She's warm, comfortable, satiated even until she opens her eyes to remarkably unfamiliar surroundings. On her stomach, she turns her head to one side revealing a small frame on the nightstand to her left. The young boy in it looks to be about five or six years old and he's posing for his little league picture.
There's something about his eyes…
Crap.
"Did you know about this Fin?" She asks, pulling him off to the side and away from prying ears.
"Hell no," he asserts. "I'm about as excited about this as you are."
They both watch as Munch's most recent New Year's Eve party guest shakes a few hands and smiles as he looks around the room, seemingly searching for someone.
Both of them know that that someone is her.
"I'm getting the hell out of here," she tells Fin. "Make whatever excuse you can for me okay?"
"You got sick all of a sudden," he says with a smirk.
"Sounds good to me," she responds. "See you in a couple of days."
"You okay?"
"I will be," she answers. "And thanks."
She picks up the hem of her long navy blue satin dress and prays she doesn't break a heel trying to run out of there. Two minutes after stopping at the coat check room, she's rushing across the parking lot of the hotel to her car.
It dawns on her that the shower going on the other side of the bathroom door is what woke her. She's always been a light sleeper. The way she figures it, she has about five to ten minutes to find her clothes, put them on and pull a Houdini.
Olivia ignores the mess as she makes haste. Her panties are near the foot of the bed on the floor, ripped and useless. Her bra is near the doorway. The dress is in the hallway on the floor not far from his pants. And after shimmying into it again, she locates her shoes about a foot apart from one another near an overturned planter in the living room.
The living room. That's where things started. The nearly empty bottle of Don Pilar sitting on the coffee table taunts her. It asks, "What happened to it's never gonna happen Olivia?"
"This is all your fault," she whispers to the bottle.
She tries to block out how the pictures on the wall got the way they are. One is askew, the other has fallen onto the floor, the glass shattered. His shirt, now buttonless, isn't far. In hearing his bathroom door open behind her, she grabs her clutch off the counter, thanking God her keys are inside once she makes it to her car.
She's too old to be concerned about having to do the 'walk of shame' through her apartment lobby at 7am. It's doubtful she'll be the only one taking that humiliating stroll. None the less, it's no one's business but her own.
The first thing she does when she makes it inside, is make a bee line for the bedroom. She kicks off her heels, strips off the dress and heads for her own shower. Washing his scent from her body will help, but there's nothing that will scrub the previous evening's events from her mind.
"Olivia!"
She moves faster.
"Liv!"
He has the advantage because he's not running in a near floor length dress, wearing four inch heels as the frigid night air hits him in the face. They make it to the car simultaneously as she gets the door open.
"Liv please," he says, stopping her from closing it.
"What do you want Elliot?"
"I just wanna talk."
There's no way he stopped to get his coat from the coat check guy before chasing her. He didn't have time. It's a simple conclusion to make then, that not only did he know he'd see her, but also what her reaction would be.
"You're about three and a half years late for a conversation, so if you'll excuse me," she tells him, attempting to pull the door closed.
"Five minutes," he begs. "That's all.
She takes a deep breath, squeezing the steering wheel nearly painfully so. It's an instant kind of rage she has these days, ironic seeing as though it used to be a major problem of his.
"I'm tired, it's cold and I'm going home," she seethes. "And point of fact, I don't owe you shit."
He pauses long enough for her to think he's about to give up and let her go. Then again, acquiescing has never actually been a part of his DNA.
"You're right," he tells her. "You don't owe me a thing," he agrees. "And I don't deserve you're ear but I'm pretty sure you have some shit you'd like to get off your chest."
It really sucks right now that he has a point. Of course Olivia has some words for him, none of them good.
"Fine Elliot," she says. "Get in."
He rushes around to the passenger side door, in case she changes her mind or decides to run him over instead.
Olivia starts the car then sits for a few seconds. She has yet to look him in the eyes and as she does so, it dawns on her that it really has been over three years since last she saw him.
The shower makes her feel better, rejuvenated. But whatever else she does in life, drinking tequila will not be one of them. That stuff is liquid evil as far she's concerned and the pounding headache and nausea cosign that opinion. Things may have turned out differently if she'd eaten something besides a couple of hors d'oeuvres at John's party.
Perhaps the alcohol would've metabolized just a bit slower in her system. She wasn't drunk but her inhibitions were nonexistent and her normal filters and boundaries were shot to hell.
After her shower she opens her medicine cabinet for some Excedrin. She enters her bedroom and chooses a comfortable pair of leggings and oversized sweatshirt before heading for her kitchen.
Olivia read somewhere that the best cure for a hangover is not some horrible concoction with tabasco sauce, greasy food, coffee and God forbid the "hair of the dog" get anywhere near her lips. She'd likely throw up at the smell. Nope, the cure she found is ridiculously delicious and not at all nutritious. A banana shake.
