This story takes place within the plot of Surrendering Noah, and is a continuation of Taking Risks. The narration is still from Tucker's perspective.
Two.
Olivia accepted Tucker's assessment of the Amaro situation, but she did not hide her disappointment well. Tucker admired her loyalty to her squad, particularly the loose cannon Amaro, but he certainly did not want to mislead her into thinking a promotion was a possibility for him. At the same time, he was glad he wasn't the one who would have to break the news to the aspiring sergeant; he did not envy Benson and the awkward and uncomfortable conversation she and Amaro would have to have very soon. Tucker hoped she would turn to him for empathy.
"So, what made you choose this place?" This was Tucker's first time at this restaurant and it was definitely classier than the eating and drinking establishments he frequented.
Olivia ran her hands over the marble bar. Some of the dejection had faded from her eyes. "I don't know. I thought maybe you'd like a steak. They have a great filet here. And," she took a sip of her wine, "their wine selection is fabulous."
Ed sensed she wanted to tell him something, but for some reason she held back. The news about Amaro could not have been that much of a shock to her, and once Amaro dealt with his own disappointment and viewed One PP's reasoning with a level head, he would hopefully, at least, understand. The guy had made some serious mistakes. Hell, he was lucky to still have his badge. The more Tucker thought about it, he became more and more irritated with Amaro. How could the guy expect a promotion with the thick series of misdeeds in his jacket?
Enough of this tiptoeing around the awkwardness. "Olivia, what's the matter?" He reached for her hand, subtly, under the bar, and rubbed the top of her palm with his thumb. "Tell me," he implored, his gravelly voice probably sounding to her more threatening than pleading.
She turned toward him, elbow on the bar, and ran her fingers through her brunette locks. "I'm concerned about how this whole thing with Johnny D and Noah affects us," her voice was shaky and almost a whisper. Ed leaned in closer and did not let go of her hand. "I don't know what is happening here with us Tucker, but I don't want a scenario to come up where you're accused of giving me a pass because we're seeing each other. That could get ugly. It could be another tool Johnny D uses to demand visitation with Noah. It could cost you your job."
On the bright side, Olivia's multifaceted worries included both him and Noah. Then again, perhaps this was a preface to a break-up? Were they even far enough into this thing to break up?
Tucker responded with a mixture of IAB pragmatism and boyfriend panache, "Olivia, my job is secure, and this thing with Johnny D isn't going to become an IAB investigation because the ME will confirm exactly what you said. And I hate to beat a dead horse, but why did Warner even tell you in the first place? Was that ethically required? It makes me sick to think she did that unnecessarily."
"I don't know, but it's beside the point."
Tucker continued, "And there is no problem with us having a personal relationship as long as we keep it professional when it needs to be professional. By the book. Like always. And," he trailed off thinking he had gone too far. He was going to point out that if there was an IAB investigation of SVU, he would simply dispatch another officer to handle it, but perhaps that was more explanation than was needed at the moment.
Olivia didn't let him off the hook. "And what?"
"And I can't predict the future, but whatever happens, good or bad, I'll be there for you as a friend, or…whatever." Her hand, still in his, shook slightly and tears welled in her eyes. "Come here," he pulled her toward him with one arm in a sideways embrace. Her head rested just below his chin, and he kissed the top of her head, smelling her shampoo, something floral yet not too feminine. Elegantly strong, just like her.
"Ok," she dabbed her eyes with a napkin and composed herself.
"Ok?"
"I just need this trial to be over. I need to never see Johnny D again. I need to know that Noah won't ever have to see him. I need to know I didn't screw up by being honest."
Tucker wanted to tell her everything would be ok, but he couldn't since he wasn't sure everything would be ok. There was a very real possibility Johnny D could request and be granted visits with Noah. He understood why Olivia chose to name Noah's father, but, if subterfuge were ever justified, this would be a prime example. "Listen," he said softly, "what is done is done. Let's just get through this trial, and when Johnny D is convicted, you may have to get Langan to advocate on behalf of Noah about visitation since he's technically still in the foster system."
