This is my first fanfiction, so please bear with me and be kind. I'd love to read some reviews.
Disclaimer: I, sadly, do not own the characters.
Wednesday, May 3. It was around midnight. John and Fin had already left. Olivia sat at her desk, staring at the crime scene photos and attempting to find something that will lead her to the killer. It took all her concentration and what remained of her strength to focus. Five women dead. One a day for the past five days. Raped and killed five different ways, except that each involved immense pain. No forensics. No connection between the victims. Every murder weapon left at the scene, but no leads on those either. The only reason they knew it was the same perp was because he had left the same flower, a white rose, at each crime scene, and even that had gotten them no where. Today's victim was killed in a basement. Unfortunately, it looked remarkably like the darkened basement of Sealview.
It didn't help that it had only been a week since the events involving Dale Stuckey. It was hard to believe Ryan O'Halloran had died, and Olivia was finding it difficult to deal with. Stuckey was on trial for three murders and two attempted murders. She was not too worried…there was plenty of evidence against him. Both her and Elliot and taken their turn on the stand. She went to support him – they didn't speak, but she had been there. Elliot was no where to be seen when it had been her time to testify. And he wasn't back at work yet because Kathy had insisted he stay at home and rest until his chest wounds had completely healed.
Olivia smiled to herself. Not that it mattered much…even when Elliot was here he barely paid attention to her. She had no idea where it came from, this coldness. For almost two years, since he got back together with Kathy, it seemed like he didn't care about her. She had sacrificed her dignity for his life, willingly, and he had not even thanked her for it, or spoken to her since. She was glad she'd done it – she would have done anything to save her partner's life. However, she felt incredibly dirty, and showered for hours trying to scrub off the feeling of Stuckey and the guilt for hitting Elliot. It was necessary, but it wasn't necessary for part of her to feel he deserved it.
With another glance at the terrible photo, her mind involuntarily flashed back to the hours after Sealview:
She sat at her desk staring at a photo of Lowell Harris, the man who had made her one of the people she had dedicated her life to protect. Elliot came up behind her. "You okay?"
"Yeah." Lie. " What are you still doing here?"
Elliot sighed. "Avoiding diaper duty." She wished it would lighten the mood, but thinking of Elliot and his perfect life at home made things worse. "Need a lift?"
"No thanks, I'm…going to stay awhile."
"You'll get Harris," said Elliot in his futile attempt to reassure her.
"For excessive force at best. More likely he'll get transferred and promoted."
"Is he already back at work?"
"Yeah."
Elliot paused. Olivia knew what was coming, and dreaded it with all her being. "What happened in the basement?"
She just couldn't tell him. Not only was she ashamed, but she did not want to have to deal with his reaction. Plus, they did not talk anymore anyway, so what did it matter?
"Nothing…" Lie. "I'm fine, El." Lie. She knew he didn't believe her. But she also knew he would not ask her again.
Olivia sighed. Their partnership was certainly not what it used to be. Oh, they still worked well together, but for someone who is supposed to be her best friend, Elliot sure does not act like it. With this rift between them, she had started to wonder whether Elliot asked what happened at Sealview out of concern for her well-being, or just simple curiosity. Since then, she had saved his ass at least twice. Both times, she had been humiliated – stripping in front of him and two perps, and kissing someone who had killed three people. She tried to convince herself it was worth it, but she was losing faith in herself and her partnership.
Focus on the case.
She began pouring over the images again, not allowing herself to think about her own experience in a basement, or her problems with Elliot. She looked at the flowers. The lab had done everything they could – there was no way to trace them, no chemical or fertilizer that they could identify. What was more puzzling was whether the white roses meant remorse, or they were just mocking.
To make matters worse, the entire story had somehow leaked to the press. Today's cover story was about the incompetent NYPD's investigation of "the Flower Killer." Catchy, right? The investigation was being lead by Det. Olivia Benson, and you'd think with her 11+ years of experience, she would be doing a better job.
"Olivia?" It was Cragen.
"Yes, Captain?" She could see the concern on his face.
"There is nothing more you can do tonight. Go home, get some sleep."
"I can't."
"Yes you can. This isn't a request, Detective." Don had always tried his best to be professional, but he couldn't hide the fact that he truly cared about his detectives.
Olivia nodded. She was almost thankful, and did not have the energy to be angry anyway. Gathering her things, she put on her coat and headed out the door.
"Olivia?" She turned. "You look tired. Call me when you get home."
She smiled. "I will. Thank you, Captain. Good night."
Just has she stepped out the door of the precinct, her cell phone went off. She waited a few seconds: Elliot Stabler appeared on the display. Great, she thought. Just what I need.
"Hello?" she answered.
"Hi, Liv. How are you?"
"Fine." Lie. "Just heading home for the night. Anything wrong?"
"No, I just wanted to check in…we haven't spoken in a week."
"I know."
Damn. He could tell, even though she tried to hide it, that she was bothered. "Look, I'm sorry about that. You know, Kathy, she's been fussing over me all week, I've barely had time to take a breath." He kicked himself for not being there when she took the stand. She could have used the support.
"Right…well, look I'm about to drive away, anything else?"
"Ah…" Should he say what he has been meaning to say? He had been avoiding it. The truth is, although he knew her actions last week had been necessary – the hitting…the kissing – he was thankful, but had also been hurt by it. Admitting that would just make her hurt even more, but so would ignoring the issue.
"El?"
"You sound tired."
She sighed. "Well, it's been a long week. The trial, a difficult case…" You.
He paused. He didn't want to fight and risk hurting her, but he thought it would be better than not talking at all.
"You should be careful. When people get tired, they make more mistakes."
"Elliot, don't start with me."
He heard the warning in her voice. He had heard it before.
"You should rest more, especially because I'm not around to clean up your mess."
Unbelievable. She knew what he wanted. A big blow up, something to talk about. She hated how he always did that. Did he know how much it hurt every time? And especially now.
Choking back tears, she said as normally as she could, "Goodnight, El," and hung up the phone. She climbed into her car and turned the ignition. She was so tired. Too much work, too little sleep, too much crap on her mind.
Olivia unlocked and then entered her apartment building. Picking up her mail, she headed upstairs and into her dark, and always lonely, apartment. She poured herself a glass of wine…maybe it will help her sleep, but she doubted it. She sat on her couch, and decided to attack her pile of mail, forgetting to call the captain. Bills, bills, more bills…wait. A white envelope with no mailing address on it was addressed to Det. Olivia Benson. But it wasn't written or typed; it appeared to be cut from the newspaper and glued. Shit. Trembling, she opened it and pulled out a single piece of black cardstock. A pressed white rose was taped to it, and with letters cut from the newspaper it read: They were all for you, Detective.
Olivia's mind screamed. This guy knew her name, knew her address. Suddenly, she felt incredibly vulnerable. She was shaking. She tried to focus. Call someone. She couldn't find her cell. Going to her landline, she picked up the phone and dropped it. Picking it up firmly with both hands, she pressed TALK. No dial tone. What is going on? Her tired mind couldn't focus. She sat on the floor and put her head her hands. Then she heard a creak from the next room. Someone was in her apartment.