a middle-aged man who's been married for years meeting some gorgeous woman, someone sexy and exciting, someone he thinks he has a connection with and being completely turned about by it? Yes." He nodded once, voice dropping. "I get how that could happen."

Her eyes narrowed at his profile. "Don't tell me you fell for that slinky little act of hers."

"No—!" Elliot shook his head and exhaled noisily. "God, no..." He turned to her, able to look her in the eye and assure her, "I have much better taste."

"Glad to hear it." She turned to the door then stopped, turning back to clarify, "Speaking strictly as your UC-wife."

"Speaking of—" He reached out, touching her wrist to halt her, "about what you overheard me tell Cassandra tonight."

Olivia settled back in her seat with a confused frown. "I didn't hear anything."

"So," he braced an arm against the steering wheel, unsure if he should raise the subject but hoping it didn't show in his voice, "you didn't hear me say that my first marriage was a mess and I wish I'd met you sooner?"

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. "You were selling our cover."

"Yeah. Yeah…" He was gazing out the windscreen again, the dark intimacy of the car and the awkward irony of their charade and his sudden weariness with maintaining it all getting to him. So much so that, without even considering the consequences, Elliot told her in a voice faltering but frank, "Only sometimes…I look at you, I look…at us. And I can't help thinking how different things would be if I'd met you first."

Silence greeted his words. Like each of them had ceased breathing. Or like the entire city had taken a collective, confounded pause. No car horns honked, no footfalls could be heard passing by, nobody whistled for an approaching cab or scolded a neighbor's dog for peeing on the pavement. When he could no longer stand not knowing her reaction, Elliot turned to look at her, the lights of the dash highlighting her stunned expression. She'd known exactly what he was talking about from the second he brought it up. She was just astonished that he'd come right out and said it. That was a blatantly against the rules, though neither of them quite knew when and how they'd devised the unspoken rules that policed their partnership.

Olivia looked at her lap, weighing up her possible responses to his confession. One or both of them ought to say something to minimize the truth of it. As the one who'd breached the rules, Elliot knew that was his responsibility. But he stubbornly said nothing more. For whatever reason, he refused to minimize or negate or disown the words he'd let penetrate their persistent reticence on the subject of them. He was, for once in his life, playing by another more significant set of rules. His partner couldn't bring herself to do the same. She couldn't allow herself the same honesty. That was, after all, how they had maintained such a successful professional partnership for so many years. When one of them was weak, the other was strong. When one of them broke the rules, the other concealed the indiscretion. And on the rare occasion that one of them reached out and wanted more, acknowledging the potential that had always existed between them, it was up to the other to preserve the status quo.

Evidently, it was now her turn to save them both.

Olivia looked up, a small, sad smile on her face. "But you didn't," she answered softly. Then, before any further damage could be done, she turned to the door.

Elliot reached for her hand again. "Liv…"

She held it up, drew it back, her tone suddenly tense and panicky. "El—"

She thought he was going to say something else to break the rules, push the issue, make the move both of them had dreaded and craved since year one, day one, moment one. But he wasn't. She was right. He was wrong. She was strong and he was weak. He was a mess, a married man who had no right to anything more than what she already gave him so freely. But he captured her hand anyway. He held it in his, feeling her cool skin and competent bones. He leaned closer, reached out his other hand and slowly slipped the diamond engagement ring off her finger. Elliot glanced up at her. Then just as slowly, he slipped the wedding band off as well. He held her hand for a fraction of a second longer than he needed to. Then he retreated in his seat, pocketing the jewellery and murmuring a vague apology.

Olivia nodded, swallowing thickly. Then she exited the car without a word.

Elliot inhaled the silence she left behind. He could still smell her perfume in the air, on his shirt, on his skin. He closed his eyes, head tipping back on the headrest. He'd meant what he said but he didn't like leaving things unresolved between them. He didn't want to be lying awake that night thinking about what he should have said to make it right. He didn't want to turn up at work the next day knowing he'd need to navigate ringing phones and piles of files and the curious gazes of co-workers in order to deliver some cloaked approximation of an apology that his sleep-deprived brain had concocted as the sun was rising. Without knowing what exactly would emerge from his mouth, he lowered one window and peered out at his retreating partner.

"Hey."

Olivia turned on the pavement, streetlights shining in her hair and reminding him of how she'd looked walking towards him earlier that evening. The smile she'd worn then was gone, as was the glint in her eyes. And her left hand was now bare. She was fading and fast, he could tell. All she wanted was to get inside and begin rationalizing away his words and re-erecting her emotional barricades.

