Rated M for language and adult situations
Disclaimer: I do not own SVU or its characters. They are the property of Dick Wolf.
Special thanks to Sitarra for her support in getting this story off the ground. AU is not typically my thing, but her constructive feedback gave me the courage to try. We'll see how it goes!
Atonement
Prologue
The rain thundered down.
Crushing. Punishing. Brutalizing.
The large, heavy drops of liquid streamed like a waterfall from the heavens, dull in the dreary mid-morning light. They drilled into her umbrella violently, ricocheting off the waterproof fabric and shattering into a fine mist that veiled the surrounding scene. The deluge was weighty, a steady pressure against her protective cover, and her arms ached from holding the umbrella still under the onslaught.
Her heart was also heavy. Also ached.
Dark head bowed, Olivia Benson stood motionless amongst the sea of mourners, her colorful umbrella adding to the eclectic patchwork gathered around the grave site. Beyond the umbrella mosaic, the only other color in the area on that dreary day was the bright emerald green grass on which the mourners stood, a sharp contrast to the brown dirt burial plot and morose gray headstone.
She was too far away to hear what the priest was saying. His words were nothing but a low drone, a steady hum muted by the pounding rain. Around her, faces were somber as the mahogany casket was slowly lowered into the ground, rivets of rain cascading off the sides. No one in her immediate vicinity cried openly, but those standing closer to the priest did, quiet sobs that Olivia witnessed in the shake of their shoulders.
Except for the man she observed steadily. He did not cry. Not one single tear.
No tears were necessary to convey his grief. It was written all over his handsome face.
The man stood almost directly beside the priest, holding an umbrella but not over himself, over the older woman beside him. She sobbed openly, her features contorted in pain, a marked difference from his stoic expression. The rain washed down his face, soaking the dark blue suit which clung tightly to his upper body. Droplets of precipitation stood out like dew on his short hair only momentarily before being flushed away by one of its cohorts.
He looked the same, yet so very, very different.
And she couldn't take her eyes off of him.
As the priest concluded his blessing, the tall, handsome man handed his umbrella to the older woman and stepped further into the pounding precipitation. Crouching down slowly, he slid his right hand under the small canvas that protected some of the surrounding dirt and drew out a handful of soft, brown soil. Straightening carefully, he stared down blankly at the glistening mahogany coffin and silently stretched out his arm, relaxed his fist, and released the dirt down into the hole. A few errant pebbles bounced enthusiastically off the lid and settled contently beside the ornate brass handles.
As he pivoted to return to his original position, the man's icy blue eyes found her molten chocolate ones across the span of the grave site as if drawn by a magnet.
It was like a vicious kick to the gut.
Crushing. Punishing. Brutalizing.
It stole his breath. Robbed him of precious oxygen.
Seeing her. After so many long years. Standing motionless under a yellow and green umbrella, her eyes gentle as they met his, her face betraying none of her feelings.
He prayed his face was equally as blank.
Realizing he had halted abruptly and was staring, Elliot Stabler propelled himself back into motion, his movements quick and jerky. To the onlookers, his pause wasn't nearly as long as it felt to him. The only person who even noticed was his mother, who glanced at him quizzically for a moment before slipping back into her grief. Removing the umbrella gently from his mother's shaky hands, Elliot returned to his place beside her as the priest began wrapping up the ceremony.
His eyes never left the priest, but he could feel the demanding vacuum in his attention that she created with her mere presence. Even without looking, he knew her eyes were still on him and he had to quell a strong urge to turn his face toward hers.
"Elliot?" He suddenly felt his mother's soft, papery hand on his arm and realized with a start that the ceremony had concluded. The crowd of damp and somber mourners was starting to plod down the small grassy knoll toward the line of cars waiting patiently on the road below.
"I'll meet you at the car." His tone was a bit sharper than he intended it to be, his eyes having returned to the woman standing motionless at the foot of the grave, watching him hesitantly. He could feel his mother's eyes on him as he handed her the umbrella and began crossing to the other side of the grave site, his black dress shoes slipping precariously on the wet, slimy grass, but he didn't glance back nor offer anything by the way of explanation. The rain pelted against his unprotected scalp, hard as rocks, and Elliot felt the flicker of a headache build at the edge of his temple.
It didn't matter. That was his penance.
The entire time he strode toward her, her eyes never left his. The dark brown orbs were empty, devoid of emotion, but not harsh. She was hiding behind her shields; he could see that clear as day. The same fucking shields she had thrown up in his face twelve years ago.
Some things never changed. Olivia was still a master at shutting him out.
The closer he got to her, the harder it was to breathe.
The more his heart jack hammered and his stomach clenched.
The sweatier his palms got.
The more he longed to be the one lowered into the cold, hard ground.
His shoulders were stiff as plywood by the time he stood before her, water dripping over his nose and streaming down his cheeks. He winced, physically pained by her proximity. She looked steadily up at him, opening and closing her mouth several times before finally finding a few, insufficient words.
"I'm sorry about your sister."
The words were soft, strained, but her voice was every bit as melodic as he remembered, and he flinched involuntarily as if she had slapped him.
Elliot was silent for a moment as he collected his thoughts, his cool eyes boring ruthlessly into the face of his ex-wife. Finally, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his soaked dress pants and arranged a look of complete disinterest on his features.
Fuck her.
That was the last thing she had to be sorry for.
Stepping past her, the fabric of his suit jacket brushing against the soft silk of her purple blouse, Elliot finally ripped his eyes away and looked down the hill to where his mother stood waiting. He didn't venture so much as one further glance at her face as he moved past, his parting words harsh and biting on that gloomy June day.
"You shouldn't have come back."
