Disclaimer: As always not my characters. They belong To Dick Wolf and/or NBC and I'm just borrowing them for a bit. It's my story though so I if you enjoy it let me know. Reviews are always appreciated, good or bad.
Some say that when it rains, that the angels are weeping. Some believe that rain is cleansing to the earth, that it washes away the old things making them new again. In the late summer of Manhattan, it's been pouring every day for five days.
Five days.
That's how long Jenny McFarlane had been missing.
She was found on the sixth day, discovered by a worker at the city dump, cast away like garbage.
Her young eight year old body was peppered with bite marks, cuts, multi-colored bruises and lacerations. They, along with Munch and Fin took turns sweating Nathan Robinson in the box without success. They had to let him go. Her body was found the next day.
According to Melinda there were no hairs, no fibers and no fluids save for what her young body was tossed through at the dump. SVU had no physical evidence linking Jenny to Nathan Robinson.
What the general public doesn't know is that there's a difference between knowing someone is guilty and being able to prove it.
Olivia's limbs feel heavier. She's feeling every day of her nearly fifty years on the planet. She hasn't bothered with an umbrella. Maybe the rain will do her a favor and cleanse her too. Perhaps the angels are sad about everything that was done to young Jenny while she was with that sadistic son of a bitch.
These are the times Olivia wishes she had some type of faith to rely on. She simply can't imagine the type of loving God that would continually allow such atrocities to happen. Maybe that's why the angels are actually crying, because they can't either. Perhaps they are just as disappointed in God and herself as she is.
Olivia walks with her head down digging in her purse for her keys. She hasn't noticed him standing outside her apartment door. She just wants to get into her place, pour some wine and cry in peace.
He looks relaxed in his blue jeans, sneakers and brown bomber jacket. He has a five o'clock shadow. With nowhere to be, he doesn't really need to shave.
"Hey," he rasps, startling her.
"Elliot," she says. "What's wrong, is it one of the kids," she asks suddenly concerned. Olivia can't fathom what would've brought him to her front door after all this time. It's been months since he sent her that little badge and the Semper Fi note. Always faithful.
Right.
"No, everyone's fine," he responds, smoothing a hand over his head before tucking it back into his pocket. "I called to talk and the captain told me about the McFarlane case."
"Yeah," she says, moving past him. "It was pretty bad. But then again, they all are in one way or another," she adds, opening the door to her apartment. "I'm sure you remember that much," she digs. There was a point when she would've been elated to see him. But, she's learned to live life without him so she's no longer moved.
Olivia doesn't bother turning on any lights. She planned on sitting in the dark listening to the late summer storm rage on outside. If he wants to join her he'll just have to deal with it.
He follows her inside, closing the door behind them both. She disappears into her bedroom to lock away her gun in the bedside table. Olivia changes out of her wet clothes and towel dries her hair half expecting Elliot to be gone by the time she comes back. When she emerges in yoga pants and a t-shirt he hasn't left. Her luck never was any good.
He's still standing just inside her apartment door when she returns. He knows he's not all that welcome. Still, Elliot can see how affected she is. He remembers how the cases involving young children hit her the hardest. As brave a face as she tries to show everyone, he's waiting on the inevitability of it falling away.
"How are you," he asks, removing his jacket to hang on a nearby hook.
Olivia scoffs at the question. When did he start caring again?
"I'm fine," she says automatically, per her usual answer. She enters her kitchen following through with her plans. Olivia retrieves a bottle of Merlot and a glass from a cabinet. "You want some," she asks.
"No. Thanks," he tells her, entering the kitchen. "What happened," he asks, concern marring his face.
She plants one hand on the counter behind her and takes a sip with the other. "What do you want me to say Elliot," she asks rhetorically. "We didn't get the bad guy," she tells him taking another drink.
He approaches her then and takes the glass from her hand, placing it on the counter out of her reach.
"What are you doing," she asks annoyed, trying for the glass again.
