Circle
Jezyk
Disclaimer: Clearly not mine or this whole mess never would have happened.
Spoilers: Haven't watched the show in nearly a year, so you're prolly safe, though from what I can tell, my guesses about the events of the S13 premiere were close enough.
AN: So anyway, I tried to resist, I did, but last night I was trying to go to sleep and I was overwhelmed with the need to fix it. Like couldn't sleep MUST FIX THIS MESS thoughts. Therefore, stepping out of the Deep universe for a bit to try.
Part One
He'd tried. Really he had. He'd been tolerant. He'd been polite. He'd been waiting for her to appear to accept him, maybe even extend an olive branch. If there was one thing Nick Amaro knew how to be, it was patient.
The last straw came one morning when his phone rang as he was making his way across the squad room to his desk. He needed a pen, to jot down a note, and so he grabbed the first one he saw. It wasn't like anyone was using it anyway. The damn desk had been empty for months, serving no more purpose than somewhere for his partner to stare with a slightly bewildered expression that immediately turned into a frown when he'd inevitably ask if she was ok.
Distracted by his note, he wasn't thinking about the damn pen that had ten dozen identical to it in the supply closet. He stuffed the pen in his shirt pocket and continued on his way.
He recognized the odd sensation of eyes on him and looked up to find her staring. Rather than the disoriented grimace or slightly distrustful stare he was used to from her, it was anger that radiated across the space between them. He nearly rolled his eyes at her, but resisted simply because it would only incur her wrath, wrath, rumor had it, that she'd caught from her partner.
He sighed instead. "What?"
Her eyes narrowed as though he ought to have anticipated the answer, as though she wasn't perpetually pissed off at his existence.
Her jaw was clenched when she answered, her voice coming out in a low growl. "Put it back."
He looked around, hoping something would jump out at him as being so obviously out of place as to be the cause for her concern. Nothing. Nada. He was a career detective and still didn't have the first clue what the problem was. Such was life working with Olivia Benson. At least, it was his experience. The other guys in the squad got along with her most of the time, but he'd seen them face a suddenly irate woman for no obvious reason more than once. It seemed, however, that he faced the brunt of her anger.
Ever since that one time he'd referred to himself as her partner to someone on the phone… He only made that mistake once.
Finally, he shook his head and looked at her. "I'm sorry, what's the problem?" Nearly half of his statements to the woman were prefaced with an apology in the hopes of keeping himself alive.
She stood up, stalking across the squad room, reaching out and grabbing the pen from his shirt pocket, damn near ripping the fabric in her haste to remove it. "Don't take things that aren't yours." She stormed back to her desk, reaching over and putting the purloined pen back on the empty desk facing hers. Then she sat there, staring at the pencil cup with four half-used, dust-covered pens and snarling while bitching about fuckers touching things that didn't belong to them.
And then he did roll his eyes. Of course it was the damn pen that had set her off. The damn pen her ex-partner had abandoned on his ex-desk at his ex-job. The way Benson revered the man's desk, Nick would have expected he could walk on water, which according to what Nick had been able to dig up, was hardly the case.
Her respect for Stabler's desk, not to mention his title as her partner despite the intervening months, was not only ridiculously sentimental, it was preposterous given her feelings for the man. Nick had asked about him once, a few weeks after he'd started when it seemed possible the Stabler might be returning and he was trying to get an idea of what his coworker might be like. He'd thought that Benson would have had something nice to say about the man. Nice or mean or, really, anything.
All he'd gotten was dead silence. Dead silence that lasted the entire day. Well, dead silence and the distinct impression that Benson was going to cry. Luckily, she hadn't. Unfortunately, she hadn't shown such a softness again.
But Nick had had it with her being a bitch toward him. He hadn't done anything to deserve her moods and was sick of it. They were there to work and they could hardly work together when she absolutely despised him, ignored everything he said, and resented everything he did.
Taking a deep breath, he stood and crossed back to her side of the room. Then, with a confidence he hoped he was feigning convincingly, he pulled out the empty chair and took a seat facing her.
She looked up, her face an unfamiliar mix of acceptance and pleasure and mirth for a shortest of moments before the rage returned. The veins in her neck stood out as the steam gathered for her to release. Somehow, she'd been expecting someone else.
He cut her off before she could get started. "Explain to me right now why you've got a shrine here to this guy. Who the hell is he to you?"
She stared back, either caught off-guard by the question or simply too pissed off to form words.
"He quit. He wasn't fired. He didn't die. He shot a damn kid and he quit. What the hell is the deal?"
More silence. More of the angry glare he'd come to recognize as Benson's only expression.
"If you just answer me, I'll leave it alone. I won't touch his shit. I won't even talk to you unless I have to." God knew there were plenty of things he didn't want to discuss with people. He just wanted her to throw him a bone. Benson had a reputation for being a good cop, for being fair, for playing well with others. He was determined to know just what the hell had caused her to change so completely – and he damn sure wanted to know if it had something to do with him, in case there was something he needed to clear up.
