A/N: Hello, faithful readers! So, I've had this idea rolling around in my head for literally years, and finally got the courage to post it. I have quite a bit written, and wanted to see if I'd gain a following before continuing. So I hope you enjoy!
By the time newly appointed Detective Olivia Benson reaches her final destination, her legs are both asleep, eyes blurry and she's just about had enough of radio programs. As soon as she steps out of the car, though, none of that matters, because she's finally arrived at her new home in Newport Beach, California. The air is warm, the sun is shining, and life couldn't be better after days cramped in the same position in her car.
The home that belongs to the driveway she pulls into is a single bedroom house with a small garden out front. The grass is short, green, and it looks like it's been taken care of, just like most of the well-manicured lawns she's seen in the surrounding neighborhood. This place is beautiful.
A perfect place to start fresh.
Olivia opens the door, and walks inside, removing her sunglasses as she goes. It's small, but then again, it's only her, so it's perfect. The front door opens to a decent sized living room and kitchen with granite countertops. To her right, a hallway leads to a bedroom, study and cranking the air conditioning, she goes back out to the car to grab her boxes. This is the only part of the trip when she wishes she has a companion; unpacking is a bitch when you're the only one doing it. She didn't mind driving by herself, in fact, she enjoyed the solitude. It gave her time to think.
A few hours later, she finally sets the last back on the floor in the living room, and sighs. Finally. Now all's I have to do is unpack.
Half of the contents of one of the boxes is spread across the floor by the time she remembers that she never closed the back door of her car.
"Damn." Olivia says aloud, heading back outside. Just as she opens the front door, a gray pick-up truck rolls by and pulls into the driveway of the house next door. Curious, she stands in the doorway and waits to see what her new neighbor looks like.
A tall, fit man wearing a pair of fatigues gets out. The camouflage is colored in varying shades of tan, his sleeves are rolled crisply to his biceps, and there's a logo on his hat, but she can't quite make out which branch it represents. She immediately notes the exhaustion he displays; it definitely looks like he had a long day doing whatever job was required of him. Frowning, Olivia closes the door of her car and heads back inside. It doesn't seem like he's up to meet a new face, just from what she observed, so she won't bother him.
However, she certainly wants to at least meet the man. Not only is he her next door neighbor, but he also performs one of the most selfless jobs in the world. She tries to tell herself those are the only reasons she wants to meet him, but that's not true. She wants to size him up, to see exactly what he's like, if he can be trusted. It's impossible to know that right away, but she's a great judge of character. Simply talking for a few minutes will be enough for now. He's a soldier, he protects their country, and there's a great chance he's just a good man doing his job, but her view on the world has been tainted. Even the ones that are supposed to be good can turn out bad.
The rest of the day is quiet. By the time seven o'clock rolls around, Olivia has succeeded in unpacking her bathroom supplies, most of the kitchen, her bedding, and parts of the living room, including a small box filled with part of her book collection. It's still quite warm out, so she takes one of her books outside and enjoys the early twilight hours while they last.
The previous owners left many pieces of furniture in the small house, including a table and chairs on the back patio, which Olivia is grateful for. She didn't have much coming from New York, and she really didn't want to have to refurnish an entire apartment. Taking a seat on the cushioned chair, she glances at the house next door. There is virtually no movement inside; most of the lights are even off.
Hm. He must live alone, she thinks to herself. Must be pretty exhausted if he's already sleeping.
She's not starting work for several more days, so she doesn't bother watching the time as the sun sets and darkness envelopes the yard. By the time she climbs into bed, it's past midnight.
Olivia's head was pounding. Warm blood seeped from a wound on her forehead. She tried to sit up, but her hands were tied to the headboard above her.
"Well, well. Look who's finally awake."
Her blood turned to ice. She would never forget that voice: cold, calculating, evil. A man stepped forward from the shadows, and she instantly recognized him as the suspect she'd been trying so desperately to find, William Lewis. A sadistic grin was plastered on his face.
Olivia immediately screamed for help. She struggled with her bound hands, squirmed and kicked, but to no avail. Lewis climbed on top of her, and slapped her so hard she saw stars.
"Shut up!" He yelled, balling her rumpled police uniform shirt in his fist. "No one's coming to rescue you, Officer Benson. We have plenty of time to play."
Olivia shoots up from her mattress, breathing heavily, her shirt drenched in sweat. In a matter of seconds, she has her pistol in both hands, scanning the room for potential threats.