"Another hurdle."
"Just one more. Or maybe not." Olivia finally drank some of her wine. Tucker's was nearly gone. "Do you want to go home? We could get dinner to go?"
"No," she took another, longer, drink. "Let's change the subject. Like you said, there is nothing that can be done now; everything has to play out. I made a decision and now I have to live with it," she had been speaking into her glass, but now she looked up adoringly at Tucker, "and you've been so supportive. Thank you."
Tucker motioned for the bartender to bring two more drinks. "You're welcome."
They ordered dinner, steak for him, shrimp scampi for her, and then decided to walk the ten blocks to Tucker's apartment rather than go uptown to Olivia's place. Tonight Lucy planned to stay longer than usual since Olivia had dinner plans, and it wasn't that late anyway. The sun was just beginning to set as they left the restaurant, and a cool spring breeze blew against them as they walked west from midtown to Hell's Kitchen where Tucker lived.
Situated in the West Forties, Tucker's third-floor walk-up had been his residence since his divorce fifteen years ago. It was nothing fancy but the development of the west side High Line trail and parks significantly increased the one-bedroom's value, and he'd recently renovated the kitchen and bathroom. Tucker gifted himself the renovations as a reward for being so frugal while his two daughters were in college. The younger of the two, Sarah, graduated from Cornell last December and was now interning for an accounting firm in Philadelphia. His older daughter, Brooke, taught second grade in the Bronx. Olivia examined framed photographs of the girls in various stages of their lives while Tucker poured two glasses of brandy which he thought would pair well with the caramel cake they took to go.
"Here you go," Tucker held two snifters in one hand and the cake box in the other.
Olivia took the two snifters and followed Tucker to the sofa. "Your daughters are beautiful."
"Thanks," he held up his glass, "Cheers."
"Cheers."
"I don't get to see them very often; they're so busy now. Even Brooke, she's just up there in the Bronx. I may see her once every couple of months."
"Once they get settled in their careers that could change."
"I hope so." Tucker sank back into the sofa's brown leather cushions, put his feet on the coffee table, and motioned for Olivia to come closer. She reclined against him and Tucker draped an arm protectively across her torso. He surveyed his living room, hoping there was nothing terribly out of place or dirty or incriminating. He kept a neat house, it helped that he wasn't home much, and he prided himself on his decorating which, according to Brooke, was "minimalist mid-century modern with Dad flair." The only piece that didn't quite fit was the brown leather sofa which Tucker refused to part with (inspiring the "Dad flair"). Other than the couch, the rest of his furniture was simple, he stuck to browns and blues, and his walls were all painted Decorator's White. He preferred framed historic maps and vintage photographs to painted artwork, and he owned one plant, a Boston fern, which he had been assured would never die. Overall, Tucker was proud of his setup and elated to have Benson there, even if it wasn't for the entire night.
"Do you want cake?" He asked, hoping she would say no. Her body resting against his felt so right he wished they could stay there forever. Superlatives again. Clichéd and cheesy ones at that. What was it with this woman?
"No. I think…," she sat up, facing him, "I think I want something else for dessert." She kissed him, and they both tasted like brandy—warm, spicy, intoxicating. "Or," she kissed him again, "someone."
Tucker adored how passionately she approached sex especially when just two hours earlier at the restaurant she had been so vulnerable and on the verge of a breakdown. Now, in the secure confines of his apartment, her confidence reappeared. Already, she knew exactly where he liked to be kissed, touched, and she had somehow figured out that slightly nibbling his earlobe drove him absolutely crazy. She was skilled at bringing him to the point of arousal at which he absolutely had to take over and assume control of the lovemaking so it would last longer than a few minutes, and she willingly submitted to him, this time, allowing him to affectionately jostle her into the bedroom where he slowly undressed her.
