A/N: So instead of working on the ten other fics I should be working on, I wrote a new. I'm smart. Logic, huh? Blame Halsey, her new CD Badlands took hold and wouldn't let me go until I wrote this.
Anyways, this is AU. Little bad girl Liv & good boy El. This fic differs greatly from Strawberry Wine & it's way shorter. It'll probably be four or five chapters at the most, which I've already written the first two chapters.
There's a good section of Spanish in here & it's translated in parenthesis next to the original text. Mofongo is mashed plantains with pork (or if you're Jewish like me, shredded chicken) in a garlicky tomato sauce.
PS, takes place in 1985.
Hope you enjoy.
Roman Holiday
He's counting the hours until he can leave these halls behind; the perpetual smell of pencil shavings and the endless stream of homework to fester until the fall. It's the second to last week of school and the day slips by painfully slow. Which is only compounded by a split lunch schedule. B lunch – or what he likes to refer to as the illusion of freedom. Half class, half lunch, all hell.
He's standing at his locker, shuffling through his backpack in search of his bagged lunch when she walks up to him, kicking his locker closed. She's a sight for sore eyes, and he can't help but smile. They've been friends for twelve years – since they were five years old –and, with one hundred percent certainty, Elliot Stabler can't say he's never met anyone quite like Olivia Benson. She's an enigma to him; cynical and rough – hard edges and grit – yet soft curves and wide eyes; a sweet disposition and warm nature masked beneath a tough 'don't fuck with me' exterior.
She smiles wide at him, a mischievous glint twinkles her eyes as they flit about the thinning halls. Elliot's eyes sweep up her form; tracing her silhouette in the few seconds it takes for her to turn her attention back to him. She's wearing a pair of skintight ripped acid wash jeans and an oversized slouchy black t-shirt that slips off her shoulders, exposing her olive skin. Her feet are tucked into a pair of black and white Chuck Taylor all-stars that she's doodled all over, and over her messenger bag is slung over her shoulder. Unlike every other girl in school, she wears bare minimum makeup on her face and her feathered hair isn't ten feet high.
"Hey," she greets him brightly, and immediately his earlier observations are confirmed; she's up to something. It's the nonchalance in her tone along with that glint that gives it away.
"No." Elliot states firmly, standing up. "Whatever it is, Liv, no. I'm going to go to lunch and then somehow make it through the rest of the day." He lies, knowing that whatever she's up to, he's in; he'd never let her go down alone.
"Come on, you haven't even heard me out yet. Look, I've got Serena's keys…" Olivia holds up a set of keys, keys he knows belong to her mother's car. "She's out of commission and told me to find my own way to school – so I did."
Elliot knows that out of commission meant Serena was too hungover to function.
"Olivia," Elliot speaks, eyebrow raised, his blue eyes meeting her brown. "She's gonna kill you."
She rolls her eyes, shrugging. "Well at least I die doing something fun. Come on, El. We've got like thirteen days of school left. What are you really going to miss if you blow off the rest of the day with me?" she pouts.
Elliot feigns contemplation, his jaw hard set. Stealing her mother's car hadn't been on his list of things to do today.
When he doesn't budge, Olivia's pout turns to a haughty smirk. She folds her arms across her chest, and pops a hip out. "Fine. I'm going with or without you. But if you're out, let me know now so I can go catch one of my many male admirers. I'm sure the boys' bathroom stalls are filled with a list of things I'll supposedly do that'll just make me the perfect date."
Rumors, another reason he can't wait to escape high school hell. He's seen the lists she refers to, knows them like the back of his hand. Many a free period he'd spent crossing them out, scratching off the paint and subsequently her phone number from the bathroom stalls. Though they always seemed to come back. No doubt courtesy of teenage dirtbag Brian Cassidy. Just once Elliot wishes she'd let him hit the punk.
"I always scratch them out, Liv…" He tells her, the inflection in his tone voicing his seriousness. He'd even threatened to fight a few guys he'd seen write her number down. "Always."
"I know you do." Olivia assures him, a small smile on her lips and a hint of gratitude in her eyes. She hooks a finger through one of his belt loops, mere inches from him. Personal space always a foreign concept to her. "Now come on."
She tugs on his belt loop and Elliot's feet move without protest. He'll follow her anywhere. They both know it.