The horrible headache she has is why she usually sticks to wine and also why she usually has the sense to eat something beforehand. Hangovers absolutely suck. Especially when they're attached to a night of sex with a regrettable lover.
"It's your five minutes," she begins, putting the car into gear. "So where to?"
Her face is stoic and her voice is emotionless as she turns away from him, looking at the windshield once more.
"Uh my…my place," he says. "It isn't too far away."
She's not going to ask how that could be, especially when last she checked, his ass lived in Queens with his wife of thirty years and their five children. Elliot gives her the directions to an apartment near Union Square Park.
Fifteen minutes later they arrive at a ten story building. They are silent on the ride up but she can feel his eyes while hers stay glued to the hexagonal patterns of the elevator floor. Olivia follows him out when the doors open.
A few feet down the hall they stop at apartment 5640. Elliot pulls the keys from his pocket, opening the door for them. Once inside he removes his overcoat, scarf and jacket to hang in a nearby closet. As he's ditching his tie, Olivia takes the time to give the place the once over.
A small kitchen is to their left. It has slate countertops, oak cabinetry and two armless barstools that line the breakfast bar.
The living room is to their right. It has a flat screen television across from a brown tufted leather sofa. A large area burgundy and cream patterned area rug is splayed beneath a large square coffee table with storage drawers beneath.
A balcony can be seen beyond the large window as tan colored drapes are open to the night sky.
She can see a bathroom directly down the hall in front of her and what she images are doors to two other bedrooms on either side. There are two decorative black and white framed photo prints on either side of the entry to the hallway. They depict various parts of the city in different seasons.
It doesn't look like he just moved here. The place looks lived in, comfortable. He's been here for a while. She doesn't know what to make of it and doesn't plan on trying.
Olivia eyes the large wall clock above the sofa before looking at him. She hasn't bothered removing her coat or moving away from the door.
"Your five minutes start now."
He exhales like he's the most tired he's ever been in his life.
"You want a drink?" He asks, entering the kitchen.
She watches as he grabs two small glasses from a cabinet above the microwave and a bottle of amber liquid from another near the stainless steel fridge. He pauses to keep the finger paints being held there with a magnet from slipping.
"No Elliot," she answers. "And you have four minutes left," she adds, crossing her arms over her chest. "So if I were you, I'd start talking."
He pours himself a shot, knocks it back and sits the glass back forcefully against the dark surface.
"Okay," he says. "Okay," he repeats with less attitude. "In a nutshell the last three years of my life went something like this," he begins.
He pours another shot, skulls it again, and tries for an explanation.
"I got cleared after Jenna Fox's shooting but my name was shit with the NYPD after that and they let me know it, so I retired," he starts. "It took a year and a half of actually spending time with Kathy and communicating in my marriage to realize we had become two different people that are happier apart than we were together," he continues, taking a breath.
He walks past her into the living room, taking the bottle with him and sits on the sofa. After one last shot he places the glass and bottle on the table.
"My other kids are pretty much adults so they see me when their schedules allow it," he goes on. "And Eli comes here every other week and alternating holidays. It's working."
She shifts her feet at the door but doesn't say a word in reply.
"But that's not what you came to hear is it?"
"No," she admits. "It's not."
As she moves to the sofa with her glass of banana shake and a straw, she tries not to be pissed at Munch for setting her up. Cragen, Fin and Munch watched her for weeks after he put in his papers. They saw how hurt she was, how fragile she became despite her attempts at a strong façade. She knows Fin overheard more than one attempt at trying to reach him. Then the two newbies showed up and she had the displeasure of trying to hide her pain from strangers.
"Screw him," she says to herself.
It's a new year and all she wants to do is lounge around in her comfortable clothes, sip on her hangover shake and watch some mindless television. It's what she should've done last night but no, she let Amaro talk her into joining the rest of the squad at Munch's New Year's Eve party.
After the hell that's been the last seven months of her life, she thought she could use some champagne and laughter with friends. Between Cragen and Munch's exits and her breakup with Brian a month ago, she could use a little levity. She just hates that Munch decided for her, that she needed Elliot back in her life too.
"I got every message you left," he acknowledges. "I've listened to them a thousand times," he admits.
"Then why…
She hates sounding so damned weak, so in need of the reason he couldn't be bothered to respond to any of them.
"I…I don't know."
"You don't know?" She asks in a stronger voice. "That's bullshit!"
"Okay I do know," he says, raising his voice with hers. "But I couldn't deal with it along with everything else!"
"What does that even mean Elliot? You asked for five minutes and I gave it to you thinking you'd tell me why a twelve your partnership ended in silence!"
He scrubs his hands down his face, a frustrated gesture she's seen more times than she can count.
"I wanted to talk to you, see you, tell you face to face that I was retiring," he tells her, now calm. "But just like you couldn't tell me when you wanted another partner, I couldn't tell you I was leaving," he explains. "Knowing that I wasn't coming back."
"Why not?"
