How can I reach you...I'm not even close to you.
You Don't See Me
01
There's no logical explanation for him being here tonight. He sits alone at the end of the bar, cornered so he can see the rest of the drinkers without showing himself. All around him, bass-filled pop music plays. Every song carries the same methodical beat, only each track moves at a different pace. He wonders what inspires the writings of such songs...why somebody would listen to such...he really doesn't have a label for it. It isn't bad, per say, it's just not tasteful. He's really in no position to judge though. After all, he's sitting in a bar that is famous for its club culture sound.
Elliot sits at the bar of a club full of people, most likely half his age, and sips at his second scotch on the rocks. He's starting to feel sorry for himself. The night is still fairly young, a quick glance at watch tells him it's just before midnight, yet here he is. He's skipping the easy drinks tonight.
He really needs a hobby.
He supposes his preference for loud, catchy club music has something to do with the constant energy. It's loud but not deafening, alive but not overpowering. He gets noticed, but is never the center of attention. He isn't here to pick up woman. He simply needs this form of cloudy, thick, spontaneous energy while he drinks.
With a sigh, he lifts the remaining liquid to his parched lips. Elliot welcomes the burn that radiates down his throat. There's something refreshing about the irritation it brings, smoothed over by the buzz of the alcohol as it enters his bloodstream. He can feel his shoulders loosen up and it's getting easier to push away the unwanted thoughts that tower over him. He lets his mind wander into uncharted territory while motioning to the bartender for another drink.
It's not a sin to think about his partner, his ex-partner...not anymore at least. But despite that major barrier being out of the way, he still feels the guilt creep into his bones when her name crosses his mind. It was one thing when they were actually partners but now they aren't. She continues to work and he swallows his misery with a hard drink night after night.
He should call her.
He should...but he doubts she would answer. It's been over a year...an entire fucking year since he's heard her voice. He can't seem to forgive himself for his actions, so he can't even fathom Olivia forgiving him. He wouldn't expect her to.
Elliot can't call her, not yet at least. He needs to get better first. He needs to stop drinking, find a therapist, make amends with his family, his children...the list goes on. He can imagine Olivia taking one look at him and walking away. She would see the exhaustion, the anger, the devastation in his eyes and realize what a nut case he had become. He would never throw his burdens on her.
Another motion to the bartender and Elliot orders a water this time around. He figures three drinks were enough...he's numb enough to think about her but sober enough to rationalize everything. He can feel his heartache toward his former partner without delving into the final case that tore him apart.
He misses her.
It's a pity because it is his own fault that things are the way they are. And it's sad that he can sit here and feel sorry for himself over a situation he could have avoided if he had just talked to her. There was no reason to shut her out. He knows that Olivia would understand -hell, she's been there before. But he was afraid. It would have killed him to see her disappointed in him. His actions that day, though justifiable, were wrong.
He glances out into the wave of clubbers, floaters, swayers, movers of the floor. He wishes for once that he could be that carefree. That he could let loose enough to feel like a separate entity from himself. Just for a moment. He realizes he's not exactly young, but he's kept himself built. Being a cop, it's your duty to give yourself that advantage.
As he scans the floor, his eyes lock on a figure in the corner of the club. He watches with wide eyes as a group of boys take their turns on approaching her. Each hand gracefully reaches for hers and without fail, the woman pushes them away. She's clearly there for herself. After a few moments the group catches a hint and moves along, but Elliot doesn't. He continues to watch, engrossed in the moment. She moves with a purpose, a confidence, with a posture that screams sex but whispers I'm not available. Although she faces away from him, he can feel the tug of familiarity pull at his heart strings. Her body moves to a rhythm that he knows so well, but so little. He stops breathing. It can't be.
He's not sure what possessed him to move towards the floor, but for whatever reason, his feet were carrying him through the groups of people. He could probably blame it on the alcohol that was currently flowing through his veins but he's significantly sobered up since seeing her. And he still doesn't believe it.
He pauses about three feet from the figure that continues to grace the floor. She moves with purpose and flair, and without a care in the world. She has the attention of others but doesn't acknowledge anybody but herself.
He loves how innocent and sexy she is being. How she can grab the attention of others without making herself a target. He can imagine her whispering, "You can look, but you can't touch." It's incredibly erotic and...so out of character. He'd never expect her to be like this. Then again, he never expected that he would be in the middle of a dance floor, completely mesmerized but none other than Olivia Benson.
Characters are not mine, although I feel as though I can claim Elliot as mine now. Let me know what you think, and if you want more. This is going to be AU simply because the chances of us seeing Elliot and Olivia clubbing in any episodes any time soon is well...zero to none. This is a little out of my comfort zone but it's a very fun story to write. Rated T/M.