/
It's 12:03pm when they finally make it across the Brooklyn bridge, heading for the city. Elliot has no idea where they're going or what she's up to. She's spent the entire drive with the radio turned up on full volume, screeching (or singing - whatever she thought that she was doing). He steals glimpses of her as they go, watching as she mouths the words to whatever's on the radio, her dark locks floating on the wind that whips around the car.
She's mesmerizing.
"Are you going to stare at me the entire drive?"
"Huh?"
"I said: Are you going to stare at me the entire drive?"
Elliot blinks - hard - in an attempt to regain some semblance of cognizance, unaware that his glimpses had turned into full on staring.
A blush creeps up his neck and he turns away, eyes darting out the windshield and to the road in front of them.
"Who says I was staring at you?" He deflects, running his hands down his jean clad thighs. "Maybe I was trying not to look at the road, maybe I didn't want to see my death coming. You know you can't drive worth a shit."
Olivia reaches over and pinches him, one hand still on the steering wheel. "Don't be an asshole!"
"Just drive to wherever."
/
Wherever is exactly where she drives to. He knows the streets by name, but barely recognizes the neighborhoods. Unlike Olivia, he didn't cross the Brooklyn bridge much. Outside of the financial district, the tourist hubs, and a few pockets laden with the wealthy, New York City was notorious for its inherent danger. Having a cop for a father meant Elliot grew up all too familiar with the crime rates and the statistics. Which also meant limited visits across the bridge.
"Liv, where are we?"
"East 116th and Lexington - Spanish Harlem." She answers as she pulls into a parking spot, cuts the ignition and opens her door.
Spanish Harlem? Elliot's eyes go wide. He remembers hearing a story from his father a few months back about a guy who'd bought a bad bag of crack-cocaine nearly overdosing right on the street. The neighborhood had railed against the first response unit and police officers called to the sight to help. Spanish Harlem...his parents are going to kill him.
"Spanish Harlem?"
Olivia rolls her eyes, "Yeah. Scared?"
"No!" He answers quickly, undoing his belt. "It's just, my parents -"
"El, I've known you twelve years. You never listen to your parents. Now, are you taking the train home or are you coming with me? I'll hold your hand so you're not scared." She holds her hand across the council that separates the front seats.
If only she knew how much he did want to take her hand into his. Not out of fear either. He bats her hand away, his fingers brushing against her palm in the process. "I'm not scared. Let's go."
/
"What is it?" Elliot asks as a curvy Puerto Rican woman sets a plate of steam hot food down in between he and Olivia.
His question causes the woman's eyes to narrow. She crosses her arms and turns her attention to Olivia. With a thick Spanish accent, she speaks. "Nena, blanquito es tu novio?" (Sweetheart, is this little white boy your boyfriend)
"A veces, cuando no me saca." (Sometimes, when he isn't driving me crazy.)
Confused doesn't even begin to describe Elliot's state of understanding as the two converse. He can count to five in Spanish.
At Olivia's words, the woman turns her attention back to Elliot. She eyes him - scrutinizes him under her harsh gaze and he almost wants to shrink back in his chair. His only saving grace comes in the form of Olivia's playful smile. Whatever they're discussing, clearly she's amused.
"Charro?" (Clown)
"No, no. Te prometo que es un buen chico - mi mejor amigo." (No, I promise he's a good guy, he's my best friend)
The words flow so effortlessly off of Olivia's tongue that Elliot finds himself watching her mouth, watching as her lips move, no longer concerned with the actual words. They're probably plotting his death, but it doesn't even matter. All that matter is that she - Olivia - is perfect.
CLANG.
A fork and knife land in front him. Elliot jumps. His concentration breaks and he glances up to find the hard-nosed Puerto Rican woman looking at him. "Ju hurt her, I hurt ju." Another clang as a spoon lands in front of him. Another hard stare from the woman.
Elliot nods, wishing that Olivia would offer her hand to him now because quite frankly he is a little scared.
"Te quiero, mijita." (I love you)
"Te quiero también, Helena." (I love you too)
Helena kisses Olivia's head, evil eye's Elliot once more, and then walks off.
Olivia starts to pull food off of the plate and once again Elliot finds himself staring. A loud clang from the kitchen snaps him out of it.
