Disclaiming - I don't own the characters or Law and Order: Special Victims Unit.
Pursuing
'Pursuing happiness, and I did, and I still do, is not at all the same as being happy-which I think is fleeting, dependent on circumstances...If the sun is shining, stand in it-yes, yes, yes. Happy times are great, but happy times pass-they have to because time passes. The pursuit of happiness is more elusive; it is life-long, and it is not goal-centred. What you are pursuing is meaning- a meaningful life. There's the hap- the fate, the draw that is yours, and it isn't fixed, but changing the course of the stream, or dealing new cards, whatever metaphor you want to use-that's going to take a lot of energy. There are times when it will go so wrong that you will barely be alive, and times when you realise that being barely alive, on your own terms, is better than living a bloated half-life on someone else's terms. The pursuit isn't all or nothing- it's all AND nothing.' Jeanette Winterson
The water cascaded over her. Olivia had lost track of time as she stood under the shower, the hot water had run out a long time ago. Her hair was plastered to the sides of her face. She brought her water wrinkled hands up to run through it as she turned her face into the stream of water. She sputtered as some of the water got into her mouth and she reached out to stop the flow.
She gripped her hair tightly and tried to ring out the excess water. Pulling aside the shower curtain Olivia was hit by the cool air of her bath room. Her skin prickled and she grabbed her towel from the rack. She wrapped it tightly around her body and hurried into the warmth of her bedroom. She dries off quickly and dressed in her pyjama bottoms and her tank top. She pulled her sweater over her head.
Just as she's leaving her bedroom Olivia hears a short sharp rap on the front door. She frowns and checks the time on the clock. Just gone ten. Looking through the peep hole she sighs, her head resting briefly on the wood. Olivia just wanted to rest, try to sleep after the last week.
She slides the chain across and undoes the bolt. She opened the door to Elliot. She was even more surprised when she saw the bag of take-out dangling at his side. Her eyes rose to look at Elliot. He looked shy as he stood in her door way, taking in her pyjamas and damp hair, and Olivia half expected him to thrust the food at her and walk away without an explanation.
"What are you doing here Elliot?" She asked softly, pulling him from his reverie.
"I had a feeling you might forget to eat after today," he replied thickly as he raised the bag in explanation. She hadn't forgotten to eat; she just didn't feel like eating. Her stomach rumbled rebelliously when the aroma of kung pao chicken reached her.
She didn't answer him, didn't argue, and didn't tell him she was fine.
She wasn't.
He looked embarrassed and concerned all at the same time. Olivia knew what it took for him to come here; what it would take for her to let him in. She wished he hadn't come, knowing it would blur the ever decreasing boundaries between them. As it was, she could still remember the feel of him as he pulled her to him a few days before.
Sonya had been buried that morning.
And Olivia had visited her mother's grave that afternoon.
She hadn't told anyone but Elliot shot her a knowing look when she said she had an errand to run. She hesitated, trying to think of something, a reason, not to let him in. She thought of all the reasons why this was wrong but she couldn't bring herself to voice them. She usually craved solitary when she was grieving but she had already allowed him to comfort her and now she wanted more.
She was tired of being alone.
She was tired of shutting him out.
She wouldn't hug him again, she promised herself.
Olivia just stepped back from the door and held it open for Elliot, silently inviting him in.
His looked surprised as he hesitated over his first step. But the indecision was momentary and Elliot pushed his usual confidence to the surface and followed as she walked backwards into the apartment. Olivia turned as she reached the door to the kitchen. His footsteps shadowed hers and she felt him move to the counter behind her as she retrieved two plates from the cupboard. Olivia heard her cutlery drawer being opened and metal clanked together as Elliot rifled around to get out two forks. She didn't ask him if he wanted a beer, just opened her fridge and grabbed two.
Elliot led the way to her living room and perched on the armchair. Olivia sat in the corner of the sofa which was closest to him. She laid a plate in front of him while he took the take out cartons out of the bag.
"I've got kung pao chicken and moo shu pork with pancakes," Elliot explained as he set the white containers on the table alongside the forks and the bottle opener he'd also gotten from her drawer.