Elliot forced an easy smile and said, "Blink your lights. Okay?"

She smiled in response, giving a half-hearted eye-roll as she turned her back and headed for the glass entryway. And with that, they were on their way back to the silently agreed upon status quo.

Elliot leant back in his seat, pressing the button to raise the window and listening to the tick-tick-tick of her receding heels. This had become a sort of ritual for him, this time between watching his partner leave and seeing her lights come on upstairs. It wasn't just about making sure she was safe. The time it took for her to climb the stairs – which she always did, never taking the elevator – gave him a few minutes to let go of his day and prepare for home. As he watched Olivia walk away from him, he let go of one life and readied himself for another. On the days he didn't drop her home, which were many, he missed those few minutes of sitting alone in the car and waiting for her lights to blink. He missed that final interaction between him and his partner that put a period on the end of their day.

Elliot leaned to one side and peered upward, figuring she would almost be in. A moment later her lights flashed – on then off then on again. He started the engine, revved it once then, telling himself he was waiting for it to warm, he sat for another minute or two in silence.

This was another ritual he'd developed, one he'd never admit to anyone. Looking up at that window with its drawn curtain and distant lamplight was like gazing through the proverbial looking glass at an alternate life. A life in which everything was different, the opposite way round to reality, maybe even the right way round, the way things should've been. In that life, he entered her apartment with her. In that life, he knew every inch of her place, he was at home there, as at home as he was in her presence. In that life, their conversations never had to cease, never had to be constrained. They would continue as the two of them walked through the door and began to disrobe. Not necessarily to make love, although that was definitely an alluring aspect of his fortunate alternate's existence. But they wouldn't move to the bed right away – not until they'd exhausted all talk, moving from shop talk to private musings to mindless flirting. Maybe he'd make her a cup of tea, maybe she'd bring him a glass of wine. Maybe they'd skip that luxury and head straight for the shower. In summer they'd lie on the bed in wet towels, in winter in fluffy robes. Sometimes, when they were just too beat for anything else, they'd slip under the covers in nothing at all.

A different and thrilling variation arose each time he allowed his mind to drift into that alternate universe. He only ever permitted it for a few minutes as he sat there in the dark. Elliot figured that to allow those thoughts when no one was aware but curb them when they became too dangerous was better for his overall sanity than to deny them altogether and have them intrude when they could ruin both his lives and both his relationships.

Upstairs, a shadow passed by the curtain, reminding him that his few minutes of living vicariously through an imagined alternate was up. He didn't want her to peer through the window and find him still there. She'd probably dial his cell, call him a stubborn sonovabitch and shoo him home. With that in mind, Elliot pulled away from the curb and steered the car towards Queens.

-x-

He slid the drawer open without a sound. While one hand fished inside for the little blue case, the other retrieved two rings from his pocket. One was a plain gold band with two sets of almost worn-away initials engraved on the inner curve. The other ring was adorned with a very old, very precious diamond. He was looking at them, about to place them in the case and hide it back under his neatly paired-up socks, when his wife's arms slithered round his waist from behind.

Rising onto her toes, Kathy settled her chin on his shoulder and muttered, "I say we give the wedding band to Maureen and the engagement ring to Kathleen. Elizabeth will understand. She's too much of a bookworm to care about jewellery anyway."

Elliot put the rings in the case and squeezed it shut, concealing it in his fist. He turned, shuffling out of her embrace. "…Hm?"

"Your mom's rings," she said, watching him bury the box and close the drawer. "Why're you still holding onto them?"

"I'm not, I don't know—" He slipped past her, heading for the door.

"Elliot, she gave them to you years ago." Kathy kicked off her slippers then shucked her robe and tossed it over the end of the bed. "She said the girls could have them when they turned sixteen."

"I know." He turned on the threshold, hands spread at his sides to indicate his lack of a rational explanation. "You're right. I just…"

"What?"

"…Nothin'."

Kathy lifted the corner of the doona, poised to climb in in her t-shirt and panties and bedsocks. "You coming to bed?"

Elliot sighed and glanced down the darkened hallway. "Soon," he said softly. "You go. I just…I gotta….—"

He didn't finish his sentence. He just drifted away from the bedroom door, feeling like he'd escaped. He knew his wife would be asleep in minutes. So he wandered down the darkened stairs through his darkened living room and into his darkened kitchen. There, Elliot poured himself a drink and stood sipping it as he gazed out the window at the tranquil suburban landscape.

END.