He looks down at the food in front of him and isn't sure where to start or what he's even eating.
"I promise you, El, you're not gonna die and you will like it." Olivia mumbles through bites of food.
"But that doesn't tell me what it is, who that woman was, and why she'll probably kill me before we leave..."
"I'll tell you everything you need to know. Just take a bite first."
His stomach grumbles. It's past his lunch time and whatever the concoction of shredded meat and smashed something in front of him in a bright red sauce smells good. Very good.
"Come on, El...try it. Live a little..."
Live a little? His left brow quirks at her word choice. He has been living. All day. Ever since he'd skipped out on class and hopped into a technically stolen car.
Any chance he has to protest disappears because before he knows it, Olivia's holding a spoonful of whatever out to him. She's leaning over the table, her feet bump into his and she smiles.
"Taste it." She encourages. "Come on. Please."
Much like the skipping, the car ride, and their entire twelve year friendship in general, be finds himself unable to deny her anything. He reaches for the spoon but she pulls her hand back, swatting at his fingers.
"No, I'll do it. Open."
So he does, a spoonful of flavour hits his tongue, and Olivia grins. She watches him, eagerly awaiting his reaction.
It's not bad, but different. He can taste tomatoes and he thinks the meat is pork. There's olives, garlic, and lots of salt. Originally he'd thought the mashed stuff was potatoes, but the more he chews, the less he's sure about that. All and all, it's not something he'd have ate without being coerced into doing so.
He swallows, reaching for his water glass. "What is it?"
"You like it?"
"If I knew what it was maybe."
"It's mofongo."
"Mo-what?"
"Mofongo, Helena used to make it for me all the time when I was younger. She babysat for my mom up until I was about twelve. You know Christina Ramos - she was in our homeroom freshman year?"
Elliot nods.
"That's her daughter. We used to be closer until she got pregnant and dropped out. Helena would bring her over when she babysat me."
They pick at the plate of food in silence for a bit. The sounds of metal against glass mingle with the noise of the outside; sirens, children laughing, and car horns.
Elliot finds himself glancing up at Olivia. She's picking at the food, nibbling on bites here and there. She seems somewhat distant; lost in thought. He can tell by the way her eyebrows knit together, causing her forehead to wrinkle. Little beads of sweat form around her hairline, and she almost looks as if she's going to cry. Whatever's plaguing her has lead them here.
"So," he starts, setting his fork down, "you ever going to tell me why we cut class and what she said about me?"
Olivia's glance stays pointed towards the table, but he can see her smiling by the way the apples of her cheeks swell.
"You know, you really should pay attention to Señora Rosa in Spanish class." She chortles, her shoulders shaking with soft laughter. "Nothing really, just asked who you were. I told her you are my best friend."
He smiles. Best friend - yeah, he is. And he'd probably never be any more than that. She likes bad boys and older guys, definitely not him.
"And skipping today? Why are we here? Did something happen with your mom?"
His question gets her attention. Olivia's fork still and she looks up at him, their eyes meeting. He can see it, right there in her brown irises. Something happened with her mother. "Liv, she isn't hitting you again, is she?"
"Wanna do something crazy?" Olivia deflects.
Elliot knows her well enough not to push. At least not yet, so he relents.
"You mean something else crazy?"
"Let's go swimming."
"Where?"
"Just get in the car and you'll see."
/
The rest of their day consists of random stops from East Harlem to lower Manhattan's fifth avenue. Above them the smog covered sky turns from light blue to a pinkish hue that's chased by the night sky. They've been to a restaurant, a bodega, have randomly stopped to watch a breakdance battle, and a rap-off. All in all they've had fun. As night falls, Elliot assume Olivia's forgotten about the swim she'd suggested hours ago. A part of him is relieved, while the prospect of seeing Olivia in her swimsuit leaves sends his imagination running wild, another part of him is grateful. She's been a loose cannon today, and the prospect of doing something crazy without much explanation as to what 'crazy' is, leaves him feeling uncomfortable. Sure he'd follow Olivia into hell fire, but he wants to come out of it in one piece too.
Olivia pulls into a line of limos parked outside of the Plaza Hotel. There's that glint of mischief in her eyes again. Elliot can't stop the exasperated sigh from slipping from his lips as she gets out of the car.
