Disclaimer: I do not own Law & Order SVU, or it's characters.
A/N: A new fic for a new season. Take it as you want. A bit AU. Props to my girl Lauren, (IRANT_ on twitter) for making this fic become real. Takes place in S13. Haters gonna hate.
She blows the smoke into the darkened city, taking a glance at the city below her.
He would yell at her endlessly.
If he were here.
But he's gone, vanished into thin air. She's called and called, left message after message. He's checked them, deleted them, only to receive more from her, and delete them once again. It's a fucked up circle and she keeps spinning, and one day, she'll fall down.
The smoking helps. It started with a cigarette when she was undercover, and then another when she needed an escape. The stress leaves and in the irony of it all, she only craves one when she thinks of his face.
And when he's all around her, whispering to her, screaming at her, telling her what to do and what not to, the craving comes often.
She doesn't straighten her hair anymore. She doesn't wear as much make up as she did before. She really just doesn't give a fuck.
She's cold, now.
It helps her feel warm, but it's a far cry from the way she used to be. When his gaze would fall upon her, she'd feel like she was warm. Maybe a little fuzzy, around the edges. The craving for the nicotine comes and she wants to kick the habit already, but she knows that she'll need it until he returns.
If he returns.
In the same undercover operation she smoked her first cigarette in, she also took her first hit off a pipe. The perp she was after got her high, and slowly creeped his fingers around her throat. She had fought him tooth and nail, but he stays with her, every time she lights a blunt, take a hit from her pipe, or rolls a joint.
You're better then this, Liv.
She's been hearing his voice for a while. He stops torturing her when she shuts him out, with the help of her in-house grown enabler. Olivia's toes curl as she lowers her mouth to the mouth of her glass friend, pressing her lips against it, and she breathes deeply through her mouth, sucking in the smoke.
"Damn," The haze is slowly creeping in, and she likes it.
She likes a lot of things she didn't before he left.
The cold is creeping in. Ever so slowly, she's becoming more and more surrounded by his absence. It's everyday, every hour, every minute she deals with him, the memories, his voice.
His voice surrounds her, suffocates her. It makes her want to scream. He's telling her she needs to keep calm, that she's a good cop, and he's got her back. She knows just how far she's stretched from reality, from the person she used to be, when she calls and he never answers.
Her arm is thrown over her eyes, but she peeks over her limb to look at her nightstand, at an old picture framed in plain looking glass. She curses, removing her arm to gently place the picture face down.
Remember all of the Thursday nights, Liv? The night we drank ourselves into a stupor, and I told you things I never expected you to listen to? How my hand would graze down your arm, and you'd lean into me?
Olivia's hand grasps the picture as she pulls it back roughly, swinging her arm until she let's go, releasing it into the air. She watches it propel across the room, shattering it. The shards sparkle as the moonlight streams through her bedroom window.
I'm sorry, for everything.
"How could you leave me... After everything?"
Her body sinks back into the bed, relaxing and molding into the mattress that's become accustomed to her body. Fourty-seven times, she's called him. Not once has he called her back. She stares at the ceiling, and she wishes.
She wishes he would call. She wishes he would do a lot of things that deep down, she knows will never happen. The first tear rolls from the corner of her eye and disappears into her hairline, just like he disappeared from her life.
Hoping. Wishing. Giving up. Restarting. Screaming. Crying.
She's done it all. Hell, she's done it all at once. Her arm lays over her eyes and she reminisces that her brain is still a little foggy, whether it's from the sleep or the high, she doesn't know or care.
Breathing. She hears it, and it's not her own. Her gun is under her pillow and in a long second her fingers could be wrapped around it, but she's overwhelmed with a sense of calm. Like when he was around. The possibility of him being in her apartment is small, but she still quickly let's everything she's felt over the past few months surface and invade her mind.
Crunching glass. He steps quickly, pivoting on his right foot before he stands in the doorway, his gun draw as he looks frantically around the room, until his eyes land on her. She brings the arm that was over her eyes to her bed, pushing herself up into a sitting position. Olivia blinks at the figure and her old partner is gone. Nick Amaro stands in the doorway, slowly dropping his gun to his side.
"Jesus Christ, Olivia... What happened in here?"
She rolls her eyes, feeling the resentment and anger building inside. Her voice is raspy and thick with sleep and smoke. "...The fuck are you doing here, Amaro?" Olivia glares at him, shifting in her bed, not caring her shirt has lowered in the neckline and risen in the waist for him to see. His eyes are locked on her face, almost avoiding looking down at her body, still dressed in her work clothes, but not covered by any sheet or blanket.
"Are you even aware you left your door open for God knows who to just walk in?" Nick growls at her, holstering his gun before crossing his arms over his chest. He stands stoically, raising his head to look down his nose at her, and she glares back, intent on letting him know he isn't welcome.
"I think I'm truly below the point of giving a fuck."
She really doesn't. She hates that he cares already, although he won't admit it. Fuck caring, she doesn't want to feel anything anymore. She wouldn't have to feel the anguish of working at SVU, or the guilt of being the bearer of bad news to parents and families. She doesn't want to feel the heartache of going to her desk each day and seeing his, bare with only a picture of him and Eli, but nothing else. No evidence he was even there in the first place.
Her eyes meet his again, and he nearly snarls at her. "I could arrest you right now, Olivia." She raises her eyebrows in question. "This place reeks of grass, and your eyes are glassier then fuck."
"If you have a problem, don't forget to let the door hit your ass on the way out." Olivia snaps, pointing her finger at the door almost wildly. His jaw tightens and relaxes as he stares at her, his face like stone, no expression revealed. His moment ends, and he cocks an eyebrow at her.
"Did I do something to make you hate me?"
She cracks her knuckles and stares down at her lap. "The amount of respect you'll get is how much I'll allow you to have." Olivia observes as Nick's stance widens, his body language becoming defensive. A smirks spreads across her face and she knows she's now under his skin.
"I know I'm not your partner, but I earned my spot in this unit." His tone is harsh, even accusing, but she let's it slide, covering her hurt by letting her smile widen. She looks him up and down, taking in his expensive looking suit, his unscathed shoes, the slenderness of his tie and his entire body.
He's a prick.
"Doesn't mean I need to give a damn about you," She cocks her head to the side, raising her left eyebrow at him. "So to earn your keep, you can start by getting me my coffee." Nick scoffs and unfolds his arms, but heads into her kitchen.
Olivia doesn't like him. But that doesn't mean she can't use him.
Her legs are long, muscled, endless. The shoes she wears are simple, but are a platform for the bottoms of her flared work pants, and synch and hug tightly to her upper thighs. If she stood, he'd be able to see her ass, a sight he finds himself wanting to see. His eyes travel up her body, landing on her supple breasts for hard second before raising to her face, watching her face relax just a little when she stretches her arms over her head.
Her skin.
It's so fucking touchable, to him. Her turtleneck rides up around her waist just the slightest, giving him a peek at what he pictures himself kissing, touching, and caressing. Her limbs lower and he keeps his eyes on her from behind his computer screen. Olivia's hand brushes down her face and to her neck, where it tugs at the material of her shirt, enabling her fingernails to scratch the skin softly. When her hand moves down though, he sees the reason behind her itching neck.
A hickey.
A/N: So... Do you want more? Leave a review, and let me know. :)
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