Part 1: I've never known you, but I'm no stranger to this feeling. I know it's over, but the hurt's not
Law and Order: SVU is the intellectual property of Dick Wolf. The use of the characters, settings, and plotlines is not malicious. This is a work of fiction.
Darkness.
For the first time in what felt like her entire life, she fell asleep in total darkness. No bright lights through the window, no glaring headlights from the busy street making shadows dance on her walls. No haze and glow from the neon and reflective buildings.
Just the darkness.
And the silence.
The silence troubled her. Usually, she could tune out the sirens, the music, the voices, and fall asleep. But when they weren't there at all, it was keeping her awake.
She checked her cell phone. Three missed calls. Seven unanswered text messages. Not a single one from the only person she wished would reach out. She sighed and let the device fall back onto the hard wood of the side table. She sighed and rolled back, flattening on the mattress. She stared, sightless, at the ceiling, trying to remember the exact shade of white it was in the light.
Then she saw his face. Heard his voice. Loud and clear, the last words he said to her as he babbled into the phone, "I can't believe you're doing this. Just...fuck off, then. Go."
It'd been killing her slowly ever since, day by day pieces of her faded and crumbled and she was losing hope that he would show up and put her back together.
She exhaled and closed her eyes, his smirk shining behind her lids. She heard his laugh, and that was the music to which she finally fell asleep.
She woke with a start, reaching for her gun, her heart hammering in her chest. Eyes trained on the door, she aimed her firearm and slowly slid off of the bed. She crept out of the bedroom and went to work, as if clearing a crime scene. Peeking around corners, her aimed gun leading her way, she darted into the living room and prepared to shoot.
Nothing.
"Stupid," she sighed, dropping her gun. She let her right hand, holding the gun, fall limply to her side as her left raked through her hair. She heard something. She was sure of it. But then again, she'd been hearing things for months. Hearing him.
It must have been some sort of premonition, her instincts waking her in time, her phone rang shrilly from the bedroom. Rolling her eyes, she padded back into the blackness of the room and fumbled around on the end table for her cell. She dropped her gun onto the emptied spot on the maple. She squeezed the bridge of her nose as she finally answered. "Benson," she said groggily. Then, defeated, she turned on the table lamp, bringing the long-forgotten light into the space. "Yeah, alright, I'll be right there. Thanks."
She hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed, shrugging the remains of sleep out of her shoulders. She yawned, trudging into the bathroom. She swung open the medicine cabinet and grabbed the first face wash she saw, squeezed a dollop into her right palm, turned on the water, and got to work, trying to scrub away the tracks of tears and traces of sadness and doubt that seemed to seep from every pore.
She brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her shoulder length hair, and found a sort-of-matching suit at the top of one of her still-unpacked boxes. She dressed in silence, made sure to grab her phone and her gun, and picked up her billfold on the way out of the door.
Hailing a cab was easier here than it had ever been in New York, she noted with a relieved sigh as one pulled in front of her. "1718 South..."
"I know, Detective Benson," the cabbie laughed, nodding at her reflection in the rear view mirror. "Early today."
"I got called in," she said, "How ya doing, Frankie?"
The driver shrugged. "Can't complain. Working doubles now, since the wife's expecting."
She smiled. "Congratulations," she said warmly, then sighed and turned her head toward the blurring view out the window. "It was such a peaceful night."
"If it was," Frankie said, "You wouldn't be getting called in at this hour."
"True," she said with a smile. Her eyes closed for a moment, and when she opened them again the cab was pulling to a stop. She pulled two twenty dollar bills out of her wallet and handed them to him. "Thanks, Frankie. Send your wife my love."
"Will do," he said, taking the cash. Then his eyes widened. "Detective, this was only a ten dollar..."
"It's a tip," she said with a grin. "Take it easy, Frank."
The cabbie waved as Olivia headed up the stairs into the First Precinct, hating herself for not stopping for coffee somewhere on the way. "Damn it," she said through another yawn, pushing through the doors. She ignored the mob of people waiting for the elevator and chose to take her chances on the stairs, climbing the four flights to her division. She paused on the landing, took a deep breath, and pushed the heavy door open.
There was a part of her that would never get used to doing this without him. She took off her blazer as she sidled into the squad room, hanging it on a hook near her desk. "What have we got?" She sat, dropped her head to one side, catching it in her hand. She looked toward her captain.
"Domestic violence call last night," the man said with crossed arms, leaning against a post. "Turned into a homicide this morning, can't find the husband."
"Great," she said, drumming her fingers on her desk. She noticed a hand dropping a foam cup of coffee in front of her, and she beamed as she turned her head to thank the angel that had given it to her. She nodded her appreciation, then turned back toward the captain.
Then she froze.
Her eyes widened.
She turned again, slowly, her breath hitching in her throat, her eyes stung as they begged her to let them cry, her heart cracked and shattered and burst into flames, becoming reborn from its ashes like a phoenix. "El?" her eyes narrowed and she was praying she wasn't just seeing things, or imagining him the way she had been.
He smirked at her, sat on the edge of her desk, folded his arms, and nudged her with his left elbow, bringing her attention back to the captain and their current case.
She cleared her throat, confused, and tried like hell to pay attention to her boss as he explained what they had to do, but there were so many questions in her head, so many emotions filtering through her body. She covered her mouth with her hand, closed her eyes, and for the first time in months, she felt her lips curl into a small, hesitant smile.
Reviews are welcome.
Peace and Love
Jo