He steps in her way, enters her personal space effectively trapping her between him and the counter behind her.
"I'm gonna repeat the question and this time I don't want you to go with your usual response," he tells her, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because we both know it's not true," he adds. He's taking liberties, assuming he can still get her to open up to him.
Olivia leans further into the counter trying futilely to create space between them. His proximity won't allow her to keep things bottled up. She feels the tears pooling in her eyes and looks down at her feet, hoping to reign in her emotions. She should've known if anyone would see through her, it would be him.
"How are you really Liv," he says, stuffing his hands in his front pockets again.
"I'm…her body was," Olivia begins but can't hold back the tears any longer. He closes the small distance between them and she fists the t-shirt at his waist with both hands leaning her forehead against his shoulder. "She was only eight years old El," she continues, crying into his shirt.
Elliot doesn't hesitate in putting his arms around her pulling her closer to him. "I'm sorry," he whispers to her.
She just nods, crying harder and louder. Her body shakes against his as everything Olivia's been hiding at work comes pouring out. They stand in her kitchen for long minutes together as he comforts her, rubbing her back and whispering apologies.
Neither of them knows if it's because of Jenny or because he hasn't communicated with someone he used to call his best friend, in months. It doesn't matter, he's here now.
When he hears her breaths even out Elliot knows she's stopped crying. He leans away from her but doesn't release her yet. He runs a thumb underneath both eyes, wiping away the tracks of her tears before returning his hand to her back.
Olivia notices the Jesus tattoo sticking out of the sleeve of his t-shirt. She seems to be in a daze as she runs her hand up his arm taking the sleeve with it, revealing the tattoo completely. She uses the first fingers of her right hand to trace the ink depicting the savior.
"Why did you get this," she asks, nearly whispering.
When he looks down at his arm it's not at the tattoo, he's seen it a million times. Elliot is in awe of the fact that it's Olivia tracing her delicate fingers over his flesh. He returns his gaze back to her and she seems to be mesmerized by it. It worries him because he knows she's seen it before as well.
"I got it when I was in the Marines…after what I saw in Desert Storm. I needed something," he explains.
"Has it worked," she asks, returning her gaze to his eyes without removing her hand from his arm.
"Most of the time," he tells her, giving her a small smile. "But my kids have helped too."
Olivia pulls his hands from behind her, holding them in both of hers. She begins rubbing her thumbs over the old scars of his knuckles.
"Then what happened here," she asks earnestly.
"Those are the times that it didn't," he tells her, pulling his hands away hoping she hasn't noticed the missing gold band. Elliot came there for her, not himself.
Olivia reaches for her wine glass again and this time he doesn't stop her. She moves past him and enters her living room to sit on her sofa.
She drains the glass before placing it on her coffee table. Elliot watches her, grateful she didn't take the bottle with her. It means she's still in control. Though, even in the dimly lit apartment he can see her tears have returned. She's just crying silently now.
He goes to join her on the couch, sitting side by side careful to confirm that thirteen years of boundaries are still in place. Though the deep conversation, dimly lit apartment and the patter of rain against the window seems to be conspiring to strip them slowly away.
Elliot picks up her hand and gives it a squeeze, no longer able to sit idly by as she cries.
"I'm sorry," he says again. He really doesn't know what else to say to comfort her. It seems the words to do that simply don't exist.
"This case got to everyone," she tells him in a stronger voice. "Cragen's probably still sitting at his desk and the rest went to a bar," Olivia informs him. "I just wanted to be alone," she says reaching for her wine glass again before getting up to return to the kitchen.
"You want me to go," he says, standing. And, it's more an observation than a question.
"I'm surprised you're here at all," she tells him, standing at the counter to pour another glass of wine. "It's been awhile." That translates into, "where the hell have you been?"
"Had a lot going on," he vaguely explains, sitting on a stool in front of her watching. "I wasn't gonna dump it in your lap on top of leaving you without a partner and a heavy caseload," he continues, clasping his hands on the counter before him.