"Ready to swim?"
She's going to be the death of him today.
/
They manage to slip into the hotel relatively unnoticed. Adrenaline rushes through Elliot's veins as he follows behind Olivia, his eyes never leaving her moving form. It takes them twenty minutes to find the indoor pool area, and much to Olivia's delight, it's unlocked and they're alone.
The door barely clicks behind them before Olivia's kicking off her shoes and unbuttoning her pants. Elliot swallows hard, his original inquiry about lack of swimming attire answered as she strips down. Her pants slip down her long legs and the heat creeps up Elliot's neck. She's beautiful.
Elliot watches as she tosses her pants onto a nearby beach chair and turns around, dressed only in a pair of dark blue underwear and her T-shirt. Her eyebrow lifts and she has to clear her throat twice before he finally looks up. The heat in his cheeks reaches a fever pitch.
"You gonna stand there and stare, Stabler, or are you gonna join me?" Olivia asks, hands on her hips.
"Stare?" He asks, grinning, as he lifts his shirt over his head.
He can't believe he's doing this. It's 9:38pm on a Wednesday night and he's in a ritzy Manhattan hotel, a hotel they are not guests at, watching as his best friend strips down to her underwear.
Seemingly satisfied with his stripping, Olivia pulls her own shirt over her head to reveal a blush pink bra underneath. She tosses her shirt at him and stands at the edge of the pool, giving him a coy grin.
"Scared?" She asks before turning around and that's when he sees it, a flash of bruised skin just above her right shoulder blade. He thinks back to earlier at the restaurant, how he'd asked and how she'd deflected.
His heart clenches as the sound of splashing ricochets through the air. She'd promised him that the hitting had stopped.
Olivia swims to the top, her black hair slicked back. "Come on, get in!" She beckons, splashing water at him. Elliot's torn, but smiles through it anyways, the day finally making sense to him. The car theft, her eagerness to escape. He just wishes she would have told him the truth - that she would tell him it.
He drops his jeans, clad only in a pair of boxer briefs, and Olivia wolf whistles before disappearing beneath the water's surface. He watches her for a moment. She looks so free beneath the water as she swims, frolics, and plays. He wishes she could be like this all the time, unburdened and able to enjoy their youth.
Without even an increment of grace, he launches himself into the water, landing inches from her. The water's lukewarm and refreshing and he just floats for a few moments, watching as Olivia swims circles around him. Olivia. His Olivia. The girl he'd met at the tender age of five who'd insulted him and pushed him down the slide. The same girl who'd cried when Timmy Haber smashed a caterpillar right in front of her.
She comes to a halt in front of him, cheeks chunky and he figures out what she's going to do two seconds too late. Water hits him in the face and the next thing he knows her arms are wrapped around his neck and she's dunking his head beneath water, laughing. He loves the sound of her laughter and lets her take him under before he wriggles from her grasp and lifts her out of the water and tosses her across the pool.
They continue back and forth until they're both exhausted. They just wade, sharing nonsensical small talk. Olivia wonders aloud what the next single from Prince's new album will be an tries to talk Elliot into going with her to his next concert, Elliot adamantly refuses.
They go on and on for a few moments more before they both fall silent. Olivia's perched on the ledge of the pool, resting her head on her arms while slowly kicking her feet.
Elliot clears his throat, the worry making its way into his tone as he swims towards her. His fingers dance along the bruise and he can feel Olivia shudder.
"Liv, you said she stopped..." He whispers into the air between them.
"Don't, El," Olivia responds, voice soft as she shrugs his hand off of her skin. "She's sick...she's trying. It was an accident. I'm not...I don't, please don't..."
He knows what she's asking. He knows how hard it is for her to even acknowledge what happens when her mother drinks. And Serena drinks all the time.
"Liv, she's gonna hurt you - bad - one of these days. You can't keep trying to protect her from herself when it's doing nothing but hurting you."
"She's my mom, Elliot. She's all I've got. What else can I do?"
He shakes his head, fingers dropping into the water his shoulder brushes up against hers as he leans against the pool wall. "That's not true. You have me and we can get you help - get her-" Elliot's cut off mid sentence, silenced by Olivia's lips on his.
She kisses him, tender yet hard, her body molding into his, causing his arms instinctively wrap around her waist.