"Smells great," she said appreciatively as she grabbed the chicken. She shot him a sideways glance. "You didn't have to do this, you know?"
Their boundaries have been shifting for a while, fading, becoming more complicated. He nods his acknowledgement as he takes the tops off both their beers and took a long gulp from his. They've never done this before. They've known people who have been killed in the line of duty before, gone to the funeral and the wake, commiserated with the rest of the force. Before last week he's never blatantly offered her comfort and she's never accepted it. They've broken that precedence twice now. In the past there have been words of reassurances, being a sounding board for the other, but never anything so intimate. Suddenly after twelve years, words aren't enough anymore, and she wonders when consoling embraces won't be either.
"She reminded me of my mother," Olivia said casually as she puts some of the chicken on her plate.
"I know," Elliot replied, just as casually as he scoops some of the pork with a pancake. He doesn't look at her but she can't stop looking at him, even if it is surreptitiously. She knows he's aware of her gaze.
She wants to ask about Kathy and the kids but doesn't. Bringing them into this…whatever this is, feels wrong. Olivia is still curious as to what Kathy said about him coming here tonight, whether she knows at all. Olivia hopes she does know because she hates to think she may be the reason Elliot lies to his wife. Even if Olivia asked Elliot would skirt the question. Maybe it was the way Elliot was avoiding her stare but Olivia knew the answer.
Kathy didn't know he was here.
Olivia shook her head; it wasn't time to think about that.
"My mother battled with alcohol every day, but she never got the help she needed. It killed her," she gulped back the lump in her throat. "Sonya was recovering and she still died."
She doesn't believe in fate. She hates the injustice of it.
She wants to know how Sonya wanted to live out the rest of her life; how she envisioned it; if there would have been one day where she didn't have to worry about alcohol. She wants to know what triggered it, whether it crept up gradually, as a way of coping with what Sonya saw as an ADA or whether something had triggered it, like when Serena was attacked. She wants to know what kind of life Sonya wanted to lead without succumbing to alcohol.
Elliot moves his fork around his plate, his jaw is moving and Olivia is fascinated as he chews, wondering as the seconds tick by whether he's biding time, choosing his words carefully. She braces herself because she tries to be careful to contrast his impulsiveness, his brash way with words. Elliot wasn't friends with Sonya, barely sympathised with her. Olivia wonders how he would have reacted to her mother if they had ever met.
"There's nothing you could've done," is all Elliot says. He doesn't elaborate on who he's referring to; Sonya or Serena.
A ghost of a smile flits across her lips at the comment, marvelling how he knew where her head was. If she had been five minutes earlier to get to Sonya, if she had convinced her mother to get help. To help her find solace somewhere other than at the bottom of a bottle. Olivia hasn't got a reply and she knows he understands that she'll always wonder what she could have done differently.
They continue to eat in silence, taking comfort in each other's presence. After a few minutes the silence starts to become overwhelming and Olivia grabs the remote from the coffee table and turns the television on. Elliot glances at the screen quickly out of curiosity before he starts eating again.
They finish their food almost at the same time and Olivia pushes away her plate as Elliot rises from the chair, picking up hers and puts it on top of his. He starts towards the kitchen and Olivia automatically rises to follow him.
"Why did you come here tonight Elliot?" She asks, unable to stop herself. She's tired of things being left unsaid, doesn't want any misconceptions, for once she wants to hear it from him. To know he's here for the reasons she thinks, that he feels the same.
He pauses, his neck straightens. But then he propels himself forward, rushing almost to the kitchen. Olivia is hot on his heels and just as she's turning into the kitchen she hears the plates slam into the sink, the forks rattling against porcelain. She stops in the doorway.
"I needed to make sure it wasn't you," he said gruffly, resignedly. He huffs out a breath. "I drove as fast as I could." He's not talking about tonight, he's talking about the night she found Sonya. His appearance at the end of that hallway had slipped her mind. In her relief it had gone unquestioned, how he had gotten there so fast when he was supposed to be in Quantico. His hands grip the counter; his knuckles are white from where he's holding on tightly. Olivia watches his muscles tighten through his shirt. His chin lifts and he looks through the kitchen window. "When I heard there was a body, I thought for sure it was you."