"Don't Elliot," she says irritated. "You've always done that. Why has it always been acceptable for you to let me tell you what's going on with me but not the other way around," she asks, forcefully sitting down her empty glass. "Poor Olivia has no family of her own so I'll step in, was that it," she adds, pouring her second serving of wine.
"You know that's not true Liv," he asserts. "I've never pitied you. You're the strongest person I know," he informs her. "But right now it looks like you're pitying yourself," he adds watching her gulp half the glass.
They'd always done that for each other. Give that kick in the pants so they can recognize their own mistakes before things got out of hand.
Olivia knows she's not her mother. But she knows that she could be. It's just one more reason she's missed him. Who else was going to call her on her bullshit?
She takes a cleansing breath and looks at the wine bottle. Half of its gone already and she just opened it tonight. Olivia pours the rest of her glass down the sink and returns the bottle to the cabinet.
When she turns back around he's wearing a sincere expression. "I'm sure you did everything you could to find her," he begins. "You always do."
Olivia studies him then. She hears the sincerity in his voice and on his face. That tone has always been a comfort to her in ways she can't name. Elliot returns her gaze with one of his own but it's different. She doesn't remember him ever looking at her in quite that way.
Want.
Before she can question him about it, the calamity of the storm picks up outside. Lightning flashes, thunder rolls and then the lights go out.
"Great," she says in the darkness. "Perfect end to a perfect day," she continues.
He reaches into his pocket and hands her his cell phone.
"Here," he offers. "You can use the glow from it to find a flashlight or something."
"Thanks," she says, taking the phone. Having a habit of decorating from Pier 1 is about to come in handy. She has candles everywhere.
A few minutes after finding a lighter she has nearly all of them lit. They create a soft glow in the small apartment.
"That's better," she says, lighting the final candle.
Elliot found his way back to the sofa after she lit the first candle. He sat there staring as she lit them. He couldn't help himself. It was something about the candlelight that enhanced her already beautiful features. Also is the fact that he's missed her.
"You can have this back", she tells him, handing him his cell phone. "I'm really okay now if you wanna leave," she says. "I'm gonna just try and get some sleep."
"Actually I was wondering if I could crash on your sofa," he asks. "It looks like a blackout, it's late and it's still storming."
"Sure," she says, picking up a candle. "I'll get you a blanket."
Elliot removes his shoes making himself comfortable before lying back on her couch. A few minutes later she returns and hands him the blanket.
"Goodnight El," she tells him.
"Goodnight Liv," he responds, with a small smile.
She doesn't know what brought him to her tonight of all nights. It's not the first bad case she's had since he retired. But it had been the first one with a child so young that it's affected her like this. It's been awhile since she's cried that hard.
She has no clue what's inspired the visit. If it's a late explanation of why he left without telling her, she doesn't need to hear it. She would've liked a better goodbye though.
It's not important. She's too tired to continue to ruminate on such things. Olivia's trying day along with a couple of glasses of wine and the sound of rain against her window, equates to a swift trip to dreamland.
At first her sleep is peaceful. There are innocuous images that have begun many other dreams. She sees blue skies, meadows of multi-colored wild flowers and random streets until the apartment she shared with her mother overlaps the other images.
The argument where she had to kick Serena to stop her from cutting her with a broken vodka bottle is first. Then Olivia watches as her mother stumbles down a street seeing her stop at a subway entrance. She knows what's going to happen and can't do anything to stop it. Her voice doesn't work as she tries to warn her. And, the inevitable happens anyway. Serena tumbles forward in a mess of tangled limbs to the bottom of the stairs.
Lauren Cooper, the FBI agent who reminded her so much of herself is next. One minute they're talking calmly over the case and the next she's sitting in her apartment with the gun to her head. Olivia couldn't do anything then and she can't do anything now. Agent Cooper's gray matter and blood spatter the wall behind her and Olivia's forced to relive the horror.
