Waiting Around


Rating: K+, for now

Summary: Things can happen while you're waiting around.

Pairing: Olivia/Elliot, Olivia/Porter

Disclaimer: I wish I owned them, but I don't... so there you go.

AN: My first L&O: SVU fic! I wrote this a while ago and completely forgot about it, but here it is anyway. Takes place during and after the last scene of 'Infiltrated' so in terms of spoilers, anything in and up to season 8 is fair game. Please enjoy, read, and review!


Chapter 1: Thought

"I was only ten," echoed the voice of Britney Dunlap in Olivia's head, its shaky quality lodging itself into a memory full of crying, broken victims. Olivia knew that countless other voices would soon join Britney's in that part of her brain reserved for all the gruesome details she witnessed day in and day out.

**********************************************

Walking out of the observation room and shutting the door behind her, Olivia turned to face Porter. "She has Stockholm Syndrome." They both glanced back into the room through the window to see Britney reconnecting with her parents after seven years of being away from them.

"Fell in love with her captor. Stopped trying to escape years ago. Probably had dozens of chances to before she killed him," Porter replied, looking at Olivia.

Olivia shook her head. "No jury in the world would convict her," her voice was tinged with empathy.

"Who's pressing charges?" Olivia gave Porter an understanding smile, but as she looked at him she noticed something in him that she hadn't seen over the last few weeks that they had worked together. A shred of humanity. He had been cold and detached in his demeanor and she knew that his job required it, but it nearly shocked her to see that there was something living and warm beneath his stoic exterior.

"She'll get psychiatric care?" She knew what his response would be but she asked anyway for lack of a better question to fill the increasingly awkward silence.

"Yeah." Porter nodded and watched Olivia intently.

Feeling his gaze on her, Olivia asked, "What?"

"You do have a little knack with victims." Caught off guard, Olivia almost gave in to the temptation to gloat or respond in mock-arrogance but that would have brought their exchange dangerously close to what could be considered banter, or worse, flirting. God knew she didn't need that with another partner, however temporary, so she settled for a simple smile of thanks.

Suddenly, snapping Olivia out of her reverie, Porter said, "Oh! I almost forgot…"

**********************************************

Later that day, Olivia stood in her hotel room, looking out at the street below her. She knew she should have gone to bed to get a few hours of sleep before flying back to New York, but she figured that it'd be pointless. Not that she wasn't tired, it had been a long day, but her brain was wide awake processing the events of the last few days. At the thought of having to testify at Chelsea's trial, her mind flitted back to New York. She missed the city and, most of all, her squad; they were the closest thing, hell, the only thing resembling a real family to her. But despite all of that she was somewhat glad for her time away. All the tension and the feeling that she was constantly walking on eggshells dissipated with every day that passed while she was in Oregon, but pretty soon she'd be back at work with Elliot and she knew the tension would return.

Ever since Elliot's separation from his wife she always felt like she was waiting around for something from him. She didn't know exactly what she was waiting for, but it made her feel a little silly, almost as if she was a teenager again waiting for a boy to call. That feeling only intensified after the Gitano ordeal. Their conversation outside of Rebecca Clifford's hospital room seemed like an admission that their feelings towards each other extended further than those intended for a coworker. Olivia by no means assumed that he was confessing his undying love for her, only that he cared for and needed her. And of course he needed her; they were partners, after all, and like she told Porter during the car ride to Butteville, they were best friends, so there was no doubt in her mind that he cared about her. So his words really shouldn't have changed anything… but something did change, or at least it seemed that way on her end.

A soft knock on Olivia's door brought her back to the present. For a moment she wasn't even sure that she'd heard it so she hesitated before making her way towards the door and opening it.

"Porter?"

**********************************************

Dean Porter was not one to dwell on things, so he was surprised that he found himself knocking on Olivia's hotel door, feeling the need to talk about what happened that day. He knocked quietly and waited, fully aware of the possibility that she might be resting up before her flight back to New York. He waited for what seemed like an eternity and he began to walk away when the door slowly opened behind him.

"Porter?" She seemed a little shocked to see him there, almost as if she was expecting someone else.

"May I?" He motioned to the inside her room with his hand when she didn't immediately let him in.

"Yeah, sorry, come on in," Olivia shook herself out of her stupor and closed the door. "Would you like something to drink?" She made her away to the mini-bar, thinking to offer him a bottle of water, when she saw his face and decided he would probably opt for something stronger.

The blue light of the late evening was giving in to the darkness of night, but there were no lights on in the room. "How do you do it?" Porter asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"It's easy. I simply pull out a bottle and pour it into a glass," Porter rolled his eyes, knowing she understood full well what he meant.

"How do you do this every day? How do you handle seeing traumatized victims of unspeakable crimes and not become jaded or bitter?"

Good question, Olivia thought, and for a moment a picture of Munch, the ultimate cynic, popped into her head but she pushed it away. "It's my job and it's hard, but someone has to do it, right?"

He considered her answer and a few minutes passed before he spoke again. "Do you ever get used to it?"

"No," she replied bluntly. "Every victim is as heartbreaking as the first one. You just learn to control your reactions better, or to hide them better, I suppose. But it's always personal, no matter how hard you try to disassociate yourself from them. And sometimes… sometimes, it feels like we're not even making a difference because we always find one more rape victim, one more abused child. But you find something to help you keep going."

"And what is it for you?"

"I don't have any children," Porter found it difficult to read her expression in the growing darkness, but he was sure that he heard a hint of regret in her voice. "But my partner does and those kids are like family to me. I never told him this, but I always see something in our victims that reminds me of them. I suppose it's because… the only difference between the victims and Elliot's kids is that they have someone to look out for them…"

"So you want to look out for the victims," Porter finished for her. Her explanation seemed a little too simple to him and he was willing to bet that there was something far deeper and darker behind it, but he wasn't going to push it. Not for the moment, at least.

"Yeah," she whispered into the dark.

Suddenly feeling like he got more than he bargained for, Porter composed himself and stood up, heading to the door. Olivia quickly jumped to her feet and followed him. "Hey," she called after him. "What you're going through right now… it's perfectly normal."

Porter turned around and froze in his place. After searching for something appropriate to say and finding nothing he just nodded. "Good luck in court," he added lamely and left Olivia standing in the middle of the dark hotel room, a confused expression on her face.


AN: Again, please read and review.