They've kissed before, as kids, just to see what it was like. But this kiss, it's different. There's a desire, an urgency, and pull that Elliot's body responds to in kind. He spins them so that her body is trapped between his chest and the pool wall. His mouth moves eagerly against hers, her tongue darting out to part his lips. One of his hands slips under water, falling to her waist as he becomes acutely aware of just what little fabric separates their bodies. Her hands find their way to his shoulders, and then up to his neck, pulling him close until one of his thighs is parting her legs.
Her fingers grasp at the tufts of brown hair that rest on his neck, and she moans into his mouth. The noises she's making send vibrations up Elliot spine, and he grips her left hip harder, his fingers scrunching up the dark fabric of her underwear.
They kiss a few minutes more, their tongues exploring each other's mouths before Elliot breaks away. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest, blood thumping in his ears and goose bumps pimple his flesh. Olivia looks at him, lips parted, eyes glassy with confusion, and her hands still wrapped around his neck, preventing him from pulling away.
"Why – what are you doing?"
"I should be asking you that…" awkwardly he chuckles and then ducks his head low. The redness creeps up his neck. "I mean – we shouldn't. We should stop. I don't know if I'll be able to stop myself if we don't stop…" Though he doesn't want to stop. He wants nothing more in that moment than to kiss her again, hard; to put all of his emotions and everything he's ever left unsaid to her into his kiss. But he can't. They're friends. They don't do this. They don't cross that line; they don't complicate. Even if he desperately wants to – so many nights he's imagined stroking her bare back and whispering sweet nothings into her ear – holding her like he is now. He's been in love with her since he was five years old.
Olivia's chest rises and falls, the save for their breathing, the pool is quiet; the water is still. Her forehead bumps into his and she glances up at Elliot through her wet lashes. A coy smile stretches her lips and her breath is warm against his chin. "Maybe…" she whispers. "I don't want you to stop."
Six simple words send chills down Elliot's spine and he shudders. Clarification. He needs clarification.
"You – you don't?" He asks, opening his eyes he hadn't even realized he'd closed to find Olivia staring back at him, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. She's the sexiest thing he's ever seen and she also scares the shit out of him. The prospect of taking this thing – whatever they're doing – any farther, scares the shit out of him. Unlike him, she's experienced in the sex department. Her last boyfriend had been older – twenty-one to be exact – and Olivia had confided in Elliot her fear that he'd leave her if she didn't sleep with him. So she had - more than once. Just for him to leave her. Elliot remembers how devastated she'd been.
Almost as devastated as he had been when she'd told him about her boyfriend.
"I don't." Olivia assures him, silencing his doubts with a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before trailing down his throat and sucking on the skin just above his pulse point. The gesture causes Elliot's hips to involuntarily buck upward, his dick twitching, knocking Olivia into the wall and soliciting a rough hiss of approval from her roaming lips.
He let's his instincts take over, his hormones lead. It's not like he hasn't done things before. Hell, when he'd been with his last (and only) girlfriend, Kathy Malone, they'd been notorious for their PDA (not to mention the endless offers he'd had throughout the years). None of them had been Olivia, though. God he loves her.
Tentatively, Elliot's free hand, the one not gripping her waist, begins to roam. He feels her shiver beneath his touch as his fingers caress her side, sliding around until he's cupping her right breast. She rocks her hips against his thigh in approval and its Elliot's turn to moan.
They're so wrapped up in and around each other, that they don't notice another occupant has joined their illicit pool party.
A loud "ahem" breaks them apart. Their chests heave as air floods their lungs. Elliot looks up to see a hard-nosed man dressed in a security guard uniform staring at them disapprovingly.
Olivia ducks her head against his shoulder, and snickers, her breath tickling his neck. Her thigh rubs against his hard on and he has to bite his lip to stop a hiss from escaping. This would bode well for him with his parents. Any minute now they'd be busted for sneaking into the hotel and he'd be carted home in the back of a police car with his dick waving in the wind like the flag on the Fourth of July.
Elliot's mind races through lies to find the security guard; he can't lie on Q. Luckily, Olivia can. Before Elliot can even form a coherent thought, she's already knee deep into her lie.