Images fade to the bathroom of a church.
Sonja's at the sink washing her hands. She doesn't notice the man coming up behind her in the mirror. Sonja looks up just in time to see his reflection. He moves to strangle her but she struggles. Sonja kicks and tries to scream but can't. Olivia's on the other side of the mirror hitting it with her fists trying to break in to help. The killer smashes the back of Sonja's head in another mirror on the other side of the room. He normally likes to take his time but she's pissed him off. Olivia sees the horror on Sonja's face when she sees the knife. She bites him in one last attempt to save her life but he isn't deterred.
Olivia's terrified watching the knife slice across Sonja's throat opening her carotid artery spraying the wall with her blood.
Jenny McFarlane is playing on the slide. Her mom looks down at her cell phone to answer a text. She sends a short message and when she looks back up Jenny's gone. Images fade into the bruised, battered body of little Jenny lying on Melinda's table. Olivia is standing over the girl when she opens her piercing green eyes. She reaches out for Olivia repeatedly asking, "Why didn't you save me?"
From the living room Elliot thinks he's heard something. He's taken his shirt off to better relax but her sofa isn't exactly conducive to sleep. He hears Olivia repeating, "I'm sorry," in her sleep and she's getting louder and more agitated.
He gets off the sofa hurriedly and knocks on her door. When she doesn't respond he enters her bedroom leaning over her form in bed. He calls to her but she continues to toss and turn.
Elliot sits on the bed putting his hand on her shoulder to wake her. Olivia startles sitting up straight. Her breathing is labored, her brow is drenched in sweat and tears are streaming down her face.
He takes one look at her pained expressing and pulls her in to an embrace. A short while later, her tears subside and she pulls away from him.
"I'm sorry," she rasps, her voice still emotional. "Sometimes the nightmares…"
"It's okay Liv," he tells her. "I remember. I still have them myself at times," he says rubbing her back.
She nods feeling embarrassed that he's seeing her so affected. They spent a good deal of their partnership trying to hide the more sensitive side of themselves from one another. Olivia and Elliot saved their kindhearted tones for the living victims, making victim notifications or on their significant others. They rarely used them for each other.
He surprises her by reaching up and placing a stray hair behind her ear. It's a tender gesture and he's not usually that way with her unless something bad has happened. When he moves to wipe the tears from her face, she nearly flinches. He's still sitting so close to her when normally he would've distanced himself by now. It's not lost on her that he's shirtless and sitting on her bed at two in the morning either.
Usually when they stare at one another the way they are, something interrupts them. A phone call, Cragen telling them they have another case or a victim walks in but this time, all they hear is the rain.
"I'll be right back," he says, suddenly getting up.
Moments later he returns with a towel, wet with cold water. Elliot uses it to wipe the sweat from her forehead and the tears from her cheeks.
"Thank you," she says as he finishes. Olivia can't contain her curiosity anymore, she has to ask.
"Why tonight El," she begins. "Why did you decide to come by tonight," she asks, taking the towel from him laying it on her night table.
For the first time since seeing him outside her door, she notices his lack of a wedding ring.
"And where's your ring," she adds.
"Which question do you want me to answer first," he tries, joking.
She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow. An expression he recognizes as telling him it's a poor time to joke.
"I came tonight because just like when Sonja died, I had this overwhelming feeling that you needed me," he says, eying her sincerely. "Turns out I was right."
She takes a breath, folding her knees against her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Olivia can't really disagree.
"And the ring," she presses.
"I took it off," he says, being obvious.
"Come on Elliot," she begins. "What happened between you and Kathy?"
"Too much time together after too much time apart," he explains. "We didn't know each other anymore," he continues. "It felt like we were roommates raising a kid together."
"Marriage counseling, therapy at your parish," she asks. "None of that helped."
"There was no need this time," he says. "We both knew the answer. No one's angry and we're both free to find someone that makes us happy."
