Letting Go - Chapter 1 (Tuesday)
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Notes-
e/o
au - alternate writing of calvin & olivia's relationship / calvin leaving
angsty, mmmm
not graphic yet between our principal hot heroes, but that's where we're headed, so eventually this will be XXX or AC or NC-17 or whatever your smut rating of choice is ;)
aiming for a total of 5-7 chapters in length
please let me know how you react / what you think/feel ... am curious and open and i like responses.
and check perfectstorm131 (dot) livejournal (dot) com for more. :)
all belong to dick wolf/nbc
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Suddenly, and without warning, she snapped.
Olivia smashed the perp's head into the metal table, and when his neck snapped up, his dazed expression had only a split second to register his shock when she did it again. Smash. And again.
Elliot was outside debating motives with Cragen, one eye loosely trained on Olivia's form, the other on his conversation, when he heard the first muted crash through the window. Don, moving faster than any man his age should move, was inside the room and pulling Olivia off the perp before Elliot could process what happened.
Olivia hissed and jerked violently against Cragen, who was barely able to restrain her. She'd become a feral animal, all teeth and fury. Elliot flashed back to the last time this happened, and shuddered for a second before snapping into action and through the interrogation room door.
"Don—Let—Me—Go—" she spat through gritted teeth.
"Olivia!" Elliot shouted. He crouched in front of Olivia, willing her to make eye contact. "Olivia. What—? Relax."
The man sitting in the interrogation chair started laughing. Chained to the table, he kicked his chair back, visibly aroused, grinned, thrust his hips up, said, "Fucking bitch. Wanna taste? Wanna taste, bitch?"
"Shut up!" Elliot spun around and shouted. He forcibly sat the man back in his chair. "You sit there and you shut the hell up."
Cragen pushed her by her shoulders out of the room. Elliot watched her shoulders slacken as she complied to his force and was taken by an unfamiliar but deep unease. Before the door shut, Cragen turned to him and barked, "Finish this."
Cragen meant the interrogation. Elliot only thought of his partner.
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By the time he was done—countless hours, one typically obnoxious lawyer, and an eleventh-hour DNA positive ID later, and it was open and shut—he entered the squad room to find Olivia was gone. No coat. Computer off. His heart lurched, but he quieted himself. Don called his name from across the squad room. Elliot caught Fin's eye—he knew something? Yes, he could read it—but turned to face his captain before he could ask the questions that were begging to break from him.
"Shut the door," Cragen said quietly.
Elliot sat in a chair, regarding his captain with guarded eyes. "Sir—"
"Spare me the thin blue line shit, Elliot. What the hell happened in there?"
"Guy was an asshole," he responded, managing to keep his voice easy.
"No, Elliot," and Cragen's voice was strained and deliberate. "Try again." Elliot fell silent, masking the emotions raging in him.
"Is this too much for her? What the hell is going on?" Cragen rubbed his eyes. "I had her in here for twenty minutes and she had no response. I sent her home. I've only ever seen you that out of control. It's not like her." He looked at Elliot again, expectant, wary.
Elliot tried again. "Cap, I don't know what got into her. But whatever she said, it's right—"
Cragen cut him off. "She didn't say anything, Elliot. Nothing to explain or defend herself." He exhaled, considering his detective. "Anybody else would have been fired on the spot. I've sent her to Huang." Then, more quietly: "Whatever it is, you'd better help her figure it out, or you'll have a new partner."
Fin had followed him out the door. "Elliot."
"Yeah." He felt the hours, glanced at the clock. Past midnight. His head swam.
"She's been cracking. Even at the worst—I haven't seen her like this," Fin said, caution edging his tone.
"Do you know what's going on?"
Fin looked at him with hooded eyes. "Man, you should just talk to her."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Elliot took a step in, half-curious, half-angry.
"She's private, all right? Whatever I see—it's none of my business. Family's new for her. And she's never gotten used to us being in her business. I just—I just think she needs to talk." Fin fixed him with a steady stare. And walked away.
Unconsciously, Elliot flexed and unflexed his fists. His wife would be worried. But Olivia was like his breath, his blood. As much as he'd tried to live without one or the other of them, it was impossible. And so he risked the fury of both as he drove up to her apartment.
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Buzzed her doorbell. Shifted his weight on either foot.
No answer.
Texted. Liv, are you up?
No answer.
He let the minutes tick by. Five, then twenty. An hour. He went to wait in his car, debating what his next move should be, when his phone beeped.
Her text read, Come up. Don't sit there all night.
Elliot exhaled for the first time in hours.
Olivia hit the buzzer before he had a chance to press it, and he bounded up the stairs, feeling fear and eagerness pulse through him. Grateful for the window of her permission.
She had the door open a crack and was standing at the sink when he entered. One look at her face—scrubbed free of tear tracks but still startling because of the visceral wash of sadness that overcame him when he saw her—and his heart caught in his throat.
"Hey," he whispered, in a voice lower than intended. Wanted to gather her up. She looked like she needed to be held—and he resisted the impulse—familiar to him now, so familiar that he barely registered it—as easily as he denied himself sleep.
Olivia fixed her gaze on him. She was gentle now, he realized. Less a panther, but not quite a kitten. "I lost my mind today," she said softly.
Elliot grinned spontaneously. Oh. "Yeah. Well, you're not the first, and you won't be the last. Got to let it go."
"Cragen threatened to take my badge."
He bit his lip. "He just wants you to get help, Liv. Might not be a bad idea."