"Olivia…," suddenly, Tucker, who also did not lack for confidence, was completely speechless. He grew dizzy with desire. The feeling was familiar but it had lain dormant for some time, but now it raged through his body. He gently placed her on his bed, the bed he'd kept impeccably laundered anticipating this very moment, and kneeled before her, examining every curve, every crevice, running his hand slowly from her head to her toes. He wanted to gush that he loved her, that he had loved her for some time, that he was sorry for everything painful he'd put her through, that, sometimes, his cruelty and vindictiveness were facades for his jealousy, and he would spend the rest of his life trying to make up for all the times he had been vicious or unkind. But she was growing impatient and was pawing at his clothing, nearly tearing his polo at the neck as she yanked it from his body (not that he cared). He let himself fall on top of her, not quite ready yet, still enjoying staring into her eyes, still wanting to say something, anything, that could adequately spell out for her how thrilled he was to be here, with her, sharing this amorous moment. "You are gorgeous, Olivia." The last part of her name was slightly muffled because she pulled him to her and kissed him, almost violently probing his mouth with her tongue, groping for his buttocks, silently pleading for him to be inside her.
Sweat glistened on both their bodies. Tucker could wait no longer.
"Tucker." She gasped. "Do. Not. Stop."
Consent given, he continued, gaining even more confidence as he saw her face contort with pleasure. She screamed and arched her back, kept repeating his name, gasping and panting, running her nails all over his back, and then his biceps, and then his back again. It was rougher this time, but somehow even better. How could it possibly be better? Tucker sensed she was close, and so was he. How were they so in sync already?
Afterwards, he collapsed next to her on his belly, one leg intertwined with hers, his right hand cupping her right breast, his head curled between the left and her chin. He listened to her heartbeat and her breathing return to normal and moaned softly as she stroked his hair.
"Tucker," she said, her voice raspy, "don't take this the wrong way, but I am pleasantly surprised by you."
"I knew you'd be good, Benson."
"So you've thought about this before?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"A long time."
"How long?"
"Since I found out you moved in with Cassidy." Tucker wasn't sure if bringing up an old lover was a good move, but it was the truth.
"Why then?"
"I don't know."
"Like, during the undercover OP at the one-two?"
Uh-oh. This was not good. It had the potential to ruin the entire evening and ensure there would be no more evenings like this one. "Yes," he said sheepishly. "Actually, just before. Remember when I asked you to walk me out?"
"Yes."
"Something happened to me there. I had never known you as someone in a relationship, and it hit me you two were together, I felt sorry that you were with Cassidy and not with me." Again, Tucker cringed at his own words and expected a flurry of invective.
Olivia surprised him. "I had my doubts about Brian the second after we moved in together. I knew deep down it was doomed to fail. I did try. I had hopes."
"I was jealous," Tucker admitted, "but that's not why I did what I did."
"I know," she kissed the top of his head, "I know. I don't agree with it, but I understand."
"Would you have done the same thing?"
"No."
"Because it was Cassidy?"
"No, because it risked an officer's life. You took advantage of him."
"Another investigative method would've taken longer, more women raped, more…"
"Tucker, we could debate this all night, but I don't want to."
"Me neither. I don't want to talk about it again. I'm not proud of it." Actually, Tucker was a little proud, after all, the sting worked and at least a dozen dirty cops were brought up on charges ranging from misconduct to aggravated assault, but he and Benson were never going to see eye to eye on this one. Better to let it go.
Olivia gently pushed him aside and got out of bed.
"Where are you going?"
"Cake," she said brightly, "and brandy." He loved how she stayed undressed for the trip to the living room. She returned with the two glasses, the box, and a fork. They finished the cake in bed, alternately giving one another bites, and even got in a second round of sex before Olivia had to head home.
Later that night, alone, save for the rest of the brandy, Tucker assessed the relationship. He still had not managed to be completely honest with her about his vision for their collective future though he had come close. Still, at least he knew he had more time. Olivia was not on the verge of pushing him out of her life; instead, she was in the unenviable position of trying to weave her life into his without collateral damage. He only wished she would come to the realization that she didn't have to piece everything together on her own.
Tucker picked up his phone. Come back anytime. Miss you already.
Her response was quick although slightly aloof. Sooner rather than later? Night. Miss you too. -O