Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Unfortunately, Dick Wolf does. Some of the dialogue is taken from 13x10, "Spiraling Down". Not mine, either.
A/N 1: Thanks again for all the reviews, favorites and alerts. I heart you all. :) I apologize for the delay. I had a term paper, an essay, and a book report due and also went on a mini-vacation to Ireland. While there, I caught a cold that really knocked me out and I am now slowly getting back to my feet. So it took me a while to get this out.
A/N 2: This was a prompt sent to me by katvrah, wanting the chapter to be set in "Spiraling Down" and wanting me to include their fight in the courthouse hallway. For those of you who don't know the episode, you might want to do some research and read what happened. I hope you enjoy. :) Once again, I took a few liberties regarding the plot. ;)
Chapter 3: Fume
"Love is louder than all your pain."
You are standing in front of one of the courthouse elevators, watching the doors close and your wife disappear behind them. You are fuming and hurt at the same time. How could she? Hell, you know that you screwed up. Big time. There was no need for her to rub it in your face. To take a tone with you that made you feel like a chastised child. To patronize you in the middle of the courthouse hallway, for all to see and for all to hear.
xxxx
The two of you were walking out of the courtroom and through the hallway, Alex strutting next to you, fuming.
"That was ugly."
"Al, Ellis was just doing his job. Stanton is not competent. I tried to warn you –"
"Warn me? You walked me right into it! You wanted a sting operation; you wanted to prosecute all the johns for rape!"
You refrained from pointing out that Amaro had actually been the one suggesting the sting because you wanted your head to stay on your shoulders. In her current mood, she would bite it right off. Wife or not. So you tried the calm approach, tried to reason with your wife of almost two years.
"The guilty ones. Stanton didn't –"
"You don't get to cherry pick! What are we supposed to do? Prosecute some of the johns and not Stanton? What kind of message does that send?"
You could barely suppress your eye-roll. You hated being interrupted. It was a form of showing utter disrespect to other people and you just despised it. She went on with her rant, "That the DA's office gives sports stars a free pass? You want justice for her, you want compassion for him. You can't have it both, Olivia. The world doesn't work that way!"
You balled your fists at your sides at her tone. One last try to be rational about this.
"Alex –"
"And I don't even want to know how Ellis showed up in your squad room."
That was the final straw. You didn't think Alex noticed the flash of pain in your eyes because she was too busy fuming over the seemingly lost case.
xxxx
You are sitting next to Nick when the verdict is announced.
"We find the defendant not guilty."
So the case is indeed lost. You know you messed up, but you can't suppress the warm feeling you get when you see poor Jake Stanton hug his wife, happy about being able to go home with her. It is a difficult situation. You did suggest that Alex prosecute the johns, but the sting was Amaro's idea. Who could have known that during the sting Amanda would handcuff Jake Stanton, the big football star who had suffered from so many concussions throughout his career that he would not even remember what he had done?
However, this one is on you. You already said it to Ellis when he asked why you were putting your job on the line. It is your fault that Stanton had to stand trial. It is your fault that 14-year-old Vicky did not get justice because you wanted the johns being prosecuted.
The crowd slowly dispersed, people leaving the courtroom gradually. You look over to Amaro, who is talking to Vicky's dad, and decide to wait for him. That is until Alex stalks past you, without so much as glancing at you, staring straight ahead, chin held high. Now, you definitely need some fresh air. You get up and make a beeline for the exit.
Waiting on the stairs leading to and from the courthouse, you get a brief glance at Alex hailing a cab after having talked to the press. Having gotten Alex's statement, the whole bunch of journalists swarm Stanton and his wife to get interviews.
You turn to face the exit and keep an eye out for Nick. After a couple of minutes, he makes his way through the doors, looking exhausted.
"I had no idea what to say to Vicky's father."
You give him a look of understanding, "Nobody wins here, Nick."
"I guess you're right," he smiles. "So, that wife of yours seemed pretty agitated when she left. Are you two okay? I saw you in the hallway earlier."
You bury your hands into your coat pockets and look to the ground. "I think there is not anybody who didn't see or hear us… Well, her… in the hallway earlier, Nick."
He squeezes your shoulder, conveying in his own way that he thinks you and Alex are going to be okay. Before you can give him a thankful smile, Stanton has overpowered a court officer and gotten a hold of his gun, holding it to his own head now.