He watched her throat work to swallow and, though her face didn't change at all, he decided she was seriously considering his offer.
"How long were you guys partners?" Nick knew they had to have known each other pretty well in order for Benson to have such a strong reaction to his departure, but then again, she hardly seemed to like the man what with the way she hated everyone who dared mention his name.
She looked away for a moment, her face slightly less tense when she turned back. "Fifteen years."
Wow. Ok. Well, that helped. Not only had she answered him civilly, the answer itself helped shed light on the situation. To have been partners for so long revealed that she didn't despise the man. Something had happened. Nick just needed to wheedle enough information out of her that he'd know how not to step in it every five minutes.
"Fifteen years, that's – well – so what was he like? I heard he had a temper, but everyone said it was a clean shoot." It wasn't really that everyone had said it; he'd checked himself, he just didn't think it would be a good idea to mention that he'd gone poking into her ex-partner's background.
Her teeth clenched and Nick feared he'd gotten all he was getting out of her for the day. Then she sighed and leaned forward, letting him hear the anger in her voice while keeping it low enough that no one else would overhear. "You want to know about Stabler? He's a fucking prick. A selfish bastard." Despite the way she spit the words at him, her face softened, looking for the second time like she might cry. "Oh, and he doesn't know how to use the motherfucking telephone."
And then she really was done, standing up and walking away while Nick was still trying to process her words.
He had to do something. In a moment of weakness, she'd dropped the act that it was the entire universe she hated. It had been Stabler who'd let her down, but she was taking it out on the world. Because after fifteen years of working with her, the son of a bitch wouldn't fucking call her.
Nick had every intention of remedying that, if only so she could take her anger out on the fucker who deserved it rather than himself. As he raised his hand to knock on the door, however, he feared that in his attempt to not be involved in shit at work, he might be walking into different shit at work. His plan could also backfire quite spectacularly, resulting in Benson hating him more than she already did.
Oh well, he figured he didn't have anything to lose. She already hated him, might as well give her a legitimate reason.
Expecting the physically imposing Stabler, Nick was caught off guard by the petite blonde who pulled the door open.
She eyed him uncertainly through the screen door, offering a smile. "Can I help you?"
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to scrounge up more fake confidence. "Detective Amaro. I'm looking for Elliot Stabler."
A flash of concern appeared on her face, disappearing when a child called for her. "Be right there, Eli," she said, turning her head toward the voice. With her attention back on Nick, her eyes narrowed in distress. "Is he in trouble?"
"No, ma'am," he shook his head, thinking somehow that would make the lie more convincing. Stabler wasn't in trouble, at least not with the establishment, but if Benson ever got her hands on him, well, he'd definitely be in trouble then.
She folded her arms over her chest, her frown letting Nick know in what regard she held the NYPD. "What is this about exactly?"
Giving up on the friendly smile that worked on most women, Nick opted for the truth. "It's regarding Detective Benson. I need to speak with him."
The blonde's anger faded, worry taking over her features. "Is Olivia ok?"
For a moment, he was confused, wondering why the woman would care about the ex-partner of her husband when it had been so obvious there was no love lost between the partners. But then he remembered that they'd been together for fifteen years. The two women must have known each other in passing if nothing else.
"She's fine," he lied, decorum demanding that he protect a fellow cop even if they weren't particularly friends. "Is Elliot here?"
Finally, she shook her head. "No, he moved out." She sighed, repeating the information she probably felt was no one's business, certainly not his. "We're getting divorced. I can give you his address if it's important." She disappeared for a few minutes after he nodded, coming back with the information scribbled on a sticky note. "I don't know if he's home, but that's where he's staying. Don't tell him I gave it to you."
She called out again, as Nick was making his way down the front steps. "Tell Olivia I said hi."
He turned with a friendly nod, feeding the woman one more lie. Like hell he was going to mention any of this to Benson. She'd fucking kill him.
Another knock on another door left him facing the same doubts that he was doing the right thing. Doing the wrong thing, despite the best of intentions, was still the wrong thing. He really did want to help Benson, but he had to admit he was mostly trying to take care of himself, attempting to make the workplace a bit more comfortable. And if he were being truly honest, helping the woman who for all intents and purposes was a complete stranger wasn't really that high on his list.
By the time he could hear the lock turning on the door, Nick wished he hadn't acted on his instinct. With the reactions of the people Stabler had left in his wake, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to meet the man.
