This is just a something I came up for "Her Negotiation". Of course I have no idea what's going to happen, so this is all my imagination. And I was bored. lol.
The faint golden aura of streetlights seep through the sheer curtains that flutter against her apartment window.
The small slit at the bottom allows a swift breeze to cascade about the darkened room, the sheath material dancing about in loose waves.
The night drones on in a weary torrent of cars and taxis sashaying down the streets of Manhattan. Time marches on as the clock above the picture of her and Serena breathes new life into a new hour.
Midnight.
Olivia sits on the corner of her sofa, her head nestled into the crack between the cushion and the arm. Her knees arch in front of her and her palms lay limp beside her hips.
The familiarity of being so intertwined amongst the flailing curtains causes a deep seeded breath of knowing to escape from her partially opened lips.
Other than the thoughts flowing through her mind, she's still, the whirlwind of late April air flowing through her living room is nothing compared to the billowy clouds draping themselves around her resolve.
Inside the confines of her apartment she feels warm and content with the Spring air sifting through her dark bangs and tickling her skin.
Yet her fingers ache from the grip she'd had on her gun earlier.
She had been close to losing everything. Inches away from being tossed into an unforgiving blackness. She had faced off with a demon in sheep's clothing.
Inside, she feels safe right now. But out there it had been different. Outside, she had felt vulnerable for the first time in close to five years.
It had been a feeling she hadn't wanted to feel ever again in her life, she still doesn't. The overwhelming knowledge that if she had made one wrong move, it would be the end of her because she wouldn't be able to stand the sight of herself in those shoes again.
A single tear rolls down her cheek and she doesn't blink, she allows the sting, she allows the unforgiving blurriness that washes over her.
She hasn't talked to anyone since Cragen walked in, gun drawn, aiming and absolving all her worry in one shot.
She feels restless. Her superior had to save her and the thought makes her weak in the knees and she's afraid she'd collapse if she were standing.
She questions her own ability a lot these days.
After her captain had thrown her a skeptical, worried look, she'd luckily walked away unscathed, refused to talk about it, and later stormed out of the precinct with I'm okay.
She had jumped into the scolding hot water of her own shower hoping the heat would singe off the lies all over her skin.
Brian hasn't called her since the news broke out about the hostage situation in which she was less than twenty feet from the perpetrator for over 15 hours.
And it really doesn't surprise her. She doesn't know what she expects anymore.
If she's honest with herself, it's not worth giving up the silence right now trying to explain everything swirling around her mind when she doesn't even want to acknowledge her failures tonight.
They may have captured this sadistic rapist, murder, masochist, but it hadn't stopped him from assaulting a woman right in front of her and no one can bring her from the depth of that darkness right now nor does she want them to.
It's something she needs to do herself.
Taking a deep breath, her eyes slip closed briefly before a loud car horn startles her from her reverie, her thoughts that make her contemplate the benefits of taking a couple of sleeping pills.
She has to see Huang because of this, so sleep is a welcome distraction before she has to have her head shrunk. At least George is back in town for awhile, familiarity is a nuance she holds onto lately.
She turns her head to the right, picks up her badge and gun from the table next to the couch and slips off the cushions.
Walking toward her bedroom, she sidles towards the living room window first, eases it completely down before heading to her bedroom.
As she starts to put her gun and holster in her beside drawer, the faintest of sounds filters into her ears.
At this point, she's not even sure she actually hears anything anymore other than the rampant chaos caused from the memories and nightmares of past cases that she takes mental inventory of each night.
But as she starts to slip down the covers on her bed, she hears it again. Thump, thump, thump.
The heavy thumps of flesh on wood send chills up and down her arms. She doesn't want to get into exactly why the cadence of each thump feels so familiar.
Now that she thinks about it, she did turn off her cell phone as soon as she stepped through her door so she guesses it's probably one of her coworkers or possibly Cassidy.
It really wouldn't surprise her at all if it were one of them after all.
She doesn't want to answer the door. Maybe if she pretends she's not home or if they think she's in a deep slumber they'll leave her alone for tonight at least.
That's how mentally, emotionally, physically exhausted she is from everything.
She'll risk them thinking whatever they want for a dreamless sleep. She pines for someplace in her consciousness where she doesn't have to deal with any of it.
Closing her eyes, she hears it again after a few heartbeats. Thump, thump, thump.
They're a little more urgent now but the pressure and weight of each knock doesn't get any louder. She wonders why.
Maybe they're not even sure they want to knock. It seems as if they're testing the wood to pretend they hadn't knocked at all if they think there's a possibility she hadn't heard it.
She closes her eyes as she pretends to be somewhere else. A bar maybe, a hotel, anywhere but here. Too many people know about here. Maybe a small beach somewhere.
Her thoughts drift slightly but soon they drift to the day that she had had again in vivid details she soon wants to escape from.
From the blood, the gunpowder, the body odor, and to the chills she still hasn't gotten rid of, it's all enough for her eyes bolt open when all the of a sudden, she's standing beside her bed with the sheets clasped tightly in her fingers.
Everything's silent and she feels foolish for imagining sounds now, but she knows it's not uncommon to hear things that aren't there after these sorts of ordeals.
Nothing. There's nothing.
She thinks she hears faint footsteps fading away and she's not sure why this disappoints her. It's what she had wanted only moments before. To be left to her solitude without the lingering doubt behind every noise.
Right then, she decides it's a yes to the sleeping pills. She opens her night stand, gathers the pills into her hand and takes them dry.
She slips under the covers and turns her back away from the door and tries to forget.
In minutes she is so ensconced by the idea of darkness, reprieve, rest..., forgetting, that she starts to drift off, not registering the faint buzzing of her clock.
She doesn't register the creaking of her building as it settles upon itself or the moan of the floor boards, the distant traffic outside her window, the whistling of the wind slivering its way inside her room, the jingling of a single key, the rattle of a single lock, the footsteps of a simple shoe, the chafing of a worn grey hooded jacket nor the faint sniffle of a lost man as he stands and watches her drift off into an abyss.
She doesn't hear it at all nor does she hear the rustling of the sheet that covers her as it's pulled back or his shoes as they thump against the floor as he slips them off, or the metallic clinging of the bed springs as he lies down behind her.
Her life flashes behind her eyelids as an artificial euphoria takes a hold of her mind and allows the outside world to go on without interruption.
She doesn't feel the warmth of his body, nor the way his breath tickles the hairs on the back of her neck nor the way his long sleeve t-shirt rubs against the plane of her tank top covered stomach.
She doesn't feel his arm slip around her in a cocoon of resilience they've always been known to have, nor does she hear the simple-pained whisper from his soft lips.
"I'm here. I heard about everything. I've got you. I've always been here."
Although she can't hear him, she loses herself in his voice anyways, the feel of his body and warmth seep into her dreams and fade the darkness into a beautiful scenery and she's on that beach.
The wind blows and his unique scent drifts into her and it's all him. She knows this smell like she knows the lines on her own face.
He's always been there, and even though she can't feel him, she senses him and now she can rest peacefully.
Because when she wakes up, she'll still smell him and that's the most sincere thing she's ever known.
I've always known that, I can feel you, Elliot. Thank you.
finis