Nick and you pull your own guns, making your way down the steps, trying to reason with a clearly distraught man, holding a gun.
"Jake… Jake… Look at me. Please."
Come on, Jake. Look at me.
He does. There you go. "Jake, put the gun down."
However, you have not even finished the sentence when his eyes glaze over again.
"Jake, look at me. Drop the gun. Drop the gun, Jake. Drop the gun. Come on, Jake."
You see doubt flicker in his eyes and you know you have gotten through to him.
He slowly lowers his gun and so do Nick and you, sensing the danger being over. Suddenly, many things happen at once. You hear a gunshot cutting through the air and see Stanton fall to the ground with a thud, his wife screaming in agony. You run down the stairs, your heart pounding in your chest, adrenaline pumping through your veins.
As soon as you are at Jake's side, along with his wife, you feel his pulse while calling an ambulance. It is weak but there, so you take off your jacket and cover his lower half with it until the bus arrives.
"Stay with us, Jake. Come on," you plead, applying pressure to his wound continuing to check his pulse, your hand leaving blood stains all over his neck. You press your right hand firmly to his chest and fight to keep your emotions in check; fight to not flash back to the night Alex was shot and you found yourself in a similar position. Kneeling on the floor, pressing your hands to a gunshot wound, blood seeping out uncontrollably. You feel Jake's pulse weaken until there is none anymore.
"No, no, no, no! Jake, stay with me!"
You bring your ear to his face, but he is not breathing.
"Jake, come on! Don't do this to me," you plead, rolling up your sleeves and starting CPR. "Where is that damn bus? Come on, Jake! Please!"
You try to get his heart to beat again, try to make him breathe again, but to no avail.
Within minutes, or hours, you have lost track of time, the bus is there and you make room for the paramedics. They continue what you have started, but it is too late. Jake Stanton is dead and it is your fault. You are sitting on the steps, blood staining your hands and blouse, Nick at your side, his hand on your back. You are staring at a spot on the ground in front of you, trying to keep it together. You wanted to prosecute the johns and now Jake Stanton is lying on the courthouse steps. Dead.
You can hear Nick's voice through the fog, but you are not listening until he tries again.
"Liv? Olivia?"
You blink, back in the present, and look up at him. "What?"
"Do you want me to call Al-"
"NO!"
He flinches slightly at your tone, but his hand stays on your back. "Let's get you to the precinct, clean you up and wrap up the paperwork."
All you can do is nod dumbly, "Okay."
xxxx
You sigh, placing your elbows onto your desk, burying your head in your hands, when your phone starts ringing for the umpteenth time tonight. You know it is Alex, but you just cannot deal with her now. Not over the phone.
You have changed into NYPD sweats and a shirt, your clothes having been neatly folded into evidence bags, and you are now trying to finish the paperwork, but the images of Stanton lying there in his own blood keep coming back to you. However, sometimes the lines start to blur and the image changes to the sidewalk in front of O'Malley's seven years ago, your perfect blonde angel lying on the ground, her blood on your hands, while you begged her to stay with you.
You take a sharp breath and stand up, pacing the floor of the bullpen. If you hadn't suggested that Alex prosecute the johns, Stanton would still be alive. This sentence echoes through your head like a mantra, driving you insane. You desperately wish to turn back time; to change everything that happened today and the last week. You wish that Alex was her to make it all better, but your fight comes to your mind again. It makes you want to cry because you hate fighting with Alex. The two of you have always had passionate fights, but none of them was like the one today. You are in an equal partnership. At least that is what you thought. Never has it been like today. Maybe it was the stress. Alex has been irritated and on edge the whole week. She snubbed Amaro and the Captain, but never has she cut you short in a patronizing manner in the years you have been together; until today. You start your third round in pacing the bullpen and come to a halt when perfectly polished shoes come into view. You stop just shy of running into the Captain and look up. He is looking at you with concerned eyes and you know when he opens his mouth that he will talk to you in this fatherly tone and it makes you want to cry even more.
"Go home, Olivia."
"Cap –"
"Go home to your wife. She called five minutes ago. She is worried. So you, Missus, have to go."
"But I don't wanna!"
