A/N: We climbed towards the sun, We turned and cursed as one, We pulled the shades and closed our eyes (Scandinavian Skies - Billy Joel)
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters as written on the TV show, but this version of them? All mine.
"You sure you don't have anywhere to be?" Olivia eyed her partner carefully, bringing the long-necked amber bottle to her lips. She kept focus as she took a swig of the beer, her third, and made a show of licking her lips and giving a refreshed moan. She knew what she was doing, and she knew he was married and wouldn't take the bait, but there were fifty other single guys at the bar who would. She knew how to play the game.
Elliot, staring transfixed, smirked and shook his head. "Nope," he said firmly, and then ran his tongue along his teeth. "I, uh, I noticed…" he scratched a spot behind his left ear nervously, "You...you were great with those little boys." He reached for his beer bottle. "Actually, I saw a couple different sides of you, tonight, but when you were with those kids…" his smirk grew into a warmer smile as the bottle reached his mouth. "It was beautiful." He sipped, swallowed, and watched the rosy tinge build in her cheeks. "You're beautiful." He shrugged. "And kinda scary."
She chuckled, her eyes now dropped to the bottle in her hands, her fingernails picking away at the wet and peeling label. Her insecurities bubbled to the surface along with her inability to accept compliments. "Thanks," she said softly. For a brief moment, the faces of the two young boys flashed in her mind. "Your turn," she muttered, pushing work to the back of her mind and jutting her chin at him. They'd been playing a game of Twenty Questions, covering trivial things like favorite colors and allergies, taking turns interrogating each other. The questions were just starting to dig deeper, and she used hers on a hypothetical, regretting it now.
"Right, uh," he blinked. "Do you have any tattoos?" He cringed at himself, knowing which part of his brain had formed the question and cursing the rest of it for not stopping him from asking it.
Darting her eyes to his, she grinned. "One."
"What is it?" he questioned. Every hair on his body stood on end, and he grinned at her curiously. "Where is it?"
"A sun and a moon," she told him, lifting up her bottle again. "And nowhere you're ever gonna see." She winked at him and downed the rest of her beer.
He waited for her to swallow, winked back, and said, "Don't bet on it." He watcher her raise a brow and he chuckled. "I meant at work. Ya know, we get hurt, we get messy, we all share a locker room and a shower, the bunks when we pull the long ones...I might eventually see…"
"I don't think your wife would appreciate it," she said, shooting a glance at his left hand. She felt a pang of jealousy, but wasn't sure why. She'd only known the man for nineteen hours, yet had undeniable chemistry with him. Something just clicked, and she couldn't shake the feeling that they'd met somewhere before, but couldn't figure it out. She shook away the nagging feeling, and she cleared her throat. "You're right, though, I mean, there's a good chance you'll see it, eventually."
"Does it have any…" he paused, squinting as he ran his hand down the length of his beer and grabbed it firmly. "Any special meaning behind it?" He nodded toward his rolled up sleeve. "Mine are all very...special. Powerful significance, ya know?"
She nodded and moved to signal someone to bring two more beers to their table. Once she had, she looked back at Elliot. "It's, um...it's a cover-up."
"Oh, no," he laughed. "Let me guess. You got a guy's name tattooed on your ass and…"
"It's covering a scar," she interrupted, her tone almost offended. Had she come off easy? Did she really make that kind of impression on him?
His eyes lost their sparkle as he realized his mistake. "I didn't…" he leaned closer to her. "I was kidding. I'm sorry, I…most of my partners have been guys, I'm not really used to shootin' the shit with a woman. I really didn't mean to offend..." He was interrupted when the bartender dropped two fresh bottles of beer in front of him, and then made a mildly seductive face at Olivia. Elliot furrowed his brow, scoffing, as he watched Olivia return the gaze. He glared at the man as he sauntered away, then shook his head, irritated, gulping his beer.
Olivia hid her crooked smile behind her bottle as she took her first sip of beer number four. After swallowing hard, she looked down at the half-gone plate of fries and asked, "How old were you when you…"
"Scar from what?" His question overlapped hers.
They shared a laugh, kept eye-contact as they sipped their beers again, and then Olivia held out a hand. "Technically it was my turn, so you answer first." She poked at a fry with her finger before grabbing it. "How old were you when you joined the service." She popped the fry into her mouth. As she chewed, she added, "Eagle, globe, and anchor. Marines, right?" She eyes the tattoo on his forearm, for the first time taking in the curve and tension of the muscle. She took another long sip of beer, dragging her eyes back up to meet his.
He reached over and took a fry for himself, swiped it through the small puddle of ketchup on the plate, and nodded. With a mouth full, he said, "Eighteen." He saw the stun on her face. "Yeah, I made a mistake...well, a couple of them, during my senior year in high school. I had to own up to them. Do what I had to do." He shrugged and sipped his beer. "It all made me who I am, so I don't regret it, I just...regret why I had to go in so young."
"What mistakes?" she asked, her hand resting on her beer bottle, her knuckles barely brushing against his, curled around his own beer as well.
"Nuh-uh," he joked, taking another fry. "Now you need to answer my question." He shot one brow up, daring her, and tossed the fry into his mouth with a grin.
"I don't…" she licked her lips and shook her head. Her thoughts drifted back to the fight that led to the wound that scarred so badly it required two surgeries and a tattoo to even out. She blinked, trying to forget, and she caught her lip between her teeth. It wasn't something she'd ever told anyone, a secret buried so deep even her own consciousness couldn't accept the full story. Glancing at her partner, she told him, "I haven't known you long enough to…"
"Wait," he stopped her with narrow eyes, scooted his chair around the table to slide next to her, and lowered his voice to an intimate level. "Line of duty?" he asked, and then grew pale with worry. "Oh, oh God, is it something you need to report to…"
She stopped him fast, eager to put his mind at ease for the time being. "No, no, I could tell you all about every injury I got on the job if you want," she exhaled as her eyes closed, her right hand raked through her hair as her left gripped her bottle tighter. She took a long, slow gulp of her beer, and then set the bottle down and pushed it away. "You asked if it meant something." She twisted in her seat. "The tattoo...it's a half-moon and a, well, half-sun. Very intricately designed, with detailed faces, the clouds around the moon and the sun's rays...they swirl in these patterns that just…" she smiled and leaned over on her elbows, "It's beautiful."
