Put yer season 17 hats on again, kids. We're going back to when Tuckson was safe (in a manner of speaking, anyway). Takes place in the aftermath of Townhouse Incident. I heard Bob Seger's "We've Got Tonight" and my rusted fanfic wheels started spinning again.
I'm grossly out-of-practice, so please forgive mistakes.
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She's just wrenched the cork out of a fresh bottle of cabernet when the buzzer sounds, prompting her brow to furrow in confusion as she turns to the digital clock display on her coffeemaker.
9:16.
Anyone she could think of that might be here at this hour wouldn't show up unannounced—especially not after the events of a few days ago. Shrugging, she writes off the disruption as a buzz meant for a neighbor and reaches for a glass from the cabinet, not thrilled with the idea of entertaining anyone anyway.
The second time the buzzer sounds, she rolls her eyes in exasperation, muttering to herself as she abandons the wine and makes her way to the door, eager to pre-empt a third buzz that would undoubtedly rouse her sleeping son.
She depresses the button the intercom, her tone equal parts cautious and impatient as she speaks into the device.
"Hello?"
##
The instant he hears her voice, he knows he shouldn't have come here. This is her private space. They aren't exactly friends. Are they?
It feels like he's overstepping. Only a couple of days prior, he'd helped her out of a precarious life-threatening situation. That didn't give him a right to show up at her doorstep unannounced after nine o'clock at night, did it?
But, it's too late now.
"Is anyone there?" The impatience in her tone gives way to an abundance of caution and he mutters a terse fuck under his breath. He's scaring her.
"Yeah, uh," he starts lamely, rubbing at the back of his head. "Lieutenant," he greets. "Sorry to bother you, it's uh—"
##
"—Tucker?" She would know that rasp anywhere. But what was he doing here? "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," he answers quickly. "Yeah, uh… I, uh, I just—"
Her eyebrows lift. The man on her stoop now sounds the polar opposite of the cool, collected man who's strong voice she clung to over the phone at the townhouse. She's not used to him being so…unsteady. And while it's endearing in a way she wouldn't have expected, it's also January in New York and she realizes that this conversation is one they can have face-to-face in the warmth of her apartment, not through the intercom while he freezes to death on her stoop. She cuts into his rambling, telling him to come on up before pressing the button to buzz him in.
##
She's leaning against the doorframe, half in her apartment and half in the hall, when she hears the elevator chime its arrival down the hall. Seconds later, Ed Tucker appears from around the corner, and his steps falter when he looks up to find her waiting for him.
The last time he saw her, she was in shock, face bruised and bloodied from being pistol-whipped. It's only been a couple of days but already he can tell that the bruises are fading. With her hair loosely pulled half up and half down, ripped jeans and a faded long-sleeved shirt, she's the most casual he's ever seen her.
"Hey," he says as he makes his way toward her. He tries to make his tone casual, free of pity, but to his own ears, he fails miserably. Thankfully, she either doesn't notice or doesn't react to it.
"Hey," she tosses back with a small smile.
She steps aside as he nears her doorway, giving him ample space to step into her apartment, and he immediately moves aside allowing her to lead the way further in.
"I'm sorry to bother you—"
"It's not a bother. I actually just opened a fresh bottle of wine. Can I get you a glass?"
"Sure." He shrugs out of his coat, carefully folding it in half and draping it across the back of her living room chair as he awkwardly makes his way deeper into her space.
"So," she asks from the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at him as she pulls a second glass from the cupboard. "What brings you by?"
"There's a bar a couple blocks up that I go to from time to time…" he trails off, shrugging at her as she makes her way toward him, each hand cradling a glass of red.
"So you were in the neighborhood?" The corner of her lips lift in a disbelieving smirk, but she doesn't call him on it.
"Somethin' like that," he retorts gruffly.
He takes a glass off her hands as she moves past him, muttering apologies as she quickly clears the couch of remnants of Noah's toys, trying to create enough room for them both to sit.
"Life with a toddler…" he teases, waving off her apologies and settling beside her, his body slightly turned toward her.
"Sometimes I feel like all it is, is continuously putting toys away," she chuckles, sweeping a stubborn lock of hair behind her ear as she sinks into the cushions.
"You're doing more than that," he disagrees reverently, and she's speechless as she watches him swirl the wine in his glass before setting it on the coffee table. "How is the little guy?" He eyes the iPad that glows with the image of her sleeping son before turning to face her again.
Olivia recovers quickly, giving him a small smile as she nods. "He's good," she supplies.
Ed nods. "And you?" he rasps. "You alright?"
Her features darken before his very eyes and he watches as she is momentarily taken back to a few days ago, her fingers pulling at loose threads from a rip in her jeans until she abruptly brings herself back. "Yeah," she whispers, emotion cracking her voice. "I'm alright."
She takes another sip of her wine and bravely meets his eyes, seeing in his gaze that he's trying to determine whether or not he believes her. Silence stretches between them for what feels like long seconds before she clears her throat. "Look, I know I've said it already but…thank you, Tucker, for getting me out of there."