You realize that you just sounded like a ten-year-old and you let out a snort of laughter. The Captain joins in and places his hands on your elbows, catching your eyes with his. There is a sparkle in them, "Go home, Liv. Sort things out with her. It's what you need to do. There's nothing the two of you can't overcome. Go to her. Now. Consider it an order."
You know he is kidding because the sparkle has not left his eyes but at the same time, he is very serious about this.
"Okay. Alex will have my ass for not calling her back."
"Yes, she will. But you will have to just suck that up because in fact, you didn't call her back."
"Yeah, I know."
He pats your back before making his way back into his office, closing the door behind him. You sigh deeply before pulling on a gray NYPD sweater over your t-shirt, getting your purse from your desk drawer, and making your way to your car to go and beard the lioness in her den.
xxxx
You greet the doorman as you enter the apartment building, dragging yourself to the elevator, emotionally exhausted and not keen to ride to the top floor. You just want to shower and go to bed. However, this has to be settled as soon as possible, although you are so not ready to deal with your wife. You can only imagine what is waiting for you behind this penthouse door. Alex greeting you with a snippy comment or a steely glare, Alex giving you the cold shoulder altogether. All these are possible scenarios.
The elevator doors open with a soft ding and you step inside, pressing the top floor button. You lean your head back against the wall, watching the little red numbers over your head on the other wall counting up with each floor. Another ding and the doors open. You take a deep breath and step outside, turning right and making your way down the hallway to your penthouse door. You search for your keys in your purse. Once you have found it, you hesitate just in front of the lock, inhaling deeply once more before slowly letting the stream of air out. You slide the key into the lock and turn it, opening the door. You close it behind you, dropping your keys into the bowl on the entry way table. You rid yourself of your shoes, hanging your purse on the coat rack. You close your eyes, breathing deeply and turning around to face whatever it is that is about to come. You make your way to the living room. You notice that it is empty and take a right into the open kitchen area to pour yourself a glass of scotch. You open the cupboard and get the bottle from the top shelf before pulling out a glass and setting both down on the island. You are about to unscrew the cap when you hear a sound coming from the bedroom. You look up. What you see takes your breath away and you almost drop the bottle. Alex steps out of the bedroom, dressed in nothing but an oversized t-shirt, her feet bare, all two hundred and forty miles of her legs on display, nursing a glass of wine.
Really, Alex? Fucking hell! A fucking nightshirt that ends fucking mid-thigh? Fuck you!
You pour yourself a generous amount of amber liquid before capping the bottle and putting it back into the cabinet. You take your glass and make your way to the couch.
"What the fuck were you thinking, Olivia?"
Here we go…
"Please, Alex… I don't have it in me right now. Give me a second."
"Give you a second? I called you twenty times and nothing! No call, no text, nothing! Then you come home after, pardon my French, screwing up my case and say that you don't have it in you? With all due respect, but I don't really care!"
Tears spring to your eyes at her words. They hurt so much you do not think you can handle them. You take a large sip from your glass before standing up and making your way over to the window, making sure she sees the pain in your eyes this time.
"Oh, come on, Olivia. Stop acting like a wounded puppy."
You spin around, your eyes blazing, your heart pounding in your chest. "Your tone is inappropriate, Alex."
She lets out a snort. "Inappropriate? And you expect what exactly? A special treatment because we're married and you had your fingers inside of me last night?"
That is when you lose it. Ignoring her hurtful comment that was so not like her, you step right in front of her, your faces inches apart. Your voice is frighteningly calm, "How dare you? What I expect is for you to treat me with respect. Not only because I'm your wife, but also because I'm one of the detectives on your squad. I know that I made a mistake. Hell, blame it all on me if you're so keen on doing so. It's on me. But you were just standing there, in the middle of the courthouse hallway, treating me like shit. Like shit! And everyone was there to witness it."
"So this is about your bruised ego? I'm really sorry, Olivia." You could hear the sarcasm overflowing in her voice, making you even more angry.
"No, this is not about anyone's bruised ego. This is about you getting your ass off of your high horse. Because mistakes happen. I'm sorry I fucked this up. I take all the blame, but you talked to me like I didn't know what I was doing. I'm not living in a world of rainbows, unicorns, butterflies, and fucking fluffy baby kittens. I've been doing this for the last twenty years. I know how the world works and I am a senior detective and your fucking wife, not one of your law students."