"Sounds like it," he said, trying unsuccessfully to convince himself not to imagine where it was. He sipped his beer, needing the cooling off, and afterward, he told her, "If I can't see it in person, show me a picture."
She laughed, her head falling back on its own, and when she felt his hand on her shoulder she popped back upright, still laughing softly. "Maybe," she said with a small bow of her head. "Anyway it...it's supposed to symbolize the circle of life, an ending and a beginning. The sun...represents strength and power, and a rebirth...and the moon is a…"
"Feminine symbology," he broke in, "Beauty, grace, fertility...womanhood. It's a goddess symbol." He noticed the surprised smile on her face as she nodded at him, and he stroked his tie proudly. "I took a comparative religion class in college. The unit on symbolism is the only one I remember." They shared another chuckle and then he said, "I haven't known you for a full day, yet, but I can tell, that tattoo is...very you."
"Thanks," she smiled, almost embarrassed, and then took a fast sip of her beer. "My original intent was just the moon, but...because of the shape and size of my scar...it's got these jagged edges on one side that wouldn't have been covered. The artist came up with the idea to add the sun, and when he told me what it signified I was sold." She shrugged with a chortle, sipped her beer again, and then looked right at Elliot. "As for how I got the scar? It's just...not something I can tell you about." She paused. "Yet."
He nodded, understanding the tone of her voice. "Got it," he whispered to her. "I won't bring it up. Not until you do. And, Benson, I hope eventually you will." His eyes twitched and he jerked his head a bit. "We need to trust each other, kid."
"I know we do," she sighed. "Hell of a first day on the job," she breathed, rubbing her eyes.
He grinned at her. "Yeah, but you held your own in that interrogation room," he slapped her on the shoulder and leaned back in his chair. "You were cool and confident, and I'm being honest, here, I have never had a partner play off of me the way you did. We got the coach to confess in, what, ten minutes? We...work." He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he raised both brows and nodded, as if surprised by how well and how quickly they seemed to find their rhythm. "You done?" he pointed to the fries.
"Oh, yeah," she said, scooting back so he could pull the dish away. She checked her watch and gasped softly. "We should go. It's almost midnight," she said, standing fast.
"Shit, really?" he spat. He didn't seem concerned, just surprised that so much time had passed, that they'd spent so long at the bar just talking to each other. He smiled, noting to himself that it was the first time he had someone to really talk to, and that it came so easily with her. "You need a ride home?"
"I only live a couple of blocks from here, I'll walk," she said as she shook her head and pulled on her jacket. "You need to get home before Kristy kills you."
He threw a fifty-dollar bill on the table and laughed as he corrected her. "Kathy," he said. "Her name's Kathy. You...you sure? I don't know how comfortable I am with you walking home this late."
She looked at him as though he had three heads. "It's eleven-forty-five on a Wednesday night," she scoffed, "And I have a gun." She patted her right hip and ran her fingers through her shoulder-length locks again. "Thanks, for this," she pointed to the table and the money. "The guys at the station...they said you don't really warm up to people, which I fully understand, I'm the same way, so this wasn't necessary. But it was...nice. I had a great time, actually."
He tugged on the hem of his suit jacket and narrowed his eyes. "They said what?" He let out a bitter huff and then shook his head, looking at her. "I didn't buy you dinner as some kind of first-day-at-work-thing. I really...I wanted to get to know you a little bit better. I have this feeling…"
He didn't get to finish his sentence. His phone rang, and when he fished it out of his pocket and looked at the number flashing on the screen, he held up a finger, telling Olivia she wasn't going anywhere. "Hey, Cap. Yeah, no I was...okay. I know where she lives, yeah. No, you...you picked a good one this time, yeah." He smiled at her as he spoke, and he scraped his teeth over his lip as he realized he'd made her blush again. "Got it. Bye."
"Caught something?" she asked, though she knew the answer already.
"Fifteen year old girl," he sighed as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. "Found on the steps of the Fifty-Seventh Street station." He pressed his lips together and cursed under his breath. He hated the cases involving children, especially the ones where the help came for them too late. "You sober enough to…"
"Trust me," she said, eyeing him meaningfully. "It takes a lot more than a couple of beers." She popped her chin at him. "What about you?"
"I'm genetically gifted with a high tolerance," he replied, and he got closer to her and then whispered, "I saw the look in your eyes when I asked. I know it well. Mother or father?"
She didn't hesitate. "Mother."
"Father," he countered, and he gave her another pat on the back. "Looks like we already have more in common than we bargained for, kid." He nudged her forward, and appreciated the view ahead of him as they walked through the bar toward the doors.
She pushed the door open, and behind her, she heard him on the phone with his wife, telling her he was still at work and wouldn't be home. Her eyes narrowed as she strained to let his words register. Not his current conversation, but one already spoken. His admission back at the bar, his acknowledgement of his father's alcoholic nature, had flicked on a light bulb. She smiled as she heard the beep and click of their unit car unlocking, and she laughed softly as she pulled on the handle.
She finally remembered how she knew Elliot, but had no intention of telling him. She couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he figured it out for himself.
A/N: How do they know each other? Tensions run high at work, another partnerly conversation, and Kathy meets Olivia, next.