"Oh come on Liv," he says, getting off the sofa to approach her. "The same old 'why not' that's been between us for years," he adds. "It got too damned complicated."
Now she wants a drink.
She takes it upon herself to enter his kitchen, gets her own shot glass and stalks over to the sofa before snatching up the bottle. It's tequila. She never drinks it and for good reason but tonight is…it's too much.
She tosses back one shot to his surprise, then another before slamming the bottle back onto the table. His five minutes are up now so it's her turn.
"You know we've never talked about what the hell that means," she starts. "So why don't we do that now huh?"
"Liv…
"No Elliot, let's communicate," she says, stretching out the last word. "Apparently you've learned to do that since last I saw you, so we should give it a try," she adds.
"Olivia…
"Shut up," she seethes, pouring and knocking back another shot, evening up the drink tally. "It's my turn."
He eyes her like she's a stranger, and after everything she's gone through during the years in between seeing him, she may as well be.
"We were connected to the point where we could finish each other's sentences," she tells him. "You and I could anticipate one another's next step in any investigation," she continues. "I shared everything with you…gave everything that the perimeters of this job and your marriage allowed," she adds, pointing a finger at him.
Between the three tequila shots and the anger, the walls have fallen down and she's coming unglued.
"You had more of me than any m…anyone ever has Elliot," she confesses with a near misstep. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to trust someone after you left, the way you left?
"I'm sorry," he manages, standing again.
"Screw your sorry," she tells him, turning on her heels to leave.
"I thought we were gonna communicate," he says to her back, drawing her in again. "Looks to me like you're on the run."
"I listened to your piss poor explanation Elliot," turning to face him again. "I'm done here."
He beats her to the door and blocks her exit.
"Well I'm not," he says. "You wanted to discuss complicated so let's freakin' discuss it," he adds.
He wants to talk, she'll talk. She takes her coat off, throwing it over a bar stool and digs in, preparing for the last fight she ever wants to have with this son of a bitch.
"Go," she says, crossing her arms over her chest again.
"I hesitated with you, I worried over you and I-
"You what?" She asks, impatiently.
"I was tempted…by you," he admits. "When you were trying to fix me up after I got popped by that lesbian bouncer and I wouldn't hold still-
"Yeah, I remember," she acknowledges. "But what does that have to do with-
"You were standing very close, in between my legs as I sat on the end of my desk," he reminds her. "I didn't want you to keep touching me."
She watches him visibly swallow, eying the floor momentarily before meeting her expression once again.
"But I…did," he confesses. "You said you gave me all that my marriage and the NYPD allowed Liv and being the selfish bastard that I am, I still wanted more," he says. "It can't get more complicated than that."
She blinks several times as she shakes her head in disbelief. She walks halfway towards his sofa and then back to him again, standing with one hand on her hip, the other over her mouth.
"I don't," she tries. "What the hell am I supposed to say to that?" She asks. "We affected each other Elliot," she manages. "And even if you thought you couldn't say any of that to my face, you could've tried to say…something," she adds, getting angry all over again.
Her anger is bubbling over and this time she will not try to reign in back in.
"What about have a nice life Liv, thanks for the memories, thanks for having my back or saving my ass and my career on a repeated basis," she continues. "What about thanks for putting your pension on the line for my ass more than once!"
"I put up my house for you!"
"I didn't ask you to!" She screams. "I've never asked you for a damned thing!"
"And you're a coward for it!"
It's a good thing the neighbors are probably out or making their own noise because surely their screaming can be heard from there to the Empire State building.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me," he tells her. "You fought harder for my marriage than I did Olivia," he accuses. "You watched out for my kids, took up for me at work and never asked for freakin' thing!"
"Most people would be grateful!"
"I would if I didn't feel so damned guilty for it," he tells her. "You did all that at the expense of a life and a family of your own," he adds, calming.
She turns from him then, hiding the emotion starting to build, thickening her throat all the sudden.
"Don't you dare," she rasps. "It's called being a good partner."
"How many relationships did you let me or the job get in the way of? He asks. "How many times did me calling you to a crime scene interrupt a night out?"
Olivia was doing just fine before Munch decided to interfere in her life. She's working past what happened with William Lewis with Dr. Lindstrom. She made sergeant and is supervising SVU now and besides the fact that things didn't work out, she'd started dating again.
The last thing she needed was Elliot showing up as a reminder of her old life and the woman she used to be. Sometimes she wishes for those simpler times, wishes she could be that person again. But, she knows that that Olivia Benson is long gone and she has to deal with what is.
The walk down memory lane, the feelings it stirred and the…results, are all things she didn't need to start her new year with. If last night was the closure she used to long for, then she'll deal with how she got it if she never sees him again.
The only problem with that logic is her memory, and that fact that she still has one. Even after the hickeys fade, the bruises disappear from her thighs and the love bites fade away from other parts of her anatomy, his touch, his voice in whispers, won't soon leave her.
Damn him.