Disclaimer, Act One: Olivia and Elliot are not mine. They are Dick Wolf's.
Disclaimer, Act Two: The first sentence belongs to Anne Rice. It is from The Witching Hour. Also not mine.
A/N: This is part of a three part drabble entitled The Witching Hour. The others can be found in The X-Files fandom and the House, M.D. fandom.
oOo
He was looking at her. Maybe he knew how confused she was, how strange the whole afternoon seemed, all this talk of curses and things, and dead people and that weird necklace.
"Elliot, stop," Olivia said, looking out the window. "I don't want to talk about it."
"I don't blame you for being upset," he replied. "This guy's a real freak. You'd have to be made of stone not to be bothered by it."
She continued to stare out the window, watching the cars drive by, wondering how many of them were satanic pedophiles. "I know that."
He walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She tensed, but he didn't remove it. "There's nothing more we can do tonight," he told her. "Go home. Get some sleep."
"No, I think I'll go back to the crime scene," Olivia said, walking over to her locker and grabbing her coat. "Maybe we missed something."
"Liv, CSI has been over it twice, and we spent half the day there," Elliot reminded her. "We didn't miss anything."
"Maybe we did," she repeated. "You never know."
He saw that there wasn't anything he could do to stop her. He sighed quietly, and said, "I'll drive."
Olivia looked up at him, and their eyes locked. She smiled, comforted by his concern. "Thanks, Elliot," she said. They stopped by Starbucks on the way home.