With that, you step around her. You have had enough. You both had to sleep on it and talk in the morning. You are about to tell her just that when she yanks you back on your arm.
"Don't you dare to walk away from me!"
You turn back around and look at her. Her eyes are a shade darker, her lips slightly parted. You pull her toward you and crash your lips together, letting your tongue invade her mouth instantly. She pushes at your shoulders at first, but you keep pushing her backwards until her back hits the wall next to the bedroom door. She moans and this is answer enough for you. She wants this. Your mouth descends her neck, biting firmly, marking her, your hands pulling her shirt over her head, throwing it aside. She is not wearing a bra, only a barely there thong and your mouth goes dry. You envelop her right breast, letting your tongue swirl, sucking full force while your hand squeezes the other one roughly, pinching the nipple every now and then.
Her head hits the wall behind her with a dull thud, moaning, her hands going to your hair. You stop her, taking her hands into yours, pinning them over her head. Your right hand wanders down over her belly, massaging her through her panties.
You groan loudly at the feeling of her wetness soaking your fingers through the fabric.
With that, you wrap her left leg around your waist before pushing her thong aside and entering her swiftly with two fingers. She lets out a whimper and you start thrusting. Hard and deep, curling your fingers every time you pull out. She meets you halfway, bringing her hips down with force. She is a sight. Her eyes are boring into yours, her hands still trapped against the wall, her hips thrusting down, her breasts bouncing lightly with the force of her downward thrusts. You bring your mouth down to the top of her breast, sucking, leaving a mark once again. You can feel her thighs twitching and you know that she is close. You bring your thumb to her clit, flicking it firmly, feeling her walls starting to clench your fingers.
"Come for me, Alex!" you growl into her shoulder, biting down hard. They were the first words any of you has spoken and with that, she traps your fingers completely inside her and crashes down around you with a loud moan, making it impossible for you to move. So you keep stroking the sweet spot inside her while your thumb keeps stroking her clit, letting her ride it out.
You let your head fall onto her shoulder, letting her hands go, listening as her breathing slows and you feel tears stinging in your eyes. She strokes your head and whispers, "We will still have to talk about this, Liv."
"I know."
All your emotions come forward at once, tears falling, your shoulders shaking, a sob leaving you. You pull out of her, wrapping your arms around her, breathing her in. She holds you, stroking your upper back and cradling your head.
"What happened?"
You look up to her, "Cragen didn't tell you?"
She smiles lightly, "He doesn't break your confidence, Liv."
"Stanton shot himself in front of the courthouse. I tried to save him, but it was too late. I started CPR until the bus arrived but he didn't make it."
"Oh my God, Baby. I'm so sorry."
You immediately start shaking your head, "You didn't know, Alex. It's okay."
"No, it's not. Are you okay?"
"No, I'm not. I had flashbacks to the night you were shot, seeing you there on the pavement, bleeding out."
Tears gather in her eyes and pour down her cheeks and you wipe them away.
"It's okay, my sweet. It was a week from hell and we both have to sleep on it. Tomorrow morning, we will talk like adults. Okay?" You smile at her.
She nods her head, "I'm sorry."
You put your finger to her lips. "Shhh, my Baby. No apologies. We will talk tomorrow. Come on."
You take her hand and guide her to the bedroom, pulling the covers back, tucking her in. You shed your clothes and slip in beside her, gathering her in your arms, letting her rest her head on your shoulder.
You stroke her back gently before kissing her forehead. "Sleep, Baby. We will talk over coffee in the morning."
You comment earns you a chuckle, "You wouldn't get a word out without your black, liquid gold."
You snort, "That, my love, is so very true."
"I'm sorry."
"What did I say? No more sorries. We both did and said things that were not very nice. So let's sleep and talk about it tomorrow."
She sighs into your neck. "Okay."
"That's my girl."
You continue stroking her back. You are both so emotionally exhausted that you succumb to sleep almost immediately.
A/N 3: Thanks for reading, folks. The quote is taken from the song "Break The Cycle" by You+Me. Let me know what you think and would like to read. Sorry for any mistakes. I proofread it twice, but my proofreading works best when I've already published it. ;)
I'm not one hundred percent happy with this chapter, so reviews are love. :)
Until next time, my lovelies. :)