Immediately, Ed shakes his head dismissively. "I didn't—"
"No, you did," Olivia insists, reaching for his free hand and clasping it tightly in her own. "Noah was… all I could think about. What would happen to him if I…" she shakes her head of the unpleasant thought, changing course instead. "You got me out, back to him. So, thank you," she emphasizes.
She meets his eyes intensely and they fall into silence again, Ed keenly aware that his hand is still encased in hers. He tilts his head, regarding her inquisitively, and her eyebrows lift in expectation.
"Can I ask you somethin'?"
Curiously, Olivia nods, but cautions, "I may not answer."
"Of course," he says quickly, then looks up at her, taking a breath before diving in. "Why me?" At her quizzical look, he elaborates. "I'm not HNT."
She knows what he's getting at. There would've been no need for IAB to be there that day—not at that stage, anyway. And yet, he was summoned.
Olivia begins slowly. "Joe," she swallows thickly against the bile that threatens to rise at the mere taste of his name on her lips, "…asked me who at the NYPD I trusted," she explains. "Someone higher up than my squad." She pauses, and when she speaks again it's softer; so much he finds himself unconsciously leaning closer to her just to hear her. "Someone who cared if I lived or died." Their eyes lock and there's an unspoken challenge in her gaze.
"You called me." It's not a question; his tone sounds more awed, as if he can't believe that with all the options she had, any number of the white-shirts she could've called, she chose him.
It moves him.
The distance between them seems to be shrinking, but while she's nervous—this is Tucker after all, they don't do this—she doesn't fight the pull she feels between them. "I trust you," she whispers.
She's not sure when it happened; in retrospect, she guesses it had to have been somewhere between Nicholas Amaro, Sr.'s trial and Johnny D's. Seemingly out of nowhere, suddenly this man who'd only ever been a pain in her ass for over a decade had…layers. Suddenly he was softer. Suddenly it didn't feel like they were on opposite sides. Suddenly they were…friends?
Ed releases her hand, reaching up to lightly grip her chin, and her breath catches at the unexpectedly intimate contact. Her eyes follow his as they move across her face, his hand tilting her head so he can better see her wounds.
"Still hurt?" he rasps.
She shakes her head minutely, brown eyes still hopelessly locked on his. When she speaks, her voice cracks under the heaviness of the moment they're in. "Noah kisses them better every night." Her lips twitch in a small smile and he can see playfulness in her eyes that he's rarely seen before.
"That so?" he asks, and he smirks when she nods, her chin still in his grasp. He pauses then and searches her face. "May I…?"
Wordlessly, she nods, and despite her best efforts, her eyes drift shut as she feels the softness of his lips against her skin—one feather-light kiss over the cut on her cheek, and then his hand moves so he's cradling her neck, tilting her head down so his lips touch the wound over her eye.
The absence of his warm breath tickling her skin makes her open her eyes, and she gasps when she finds striking blue eyes waiting for hers. His thumb brushes her cheek as his eyes drop to her lips, and the charge between them is palpable, a tangible current connecting them.
Her breathing takes on a ragged quality and he feels her lean a little more into his touch, her eyes dipping down to his lips.
Ed leans closer to her unconsciously, his eyes traveling from her mouth to her eyes and back again in silent askance. "Are you sure?"
There's no hesitation before she breathes her assent and then his mouth is on hers, his kiss soft, gentle. It's brief, but his lips are on hers long enough for her to note how perfectly they fit between hers before she pulls away to meet his eyes.
He takes a deep steadying breath as they take each other in, the action drawing a small, amused & slightly bewildered smile from her lips before she puts her wine glass on the coffee table.
She cradles his face in her now free hands, inching closer to him and bringing his lips back to hers.
This kiss is a little deeper, a little more passionate, and it lasts a little longer until Ed tears his mouth away with a gasp of her name. "Is this too much?" he asks desperately. "Too soon?" She'd just gone through a traumatic experience—the last thing he wanted to do was take advantage of her vulnerability.
Even as the questions escape his lips, he's trailing kisses along her jaw, resting his forehead against her temple. He desperately wants more of her, but he doesn't want to push her further than she's comfortable with. He's in uncharted territory.
Ed swallows hard against the overwhelming essence of her that surrounds him—the heat of her touch through his Oxford shirt, her scent, and her skin beneath his fingertips.
This wasn't why he came here.
"Tucker," Olivia husks, leaning into him. One of her hands slides from his cheek to his chest, gripping the tie that hangs loosely around his neck as she pulls back to meet his eyes. She licks her lips, taking a deep breath as she regards him carefully.
The dynamic between them had shifted, even before the townhouse. What was once loathing had morphed into respect…and maybe, apparently, attraction?
Slowly, organically, and somehow always under the guise of work, they were learning more and more about each other. No longer adversaries, they cared about each other. He saved her life.
Finally, surprising them both, Olivia grazes his lower lip with the tip of her thumb, brown eyes sparkling brightly as they lift to pierce his blue.
"Stay?"
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*eyes review button*