There's no one here. You're fine, you're in your new house. He's not going to hurt you.
She sets her gun down, taking a shaking breath. Everything's okay. The glowing digits on the clock next to her bed read 4:15 A.M. No matter how hard she tries, she knows she's not going to get any more sleep, so she gets out of bed, and walks into the kitchen. It's still dark out, but through her window she sees the lights on next door.
Well, that explains the early bed time, she thinks. At that moment, she'd focus on anything to simply wash away the memory of her nightmare. After getting a glass of water from the fridge, she stands in the window and surveys the darkness surrounding her new neighborhood. It's quiet; almost too quiet, especially for a city girl that had never really spent any time away from the bustling streets of Manhattan.
The soldier next door steps out into the early morning darkness, illuminated by nothing more than the streetlamp in front of his house. He wears a pair of fatigues identical to the ones he'd come home in the previous night. Olivia watches as he locks the door behind him, stretches, and gets into his truck. After a moment, the headlights turn on, the truck rolls down the driveway, and he drives by her window, disappearing around the corner.
—-
The next few days go by much like that. Olivia's new neighbor leaves early, comes back mid evening, and if she didn't know better, she'd say he didn't even notice the new face next door. The need to have a face to face with him is growing; she's beginning to grow antsy. She doesn't even know this man, he could be anyone, anything, but she wants to meet him. It scares her. Aloofness had caused her… what had happened to her, and she is definitely not going to allow it to happen again.
So Olivia spends the days unpacking, painting, and exploring the area surrounding her new home. She finds a kickboxing studio only a ten or fifteen minute drive away, and immediately signs up for classes.
She does that on her third day in Newport Beach. When she returns home, her neighbor's truck is in the driveway and the blinds and front door are open. Hm. He's home early.
The back door is open as well. He stands, wearing a green t-shirt and camouflage pants tucked into boots, arms crossed as he watches a large German Shepherd bound across the backyard.
Inside, she fills a watering can to bring to her newly purchased plants out back, and steps out the screen door. The flowers need watering, and she's finally going to talk to her neighbor. The soldier notices her as she took a glance, and waves at her in greeting. "Afternoon! How's it going?"
"Good," she answers, setting down her watering can after finishing with the last plant. He approaches her, and her breathing catches in her chest. While Olivia had caught glimpses of him from afar over the past few days, she'd never gotten to see him up close, and she has to say, afar doesn't do him justice. She can't help but admire his appearance. His eyes are the most amazing shade of blue, his jaw chiseled and he looks to be in top physical condition. The very bottom of a tattoo peaks out from his well-fitted sleeve.
"Welcome to the neighborhood," he says, reaching out to shake her hand. "I'm Elliot."
"Nice to meet you, Elliot," she says, looking him up and down. He stands several inches taller than her. His shoulders are broad, waist narrow. She wonders briefly if she can take him in a fight, and doubts it, unless she's willing to play dirty. "I'm Olivia. I saw you pull in the other day, but you didn't look like you were up for a meet and greet."
He looks confused for a moment before recognition flashes through his eyes. "Oh, yeah. Long day."
"You're a soldier?"
"Marine, actually," he smiles at her, and she nearly melts. He has an amazing smile… "And yourself?"
"I'm starting as a detective with Anaheim PD in a few days."
She hears a bark from his property and without any warning, the German shepherd barrels out from the side yard and runs straight for Elliot. The Marine bends as it jumped up to meet him.
"What are you doing over here, huh?" He asks, petting the shepherd with both hands. The dog barks happily in response, and licks his master's face.
Elliot chuckles, standing and turning back towards Olivia. "This is Brutus."
"Hi, Brutus," Olivia says, bending to pet him. Brutus licks her hand as she pulls it away, laughing.
Elliot laughs along with her. "I think he likes you."
Brutus licks Olivia's hand once more, then moves back towards Elliot. He jumps up onto Elliot's chest.
"Oomph," Elliot chuckles. "I better get this guy inside and give him some food. But, hey, uh… if you're not busy tomorrow night, would you like to come over for dinner? As a sort of welcome to the neighborhood… thing."
She smiles. "I'd like that."
He smiles back at her, and nods. "Good. Seven alright for you?"
"Perfect."
Elliot nods once more. He looks down at Brutus. "Come."
The dog follows him, right at his side, all the way into the house. She has to say that she's thoroughly impressed with his training.
