A one-shot set in any season you'd like-I like to think season 8 or 9, Elliot is divorced. :) Elliot does a little experiment in order to see what kind of guy is Olivia's "type".
Inspiration comes from various areas: a little snippet of The Chaos of Stars (hence, the title), a dream I had and the official possibility of Tucker and Olivia banging. -Gets me heated, so I need to purge and replace the negativity with EO. :)(:
I own nothing. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!
Olivia couldn't discern where the fault lay, but she was certain she was pissed at Elliot. He had been a pretty big asshole this week. Then again, maybe she was just being extra emotional-it happens.
It started at the beginning of the week when the two were out on a case, tracking down a potential perp. The junkie lived in a shitty basement apartment that looked like it earned a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records for harboring a rare strain of an infectious disease. Rooms were filled with boxes, cartons of take-out food lay strewn in random places, needles and rubber bands on the ground, etc.
For starters, Elliot never held the door for her…the whole time they were there! At first she shrugged it off, who gives a fuck. She thought: I'm an independent woman, I don't need no man, fuck the patriarchy. As they climbed over piles of cardboard boxes, he pushed his way to the front of the que and left her behind to fend for herself. Again, who gives a fuck? Not Detective Olivia IHavePowerAndAVagina Benson, that's for sure!
As the day heaved on, she felt like he was intentionally trying to piss her off. He let her pick up the lunch tab, without saying a word; he commented on her shirt, saying that it 'looked like a shade of vomit'; and whenever they were talking he demanded his presence, talking over her.
The next day, it was even worse: she spent the whole day doing it all while he sat quietly. They had to interview five people and she did all of the talking while he stood by not saying a word. She would try to bounce ideas off of him and, instead of his usual retorts or divergences, he would simply agree with her.
"You alright? You seem a little quiet." She mentioned when they got back into the Sedan. He nodded and shrugged, seeming complacent. Maybe he had been going through a rough patch with his kids or Kathy. Now that his divorce was final, she expected him to act out but this was getting ridiculous. He should know how to separate personal from professional by now.
The next morning, this morning, she entered the building already fuming and ready to pick a fight with him. What kind of asshole would he be today? Would he be over whatever rough patch he had been going through? These questions were soon interrupted by the heavenly aroma of coffee and something sweet.
"Morning." Elliot spoke while putting the creamer back into the mini-fridge and setting a cup of Olivia's favorite Kona coffee at her desk along with a warm sugared croissant. His welcoming and cheerful demeanor was such a stark contrast from the previous days that she couldn't help but to give him a wide-eyed look.
"…morning." Her eyes narrowed and she tried to read him, hoping to grasp some sense of what the hell was going on. She knew something was going on when he pulled her desk chair out for her and waited for her to sit so he could push it in.
"What's all this?" She didn't sound charmed, nor happy, really; her voice held a hint of offense and irritation within it.
"It's nothing," He shrugged while reclaiming his seat opposite her. "Just thought you could use some coffee…you've probably got as little sleep as I have by now."
She didn't buy that nonchalant (bullshit) story for one second, but wasn't about to reject free coffee and food at 7 AM. She was still pissed, boy was she pissed, but had work to do and set off on doing it.
An hour or so passed in silence, other than the clicking of them typing and the occasional shuffling of papers. Munch and Fin had been rewarded three days off for maintaining clean jackets, while these two were benched for…rebelling, slightly…
The last case had pushed their boundaries on what was morally right and what was legal. Rape cases are hard enough to prosecute with sufficient evidence, and their case was slowly losing admissible evidence. The perp had already confessed but the judge ruled it inadmissible on the grounds that the confession was coerced by the detectives. They knew the guy was guilty but were lacking undeniable proof.
After further questioning of the victim's neighbors, the partners were made aware of a complaint made to the victim by another tenant on the night of the rape. The tenant had complained of a cigarette smell, as if someone had been smoking in the victim's apartment. Knowing the perp smoked, Olivia and Elliot decided to give the crime scene another look, even though the victim wasn't home…no one needed to know that.