His body is rigid with his confession and Olivia realises he didn't just come here for her. He came for himself too. She wants him to turn to face her, but she's terrified that he will.
"Does it make me a bad person?"
"What?" She asks, confused.
"For praying that it was anyone but you." The tension leaves his body, sagging with his admission.
It's a dangerous revelation; one that he unknowingly made by making the decision to come here tonight. She's not sure she's ready to be as brave as him yet. He wanted comfort and he's asking her for it.
He turns slowly. His eyes are watering, raw and unsettled. She doesn't know who moves first nor if they move at the same time but she's threading her arms around his waist, clinging onto his back as his arms encircle her. He tucks her close into his body, her chin resting on his shoulder as he presses his face into the crook of her neck. She suppresses the shudder when she feels Elliot's breath on her neck.
Over his shoulder, she tracks the second hand on the wall clock. It makes a full rotation before she relaxes completely against Elliot. Her eyes closing briefly as she touches her head to his. But they jolt open as soon as she feels his lips brushing across her collarbone. At first she thinks it's an accident but then he does it again. Olivia tenses and the nuzzling stops. His lips are still touching her skin but they're not moving. He exhales softly and she struggles to keep her composure.
"It's wrong," her mind screams at her.
He needs to go.
But she can't bring herself to force him to.
She doesn't want him to.
She wonders if it would be wrong just to surrender, just for one moment, for one night. To feel him, to find comfort in him, to find release with him. To let go of all that's holding them back. If for all their sacrifice, heartache and dealings with dregs of humanity, would they ever be able to have one night to themselves. She wonders if that's what he really came for. All thoughts of Kathy, his family, the job, the thoughts which create the divide between them, vacate her mind.
She's on the verge of taking the lead when she hears Elliot let out a groan and nuzzle her again before placing a full kiss on her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. He says something, but the words are muffled by her skin.
"What?" She asks.
He gulps, and then clears his throat. She steels herself, instantly knowing whatever he has to say will shatter the moment.
"I have to walk away from this," Elliot tells her.
They both have to.
There would be no comfort if they crossed that line. Only more heartache.
The breath she had been holding leaves her body with a rush but she doesn't step away. His arms stay wrapped around her and she doesn't release him. The rejection doesn't sting, and she thinks it feels better than it should. It's more relief. He's making the sacrifice here, being the one to put voice to reason, stopping them from doing something they'd regret. He didn't say he wanted to walk away, that he had to. She knows why he had to. Instead of being angry with him, Olivia's gratitude deepens a fraction.
Her eyes following the clock again and it's another full minute before he squeezes her quickly, resolutely, and steps back. Elliot raises his head slowly and she sees the regret she feels mirrored there.
Without another word Elliot side steps her and Olivia stands still until she hears the door slam behind him. She closes her eyes briefly, willing herself to stay where she is and not follow him. The urge is strong, but she resists.
She never intended for this to happen, intended to feel this way. It just happened.
She has no idea how her life became this complicated, doesn't know how long until something bigger comes along to shatter the delicate thin line they're dancing along.
She understands now why her mother hated her choice of career, specifically the Special Victims Unit. At the time Olivia thought it was because of their history, the attack which led to her conception. But now she realises that she was wrong in that assumption. Serena understood all too well what Olivia's job would entail. And she knew Olivia would never find solace from what she saw, what she experienced.
Because Serena never had.
Without solace there was no true happiness.
She could compartmentalise, she could find some comfort when a perp was brought to justice but she would never forget, never be able to scrub horrific details from her brain. But she wouldn't trade the ache, the anguish for anything because she's making a difference.
She remembers twinge of satisfaction in Sonya's voice as she spoke the last words.
"I got him."
For her that was enough.
Author's note – If you've got the time I would love to know any thoughts you've got on this.