"Dammit, Elliot—" she retorted. Then, mid-sentence, she exhaled shakily. Shook her head, and brushed past him to walk to the couch. "Pour me a drink?"
Elliot pulled the bourbon off the top shelf and took the two shot glasses she'd laid out for them. "Been drinking?"
"No. Was waiting for you." He looked quickly at her, and there was a trace of a smile on her lips.
"You were up here the whole time? Decided to make me wait?" he asked, and realized he wasn't angry, still felt grateful for being let in. Too often she shut him out, and his gut clenched for a minute, knowing it was a pattern between them that he too often initiated.
"Something like that," she responded, and he caught something off in her tone.
"Something like what?"
"Just wanted—I don't know—to see if you'd wait. I told you, I lost my mind today," she said with a grimace.
He smiled through his concern. "I always wait, Liv. You know that. And you—I want you to ask, you know, when you need—I'll always be here." He looked at her directly from across the room, willing her to understand he meant what he was saying.
Instead, she laughed, softly. "I know."
He poured the liquor quickly and maneuvered himself to her side on the couch. "Liv, what the hell is going on?"
She reached for her shot, brushing her fingers against his. Elliot shivered. Something was unrestrained about her, her loose hair, her quietness now, her unravelling earlier in the day. She tipped the liquid into her mouth, did not flinch as it burned her. Elliot followed, finding comfort in the sharp slickness of the taste. He couldn't tell if she knew how much her proximity, her unguardedness, was softening and warming him.
"Found Calvin's father." She closed her eyes. Their knees touched.
"Oh," he said. "Where is he now?"
"Asleep."
Elliot gazed at Olivia—her hair mussed, her head tipped back to rest on the back of the couch, legs stretched out over the coffee table, soft blanket pulled haphazardly around her stomach. Her hands resting on top, fingers splayed. Her body, betraying nothing, no internal battle. And then she opened her eyes, and for the second time since he had arrived, he felt the unfiltered onslaught of her emotions fire at him.
It had been twelve years since he'd been paired with her, a fresh-faced, eager recruit, quick to empathize, quick to relate, quick to laugh. That laughter had slowed over the years, as her walls had built up—and their trust had built, eroded, and manifested now in this elaborate dance of partnership. He couldn't tell sometimes that he was in love—then, in moments like now, when the world outside seemed completely irrelevant, it would hit him like a ton of bricks. That no love like this had ever existed for him outside of this one, for this person. That no love could rival this, and that is why, so much of the time, he couldn't bring himself to believe it even existed.
Elliot forced his head clear, to speak, gently. "Not Calvin, Olivia. His father. Where is he?"
"On a business trip in Rome. He'll be back on Tuesday. A week from today." She continued to look at him, head tilted to the side.
"And then—"
"He'll go—" she started. And bit back a sob. Closed eyes, walls back up.
And in an instant, Elliot understood. "You love Calvin. You want to keep him." He's become your family, he thought, but did not say.
"Fuck," she started, and then dissolved into tears. "I wanted this worse than I thought. Sometimes it's better, you know, not to get too close—"
Swiftly Elliot started to reach for her, overcome by a need to assuage the loneliness in her voice. But she pulled away well before he could touch her, was back on her feet, pacing.
"I know—" his voice was husky, and he bit off the syllables that were threatening to crowd his throat. He did not know what he wanted to say, so stopped himself before he said something he would regret.
Olivia rubbed her temple, stilling her tears. She paused, and he knew she was considering her words. Or gathering them. He couldn't tell. With her eyes closed, he was shut out of her thoughts.
Silence hung between them like a fraying cord. He thought to himself, Idiot, you don't know.
Finally, she opened her warm brown eyes, leveled them on her partner. Something fierce brewed there. It frightened him as much as it made him itch to touch her. "Elliot," she said so softly. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to do, but I don't want to fall apart. You should go, it's late, and I'll be okay. I'll be in tomorrow, okay?" and continued to gather him in her gaze, just for a second.
In these moments, Elliot felt, as he did now, that she was telling him other things, soft, open secrets.
Dangerous territory. He flicked his eyes away.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "I don't want to leave you like this." But he moved to gather the shot glasses.
"Elliot, I'm fine," she said, irritation creeping in her voice.
Without thinking—what good ever comes of thinking?—Elliot impulsively walked up to her, put his hands on her shoulders. Gathered her stiff form briefly in a hug, then kissed her temple. Allowed his mouth to stay there a split second longer than would be okay under any circumstance—felt the warmth of her hair, drew in the smell of her body—and responded in a low voice,"Okay."
He then drew her back, still gripping her shoulders, looked into her eyes. Wanting, with a feeling that left him wordless, one which he felt in every corner of his body, to take her off her feet and carry her into the bedroom, to undress her, to hold her safe in the same silence that pressed on them now. But Olivia startled at the look on his face, and drew back lightly. Voice unsteady, she said, "Bye, Elliot."
He backed away, regaining his composure, and said, "Bye, Liv. See you tomorrow."
It was raining. The street was eerily deserted, even for this hour. When he got downstairs, he looked up to her window. Although the lights were shut off, he saw her figure in the window before she retreated into the darkness of her apartment.
Everything in him rioted. He felt, not for the first time, but clearly, now, much more than ever before, a growing helpless in the face of his partner's struggle. And, if he was honest with himself, in some vague sense, he felt guilty. Because he did not know what to do, he went on autopilot. He drove home, and climbed into bed with his wife, holding her with a tenderness he did not always know how to express. She barely woke and conformed to his body easily, pulling him into sleep.
(tbc)