"I'd say I was sorry but you don't seem all that broken up about it," she tells him, studying his expression in the candle lit room.
"I'm not," he says, honestly. "But enough about me, how've you been?"
They aren't partners anymore. She has nothing to lose by telling him the truth.
"Let's see, after losing Sonja then Sister Peg," she begins. "My partner of thirteen years retires without warning and ignores me when I try to talk to him about it, I get two new people to train, I had to end a relationship with a good man because of a conflict of interests, my brother's in jail and I just let a murdering pedophile go free. So, not so well," she concludes.
"And I'd say I was sorry but it doesn't sound like a strong enough word for the pain I know I caused you," he tells her.
Since when does Elliot Stabler tell her how he feels about anything that isn't case related? She's guesses now. They're entering new territory with all this honesty and sharing. But if he can do it, so can she.
"It hurt having to hear that from the captain," she tells him. "In the event you decided to retire I pictured it going a little differently and…I was angry for awhile. But then I remembered how you must've felt when I went to Oregon and Computer Crimes without a word. The difference is…I came back."
"And I'm glad you did," he says, surprising her. He's never said that to her before. The timing of her leaving along with his wife left him too angry. "Because I missed you…both times," he clarifies.
"Me too," she tells him, sharing another long look. "I still do," she adds, nearly whispering and looking away.
"Why'd you leave," he asks, taking one of her hands in his.
He's just one surprise after another. They aren't undercover. And he's touched her more tonight than he had their entire partnership.
"That was years ago Elliot," she begins. "Why are you bringing this up?"
"Because I think there was a misunderstanding outside of that hospital room that we never addressed," he tells her tracing his thumb over her knuckle.
She knows that she should stop him but can't deny that it feels good.
"We talked outside your apartment after the Sennet case," she says, mesmerized by his ministrations. It's soothing, calming even. "You said you didn't feel comfortable speaking your mind around me anymore for fear it would cost us our partnership."
"That was bull Liv," he confesses. "I knew getting closer to you would end our partnership. I couldn't take that and the end of my marriage at the same time."
"Clearly you've had some couch time in your retirement," she observes. "Since when do you actually tell me the truth about what you're feeling?"
"Since that 'couch time' helped me realize how unhealthy it is to keep things bottled up. You should try it," he tells her, eying her expectantly.
That's it. She's had enough. Olivia takes her hand back, rolls over to the other side getting out of bed.
"What is this Elliot," she asks, suddenly angry. "You come here after months because you have a feeling," she says, making air quotes with her fingers. "That I need you."
"And you want to rehash something that happened six years ago," she continues as her breathing increases. "To what end Elliot," she adds. "And what makes you think I even trust you enough to be so honest?"
Elliot slowly gets up from the bed. He's hurt but shouldn't feel so stunned. One hand is at his waist and the other one rests against his forehead in disbelief.
"You don't trust me anymore," he asks, taking two steps towards her before stopping.
"You pulled the rug right out from under me El," she begins. "So forgive me if I'm a little lacking in the trust department where you're concerned."
"You're right," he says, shocking her yet again. Olivia can probably count on one hand the number of times he's said that to her on one hand. "I didn't tell you about retiring because I was scared you'd talk me out of it, I left that very short, lame assed note and I just drop by here tonight unannounced."
He approaches her then, leaving one step between them.
"You deserved better than that and I was an asshole for saying goodbye in that way," he continues. "As a matter of fact, you deserve to take a swing at me."
"Are you mocking me now El," she asks, still annoyed.
"No I'm not," he answers, sincerely. "Go ahead. Slap me, punch me, kick me lady's choice."
"Don't tempt me," she says, attempting to brush past him. He grabs her elbow stopping her and she spins around.
"I'm warning you Elliot," she says in her low tone. "It's after two in the morning, I'm tired and I'm not in the mood. Just go back to the couch."
She attempts to walk away again and he grabs her arm again. This time when she spins around she lands a right hook to his jaw.