But there he was, taller and wider and heavier and considerably more furious than Nick had ever wanted to be. He looked exactly like Nick had imagined the pissed-off ex-cop and ex-Marine would look – imposing with his thick muscles and cold glare, a stained wife-beater highlighting the arms Nick was fairly certain were wider than his head, worn, ripped jeans sagging from lack of washing, thick stubble on his chin revealing that he had no reason whatsoever to shave, the shadow of dark hair on his head proving that he did still believe in shaving something. Nick refused to give into the urge to step back and give the other man space, but damn it, he thought about it. He cleared his throat and reminded himself that Stabler had been a cop, not a criminal who was liable to kill him for the sheer joy of it.
"Detective Amaro. Are you Stabler?"
"No," he barked, moving to shut the door in Nick's face. "Fuck off."
Then the courage that he'd been lacking reappeared and he shoved his black loafer in the doorjamb. "It's about Benson."
The icy blue eyes turned sharper, like daggers threatening. "Is she ok?"
Ha. He wanted to pat himself on the back. There was something there, as evidenced by Benson's hatred and Stabler's concern. Unfortunately, the jury was still out as to whether or not he'd wind up with a black eye for his efforts. Stabler didn't look much like he'd appreciate someone being nosy.
Nick shrugged. "Depends on your definition of ok." When Stabler's eyes narrowed, Nick decided he wanted to try to avoid a black eye if at all possible. "Physically, she's fine."
"What the fuck do you want then?"
Though he was giving every indication that he didn't give a shit, Stabler was still listening and Nick knew he wouldn't think twice of slamming the door in his face if he truly wasn't interested in what Nick had to say. Nick had a rapt audience, appearances aside, in Stabler at the mention of Benson.
Such was the problem with opening a can of worms. Now it was open, and he had no choice except to keep at it. He took a deep breath, telling himself that the sooner he got into it, the sooner he could get back out of it.
"Look, the last fucking thing I want is to get involved, but I am involved and I want out. You need to call her."
Stabler stared blankly at him, slowly processing the words, his glare turning dark again. "Who the fuck are you?" His eyes moved down, sizing Nick up carefully. "No way you're dating her. So what, you're her new partner?"
A wry snort fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Fuck no. I work with her, but that's not a word you use around her."
As he watched Stabler's jaw twitch, Nick understood suddenly that it wasn't Benson not wanting a partner. She didn't want a new partner. She still believed she had one, thus the reason for protecting his damn pens. And if the bastard would just call her the fuck back, she might get over the slight of having been abandoned.
Nick was as furious as Benson now, realizing that it was thoughtlessness, pure and simple, that had caused so much trouble. But he didn't know how to fix it besides dragging Stabler physically into the precinct to face Benson. Guessing that would require a lot of work, he decided to hold that option in reserve.
Stabler's attention was waning. "Yeah, whatever, I'll call her."
"Anyone ever tell you you're not a good liar?"
"Anyone ever tell you to mind your own business?"
The two men stared at one another, neither one willing to give.
But if Stabler had been willing to fold, Nick wouldn't have been in the damn situation in the first place. With a sigh he shook his head. "Give me a fucking break, would you? You were partners for fifteen years. How the fuck would you feel if she bailed on you and refused to call and you had no idea how she was?"
Stabler's voice lowered to a growl, giving a fair warning to anyone within earshot. "I did work with her for fifteen years. Don't presume you know her better than I do."
"I don't have to know her at all to know she's been a royal bitch since you left."
Stabler leaned down, his desire to intimidate his way into winning an argument showing. "Don't you dare call her a bitch."
"Oh, you give a shit about her all of a sudden?"
Before he knew what had happened, Nick was off his feet, fighting for breath around hand that Stabler had clamped around his neck. "Of course I give a fucking shit about her, she's my goddamned partner, you son of a bitch!" He gained a bit of control over himself, releasing his hold on Nick's neck and backing up a step.
Nick's eyes narrowed, hoping that by having struck a nerve he was finally on the home stretch. "You're not her partner anymore. You're the asshole who won't return her phone calls."
The ego was gone that fast, deflated like a popped balloon, as Stabler backed into his apartment. His shoulders drooped, his expression was crushed, his eyes defeated. He was shaking his head from side to side, but it wasn't clear if he was disagreeing with Nick or disagreeing with his own behavior.
When he spoke again, his voice was soft and unsure. "No, this is better for her. I'm thinking of her."
"How? How is refusing to talk to her benefitting her at all?"
"Because I- it-" His instinct was obviously to argue, but he didn't have anything to say. Maybe he'd thought it was for the best, but he certainly appeared that he hadn't thought his little plan through.
Feeling certain that he'd made his point, Nick nodded, stepping back and straightening his tie. "Maybe you should think about that, huh? Maybe give her a call?"
Stabler stared back, his expression morphing into one of wonder and shock. Apparently he'd never considered that his choice would hurt her. His eyes moved restlessly, searching the space before him as though it might give him an answer.
By the time Nick turned away, Stabler was patting his pockets for his phone.
Satisfied that he'd done his part, gotten the ball rolling, he returned to his car with a smile.