—-
Elliot lets the screen door fall closed behind him, and takes an immediate right into the kitchen. The house is just as small as Olivia's, but an open floor plan keeps the space manageable. A bar with a sink and two barstools separates the living room from the kitchen on one side, and a countertop faces the area in front of the backdoor. He reaches into the cabinet above the refrigerator for a bag of dog food to fill Brutus's bowl.
"Good boy," Elliot says, petting Brutus on the head. With a sigh, he collapses onto the couch in the living room. His eyes fall closed for a moment as he toes off his boots. Thanks to standing for most of the day, his feet ache, but it's a pain that he's used to. It's easy to push aside. His focus now is on what he sees in the dark; behind his eyelids, wisps of his new neighbor form. She's beautiful… her chocolate eyes, auburn hair, intoxicating smile.
The rumbling of his stomach draws him out of his trance. He gets up slowly, and flips on the television as he walks back into the kitchen. It flickers on to a commercial for Volkswagen. As he digs through the contents of his cabinets and refrigerator, the need to go shopping becomes more and more apparent; he has have to do it before returning from work tomorrow, which means walking around in public in his fatigues. Usually, he doesn't mind it, through the awkwardness of strangers approaching him. He understands why they do, of course, but in all his years as a Marine, he never seemed to get used to it. If he was honest, he would continue his work if no one at all thanked him.
"Get ready for low visibility in the A.M. Low clouds and morning fog will last through the end of the week. Tomorrow, we're looking at partly cloudy skies with a high of seventy-four degrees."
The overly bubbly weather woman goes on as he throws some Italian sausages in a pan on the stove, then begins chopping onions and peppers. He remembers the very first time a stranger approached him. At only nineteen years old, he'd been straight out of bootcamp, and the older gentleman had walked straight up to him, stuck out his hand, and said a teary-eyed "thank you". He told Elliot that his son died flying helicopters in the Air Force. Even after the story, the younger version of himself still felt invincible, impenetrable. His heart ached for the man's son. But Elliot wasn't him.
"…will dip down to seventy degrees. We're looking at a beautiful weekend, with temperatures beginning to rise back up on Thursday, and remaining in the low eighties through Sunday, with clear skies."
Now, though he loves what he does probably even more than he did back then, he's painfully aware of his own mortality. He's lucky. The friends he lost over the years could have easily been himself.
He's glad that Olivia only mentioned his job in passing.
Olivia. What a beautiful name.
He wipes his hands on a hand towel, and sighs, staring out the back window as his improvised dinner cooks. Usually during the week, he comes home too tired to actually put effort in his cooking, so quick meals like sausage and peppers are a regular for him. He always tries to eat the healthiest he can, and it comes as a chore. He's sure that heating microwave meals or stopping at the nearest fast food joint would be both faster and more convenient. His waistline, though, surely wouldn't agree.
He stirs his dinner with a pair of tongs, stomach growling. When he's satisfied, he prepares a plate, then pours himself a cold glass of water.
More commercials blare on as he sits at the breakfast bar. He has a dining room, but eating there only succeeds in making him lonely. So instead, he sits at the bar and watches TV as he eats.
Halfway though his meal, a wet tongue makes contact with his pant leg. Brutus sits at his side, looking up at Elliot with his brown eyes, tongue sticking out of his mouth.
"You know better," Elliot says. Brutus whines.
Elliot held his M16 in his hands. His battle buddy, Danny, stood next to him, the loop of a leather leash wrapped around his wrist. A large German Shepherd trotted back and forth, sniffing the ground in front of them.
The dog's head perked up suddenly, and he whined.
"What is it, Brutus?" Danny asked.
The next thing he knew, his ears were ringing and he was gasping for air. The taste of metal stings in his mouth.
"Danny." The voice wasn't even his. It was a whisper, filled with confusion and pain and anger. Elliot tried to sit up, to get moving, but the pain was too great and he was too weak.
The last thing he felt was a warm, wet tongue on his cheek.
Elliot's fork clatters against the bar top. A bead of sweat runs down his brow. He sighs shakily, and picks up a piece of sausage from his plate, handing it out for Brutus to take.
"Just this once." It's a mantra that repeats too often in this kitchen.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Please let me know what you think, so I know if there's interest if I continue. Like I said, I posted to see if there would be a solid following for this. As is my new tradition, if you leave a review, you will get a sneak peak of the next chapter.
Have a great morning/afternoon/evening!
-Stabson