It was their lucky day as the apartment door was left open a crack. Olivia craned her neck to peer in, seeing a cigarette butt wedged between the carpet and the wall…not exactly in plain view, but nobody would need to know that either. With DNA placing the perp at the apartment, the judge readmitted the confession (on a technicality sent from above) and the perp's fate was signed: 15-25 years.
Unfortunately for them, Cragen was able to see right through their facades and identical stories and accused them (more like outed them) of tampering with the evidence and falsifying the case. Though he couldn't prove it, he could punish them and thus, benched and swamped them with paperwork while throwing Munch and Fin a bone.
And here they were...
Olivia shivered visibly, wondering why the air conditioning unit was on in mid-February.
"Cold?" Elliot asked, peering over his papers and smiling.
"I'm fine." Her response was just as cold as the temperature and she didn't bother looking up. It was no doubt that he had been officially put on her shit-list for the past couple days. Before she had time to protest, he was up and out of his chair and draping his huge winter jacket over her shoulders.
She stared at him as he went to his small locker and pulled a sweatshirt out and over his head.
"What are you doing?"
He shrugged. "Nothing. Whaddya mean?"
"The chair, coffee and now this?" She motioned to the warm jacket enveloping her. If she was being honest, she didn't mind at all. His jacket smelled like him (duh) and she wanted nothing more than to burrow into it and live there forever.
"I'm just…treating you how you ought to be treated." His words were drawn out as he fought himself on whether or not to say them. She was shocked that he had admitted something like that to her, and so openly.
"Oh…well…then why were you being such an asshole for the past two days?" She stood up, slipping her arms into the armholes of the jacket and walking towards him. She hoped to intimidate him, as if he were being interrogated, but had zero chance of looking so in his over-sized jacket.
With a big smirk on his face he gave her body an amused and appreciative look-over while chewing on his tongue. He wasn't sure if he should just come right out and tell her what his ulterior motives had been for the past couple days or to suppress them and continue on with his experiment. After noticing her getting impatient, he decided to confess.
"I was just trying to…figure you out." He offered, hoping it would suffice but knowing it wouldn't. He walked past her and took a seat at his desk. She followed suite.
"And just what the hell does that mean?" She tried to cross her arms but the excess material of the jacket made it impossible. He took a deep breath and sighed before he completely fessed to her.
"Listen, and don't take this the wrong way but, the guys were talking about ya an-"
"What guys?!" She had heard male officers trash talk in the locker room before, and she was sure she didn't want her name falling on their tongues.
"That doesn't matter. It was all in good fun. Anyways, a couple were wondering what your 'type' is." He made air quotes and pushed some files aside so she could sit on the edge of his desk.
"My 'type'?! What, they don't have anything else to wonder about other than what kind of guy I'm interested in, just so-"
"Liv. Calm down. It's really not the worst thing I've heard them say about you…but I still told 'em to fuck off." This was the truth. Other officers were always making remarks about her ass, how they'd love for her to handle their gun 'that way' or asking Elliot when he was going to 'consummate their partnership'. He had always set them straight, but had also usually and secretly concurred with their remarks.
"I can handle myself, ya know. Just because I have an ass and DDs doesn't mean I can't! Next time, tell me and I'll set them straight." She stood and stomped back to her desk, clearly pissed. He loved the way her cheeks flushed with color when she was angry.
"I know that…but, I was curious, too…that's what all this has been about." As he admitted this, he could see her boiling anger start to bubble down and turn into something a little cooler. She sat thinking about everything for a moment.
"You were testing me…to see what kind of guy I was into…?" He nodded hesitantly and awaited her fury. Instead of rage, it was laughter that warmed her heart as she started giggling at the realization.
"Why are you laughing…" Laughter was never a good sign, especially when it came to his partner. But maybe just this once…
"You son-of-a-bitch." Nope, definitely not this time. She stood and started to pace a little.
"So, Tuesday. What was that? The obnoxiously rude type?" She interrogated and he nodded sheepishly.
"And Wednesday, the submissive type?" Again, he nodded. He was beginning to think he should have just kept his mouth shut.