"Sorry, sir, my father's in a conference call with the other senior partner of his law firm and he told my boyfriend and I to find a way to busy ourselves. See, we're only in town for the next two days, and I didn't know the hotel had a pool, and well...I just couldn't help myself. I apologize sincerely, sir. Please don't tell my daddy. I mean, you were our age once, didn't you ever just want to be with your girlfriend?" She punctuates her tall tale with a smile that makes her nose scrunch, her eyes glitter, and the tainted halo on her head shine.
Elliot's heart flutters. She's fucking crazy, he thinks, but he loves her.
The stern look that was once on the guard's face slowly dissipates. He seems to contemplate her words, ascertaining their veracity before speaking. "Alright you two. I won't tell your dad, but the pool's closed, so you've got to dry off and head out."
"Thank you so much, sir!" Olivia squeals, her voice a sickly sweet sound as she breaks away from Elliot. An automatic chill sets into his bones as she goes. He watches as she swims towards the stars and slowly gets out. His eyes trace her backside and he thinks of how, just minutes ago, she was wrapped around his waist.
The security guard smiles at them once more before exiting the pool area.
"Come on, El! Let's get the fuck out of here before he figures out i'm lying through my teeth!" She shouts to him, as she picks up her shirt and goes to slip it over her head. He takes in the sight of her puckered nipples visible through the wet pink satin of her bra before they disappear beneath her t-shirt.
It takes him a few, his lower region still heavily uncomfortable, before he gets out of the pool and follows suit with her. He thinks of her lie and how he wishes part of it was the truth. He wishes he were her boyfriend.
/
They drive back to Queens in relative silence, save for a bit of laughter, and music. Neither of them talks about their impromptu pool make out session. Their elbows bump together as they both lean against the center council.
So many questions swirl around inside Elliot's mind; he wants to know why she kissed him. He wants to know how far she would have gone, but more importantly, he wants to know about the bruise on her on shoulder. But he doesn't ask. Physically Olivia might be next to him, but mentally she's off in her own world. She's preparing herself, he knows, for the tepid tide that is her mother.
The car comes to a halt in front of Elliot's house and he unbuckles his belt, but doesn't move to get out. His eyes scan the driveway for her dad's car and when he doesn't spot it, relief floods his bones. Joe Stabler never made his disdain for Olivia a secret.
"Liv," he starts, clearing his throat as he scrubs a hand down his face, "why don't you stay here tonight? Serena's probably still drunk. I'll go with you to drop the car off and we'll walk back. You just live a few streets over. You can sleep with me-"
Olivia laughs then, but not the uninhibited laughter from earlier. This laughter is guarded, somber, and soft as it tears from her throat. She looks up at him, a lopsided, disingenuous grin on her face. "Is that all guys think of? Ugh. Don't worry, Elliot, you'll get to fuck me one day…." she bites bitterly. "According to Cassidy, everyone gets a turn with me so it's only right you stake your claim, huh? Want me on all fours or on my back?"
If she'd smacked him, it would have hurt less than the words she's so carelessly hurled at him. The venom in her tone takes him aback – her vulgarity makes him sick.
He's confused, lost as to why she's placed him in the same category as Brian Cassidy. The name alone causes Elliot's blood pressure to skyrocket. He's heard Cassidy's rumors of a dalliance with Olivia post homecoming game in the back of his truck. But Elliot's never believed a word to come from Cassidy's lips. Olivia had told him the truth about her non-existent night with Cassidy, about how he'd tried to ply her with liquor post her breakup with -One, in hopes of getting into her pants, and had not only failed miserably, but had ended up on the receiving end of the right hook Elliot had taught her. Out of spite, however, he'd told everyone she had been an easy - and eager - lay. And those who didn't listen were gifted with the rumors in writing, on the boys bathroom stalls.
It hits him then, she thinks he wants sex – she thinks he's concerned is tied to what they'd started in the pool – what she'd started in the pool. And she couldn't be more wrong.
Incredulity taking hold of his tone, Elliot speaks, "I didn't mean that!" He can't stop the hurt that filters into his voice. "I meant so I'd know you were safe. So I'd know that your mom wasn't kicking the shit out of you, but if that's all you think I want from you, I guess twelve years of friendship doesn't mean shit. Go to hell, Olivia."
He doesn't give her a chance to respond before he's ripping his backpack out of her backseat and slamming the passenger door behind him.