Why Autumn Is Best
Summary: Elliot and Olivia do something that Liv doesn't quite remember…this is my version of the 'Morning After'.
Disclaimer: All material used belongs to Dick Wolf and NBC. Anything else you recognize isn't mine, either.
A/N: Yeah, well, what's fanfiction for, anyway? Please remember to leave a review 3
She knows something is off the moment she wakes up.
First of all, she's squinting at the light pouring through her window, so the blinds are obviously not drawn. She always draws the blinds before going to sleep. She's learned enough to know that there are all kinds of perverts and Peeping Toms out there at night. In fact, she wonders if she has been drugged, because there is no way in hell that she forgot to close them. The street lamp right outside her bedroom window makes damn well sure that she doesn't.
Second, she's on the left side of the bed. That can't be normal because she almost always sleeps on the right side. It's nearest to the door, and when she actually has enough time to get a night's sleep in the confines of her own comforter, she's nearly dead on her feet and it's all she can do to slump down and close her eyes the moment she lies down.
And third, how in the hell did her muscles get so sore? She specifically remembers berating herself for eating a (delicious and totally worth it) butter tart at the coffee shop yesterday for the sole reason that she hasn't been to the gym in five days.
"Hey, Beautiful." She's just noticed that an arm is slung around her waist, and that said arm has just vibrated from the familiar voice of the person lying beside her.
Lying. Beside. Her.
Jesus Christ.
"El?" Her surprise is astonishingly obvious. So is her confusion. She wonders what the hell happened last night. What utterly wonderful thing happened. Because it is wonderful, really, to wake up next to her long-time secret fantasy and partner, Elliot Stabler.
"Please tell me you remember, Liv." Elliot says, smiling as if he left all of his problems on her doorstep, his blue eyes searching hers. And then his hand comes up and strokes her shoulder. Her bare shoulder.
Oh, God.
Yes, yes, yes.
His hand is like magic on her skin. And she means that literally. In one touch, memories start to surface about what exactly happened to result in her waking up naked beside him.
In retrospect, it wouldn't have taken a genius to figure it out. But Olivia just can't wrap her head around the fact that Oh my dear sweet Lord, it happened. Ten years and it finally happened. It's really too bad that she can only remember flashes, last night's "couple o' drinks" having taken a toll on her memory.
"Let's just say I remember enough," She says softly, still trying to recover from the near heart attack she's just suffered. Elliot flashes a smile, his blue eyes sparking.
She lies back down, her head sinking oh-so-comfortably into her down pillow. "What time is it?"
"Seven-thirty."
She has to roll the words around in her head a couple times before they make sense. Cragen insists on punctuality, and although in disagreement with every fibre of her being, they are due in for work at eight. "Shit, we're late!" She bolts right back up again, and not two seconds later does she wish she'd just stayed lying down. An unbelievably horrid wave of pain in her head sends her stomach reeling. "Ah, dammit." She's not sure she consented when her body flops unceremoniously back down against the mattress.
"Yeah, that's what I thought." Elliot says with a chuckle. She considers decking him for laughing at her, but remembering the aching onslaught of pain the last time she moved with purpose, she decides against it. She chooses instead to tell him in words.
"Don't freaking laugh at me, Stabler." It is meant to be convicting, nailing her annoyance into his brain, but instead it comes out with a giggle, and her words are not nearly as pointed as she would have liked.
Elliot listens though, and gives up the idea of laughing in favour of skimming her jaw with his lips. All annoyance is long gone from her mind the second his skin touches hers. It's like all emotion she is possibly capable of feeling has just grabbed its paycheck jumped out the window.
Except desire. Oh, oui monsieur, that one is up front and centre.
She sighs happily, and forces her hands up to his face. This actually takes more effort than she is willing to let on, though, because his lips on her skin has totally erased any and all control she may have had over her limbs at some point.
She guides his lips to hers, and tells him without words just how happy she is to be here, on this crisp autumn morning, warm and snug in her comforter with him.
She wants to let him know that she doesn't give a damn that outside, the world is moving. That outside, people everywhere are busy living their lives, and the constant flow of energy will forever rush on. She wants to tell him that even though the world is still the same, she has changed. For the better. And that right now, Olivia is living in this moment with him. She's revelling in the fact that his soft lips feel absolutely perfect against her own, and that she loves the feeling of his arms closing around her. Olivia hopes that he knows that right here, on his embrace, is all that she cares about at the moment.
After kissing him thoroughly, she falls back onto her pillow and closes her eyes, celebrating the fact that she can smell him on she sheets, and smell him on her.
Elliot's hand slides from her shoulder all the way down to her hip as he settles comfortably in beside her.
"Didn't you say we were going to be late, Liv?" He asks, clearly stating, by the way his face is nuzzled in her hair, that he doesn't want, and has no intention, to get up.
"Yeah, well, do you think Cragen would buy it if we wrote each other a sick note?"
"Probably not, but it's worth a shot." He chuckles, smiling at her logic.
"I wish we could just stay here forever," she yawns, stretching, her chocolate brown eyes searching his. He nods his complete agreement.
She takes his hand, and intertwines their fingers together. She places their linked hands over her stomach, and she smiles at the sight she sees.
If she were to take a picture, she would see two individuals who have been re-awakened by each other's new, yet infinitely familiar touch. She'd see two completely equal, noticeably happy souls, who, in the expanse of one night, have stitched each other up and wholly filled the aching spaces that existed in their hearts.
The End.
A/N: I guess anyone can dream, right? Ahh, if only…
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