"And today was the gentlemen type. My only question is why?" Now she was in full interrogation mode. She bent over his desk with her arms supporting her as she leaned close to him and gave him the stare down.
"Why what?" Feeling a little more ballsy, he leaned in towards her and reciprocated the stare down. Who was interrogating who?
"Why did you want to know what my type was?" She asked. That was the money-shot. She had hypothesized, okay hoped, that he had some interest in her and that's why he wanted to know. But, she brushed that thought aside and focused on reality.
"You know why." He stood and turned away from her in irritation. He didn't want to play this game anymore. They had tiptoed on this subject for far too long and neither had the patience to sustain their positions.
"I need a little clarification, then!" She raised her voice and stood in front of him, forcing him to look at her.
Their glances caught and were immediately melded together, unbreakable, as their souls settled together. Confronting their love was unavoidable, now.
Elliot remembered it was his turn to speak, but couldn't. What was he to say to her? Oh I love you. I've always loved you? That wasn't their style. Plus, he was a firm believer that actions speak louder than words.
In one swift movement, he snaked his hand through the opening of the jacket and around her waist, pulling her close to him. The look in her eyes and the small smile on her lips gave him all the consent he needed.
He captured her lips with his, cupping her chin with his free hand while she wrapped her arms around his neck. It didn't take long for her to become an active member and she was soon begging for entrance, which he granted. Their tongues danced together, their hands roamed and the million butterflies in their stomachs had just been released.
He traced his hands up her back, under the jacket, before sliding them down to her ass and giving her a firm squeeze, eliciting a rough groan from her. They started to move backwards, towards the desks, not knowing who was pushing or pulling.
He took her thighs, just below her ass, and lifted her with ease, causing her to wrap her legs around his waist. They couldn't stop, they didn't want to stop.
They soon backed into Elliot's desk and he sat so she could kneel over his lap on the desk. Someplace in the four-foot distance between where they were and the desk is when Olivia lost the jacket. She couldn't recall how that happened but was grateful for the newfound freedom.
Her new elevation gave her an advantage which she quickly utilized. She grabbed a tuft of his hair and angled his head back, giving her greater access to his mouth from which moans were falling out of.
It was when she felt his growing arousal that she snapped out of it. She didn't regret anything and certainly didn't want to stop, but their location was not ideal. She slowly pulled away, the speed agonizing as she bit and released his bottom lip in the process.
When he opened his eyes, he saw his partner: disheveled hair, smeared lip-gloss, pupils slightly dilated and the sexiest most beautiful creature he ever laid eyes on. They rested in that position for a few moments; him perched on the desk while she on her knees straddling him, hands still entangled in his hair and his hands still on her ass.
"How's that for clarification?" Was all he managed to mumble. She laughed throatily and rested her head in the crook of his neck, trying to suppress her laughs.
She sounded genuinely happy, to him. It was a rare occasion to get Olivia Benson to laugh genuinely and he wasn't about to miss it. He raised her chin to look at him so he could see her smile. Seeing that smile, he was convinced he could go the rest of his life without seeing another smile and he'd be happy.
Still smiling down at him, she began to stroke his cheek, not breaking eye contact.
"You really wanna know my type?" He had never heard this voice from his partner. It was so raw and full of emotion; he could die happy now. Not wanting to hear his voice, only her's, he just smiled and nodded.
She sighed happily and got down to stand in between his legs while he remained seated on the desk.
"It's you." Each letter of those words contained every ounce of happiness in the world. The past didn't matter, nor did the future. It was in this moment-the here and now-that they wanted to remember for the rest of their lives.
They embraced again, kissing again, loving again, relishing in the fact that there even is an again. They didn't know what this (whatever it was) meant, if it was a thing, if it would be long-term or not, etc.
They knew they were happy, in the most pure and aesthetic sense, in one another's arms.
He was her type and she his. Their souls had long ago conspired to join, and now that they were together at last, nothing would sever the bond.
And I'd choose you;
in a hundred lifetimes,
in a hundred worlds,
in any version of reality,
I'd find you and
I'd choose you.
- Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars