A/N: It's 1:30 AM and my insomnia is at an all time high. I should be working on my Spanish essay, but alas, this is what I did instead. Things are slow going for the moment, so bare with me. Things will pick up soon. Promise! Also, don't expect me to always update this fast. I just had most of the first five chapters already written/sketched out. Though to be honest once I read this i'll probably rewrite it, haha.
Remember, this is full of 80s references so google if you don't know. :)
Reviews give me motivation & inspiration too!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chap 3: When Harry Met Sally
The sounds of Creedence Clearwater blast from the deck as Olivia follows behind an eager Liz; their hands clasped together still. The sun has all set and bounces off the earth in orange waves. Nervousness shakes Olivia and she can feel sand rub between her toes and stick to the bottom of her feet. She's never really been one to frequent social events. Not that many people invited her, either. Yes she was tall, tan, intelligent, and pretty, but aside from Abbie, she mostly kept to herself. She didn't like the personal questions and the nosey prodding.
"Daddy!" Liz yells, leading Olivia up the deck steps. The food is out on the table, but the inhabitants of the house seem to be missing. There's a light on in the house, but no one stirs inside. "Livvie is here!"
An awkward smile falls across Olivia's face at the sound of the nickname falling from the young girl's lips. Aside from Abbie, no one's ever given her a nickname before. Very rarely did her own mother call her anything other than Olivia.
"Dad!" Liz shouts again and the front door bangs open, a boy Olivia suspects to be around her age steps out. His hair is mussed; he's wearing stripped swimming shorts, and a muscle tank that reads 'Hollywood life.'
"Zip it squirt, Dad's on the phone with someone from the department. Said something about a girl missing."
Department, Olivia thinks, and she knows that her earlier suspicions about Mr. Stabler had been right – he's a cop, a Brooklyn cop. The idea entertainers her and she contemplates cornering Mr. Stabler later, asking him about his job and what it's like. She's yet to tell her mother, but she's considering law enforcement, maybe becoming a detective.
"Who's this?" The voice breaks through Olivia's thoughts and she looks up, grey eyes meet her brown ones and she smiles. Before she has a chance to respond Liz does.
"This is Olivia, she's my best friend. She likes midnight blue and I'm her first best friend. Mommy said that she could help me make my plate while she talks to Ms. Benson. Ms. Benson is Olivia's mommy. She's staying down the beach."
A small chuckle slips from Olivia's lips at Elizabeth's introduction and she nods. "I'm Olivia," she repeats and from beneath her eyelashes she studies him. He's kind of thin, and definitely young, but Olivia can tell he tries to play it off as if he's older. "You must be Elliot."
"Fuck no," he grates back, and Liv's brows furrow.
Elliot, Ethan, Elizabeth . . .
"El's off painting his nail's or something. I'm Ethan."
"Sorry. Its just - " Olivia starts as she fumbles with her words; it's an attempt to formulate an explanation as to why she's confused two people that she's never met.
"Come on, Livvie. Come see my room!" Liz pulls on her arm and Olivia just shrugs her shoulders in apology as the young girl leads her into the house.
Empty paint canvases sit on the dinning room table; atop the canvases sit a smock and a stack of brushes. There are drops of water on the wood floor giving it a warped look, and pictures line the wall. Olivia only gets a few moments to study the photos before Liz is yanking her in another direction. Her brown eyes catch sight of Mr. Stabler before she's completely pulled away, and her ears catch part of the conversation. He's telling whoever is on the other end that his wife will be back soon and not to call again.
She doesn't have to be a detective to know that he's not talking to someone from work.
/
Olivia sits cross-legged on the floor of Liz's bedroom while the young girl sits in front of her, a makeup kit in her tiny hands. She's brushing something across Olivia's cheeks and chattering away about a boy in her class that likes to pull her hair. Bonnie Raitt provides the soundtrack and from Liz's bedroom window Olivia can hear voices coming from the deck.
"Do you like boys, Livvie?" Liz asks and Olivia laughs.
"I do some times." When my mother doesn't chase them away.
Liz shows her displeasure with a shake of the head and a scrunch of the nose, causing Olivia to laugh even more at the young girl's machinations. She considers if this is what it's always like having a little sister, not being the only child, the constant companionship and the endless questions.
"Yuck! They're gross and they touch you, and try to hold your hand or kiss you. Have you ever kissed a boy?"
Something between a sigh and a chuckle dances from Olivia's lips and she contemplates how to answer the question. Does she tell the eleven-year-old girl about the time she let a guy from her mother's freshman English course stick his tongue down her throat out of spite, almost causing her to gag at one point? Does she talk about the time that she kissed her mother's colleague because she thought that the older man had made overtures at her? Or does she tell the truth that she's never really been kissed before. Not like in the movies at least. Not like when Jake kissed Sam over her cake in Sixteen Candles.
"Not really," she settles on and a knock on the door causes her to jump. The door opens and Olivia turns to face the intruder.
He's tall, 6 feet at the least, with broad shoulders, and a large frame. His eyes are a bright blue, the same colour as Elizabeth's, and his dark brown hair is close cropped to his scalp. He's got a tattoo on his left bicep that peeks out from beneath his black 'Dead Head' t-shirt, and there's stubble on his chin. There's a boyish gleam in his eyes, but it's quietly masked beneath an air of responsibility. Everything about him reads 'bad boy,' though, and Olivia smiles.
Elliot . . .
"Lizzie, it's time to come eat." He says, Brooklyn accent thick. "Come on."
With a flourish of her baby blues, Elizabeth gets to her feet, a slight frown on her lips. Olivia just sits cross-legged, watching the exchange. She yawns slightly, wondering for a fleeting moment what time it is.
"You too," He continues with a nod in Olivia's direction. "Might want to wash your face first. Lizzie did a number on you. Bathroom's 'cross the hall."
Heat creeps into Olivia's cheeks and she wonders just how much makeup is caked to her face.
She stands quickly and heads for the bathroom, her arm brushing against his shoulder as she does. The minute touch sends a spark through her arm and she can tell that he works out; he's like a rock. "Right."
"I'm Elliot, by the way." He adds.
Elliot, Ethan, Elizabeth. . .
Olivia's hands grasp the doorknob to the bathroom and she looks over her shoulder almost coyly. "Olivia."
/
When she exits the house and steps foot onto the deck, Olivia sees the Stabler family gathered around the table. Mr. Stabler sits at the head and to each side sits one of the Stabler boys. Next to Elliot sits Elizabeth and a soon as the young girl sees Olivia she's yelling for her.
"Come sit next to me, Livvie!"
Olivia smiles and brushes a piece of her dark hair away from her face. The sun has disappeared below the horizon and the moon sits low in the sky. There's a chill to the air and along with a slight breeze and Olivia is thankful for her mother's insistence that she wear a sweater.
She slides down next to Elizabeth and Elliot slides an empty plate over in front of her.
"Don't be shy," Mr. Stabler pipes up, motioning to the table of food in front of her. There's potato salad, burgers, hot dogs, corn, and coleslaw. She opts for some coleslaw and a burger.
The clang of silver ware along glass intermingles with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, as the radio hums in the background. Peace. Olivia is at peace. She's sitting on the deck of a beach house that belongs to strangers, eating food she normally shies from, but oddly enough she's at peace.
"Thanks for inviting me, Mr. Stabler," her voice breaks the silence and he chuckles.
"No, thank you. I don't know what you did, but Bernie's been down there blabbing to your mom for the better part of the last hour. Nice not to have to be the one to hear it for a change."
"Because God forbid you actually listen to your wife for once." Elliot quips, a forced nonchalance in his tone, and he bites into his hamburger.
Joseph drops his fork on the table, the silverware hits against the glass with a clang, and his napkin follows.
"Is there something you need to say to me, Elliot?" Joseph implores.
Olivia watches the exchange, the exchange in silence. She can see Elliot's large frame bristle and Joseph jaw lock. It's a showdown of alpha males.
Ethan clears his throat catching sight of the brewing tension and turns his attention to their houseguest, "Olivia, right?"
She's got a mouthful of coleslaw that prevents her from responding, but she nods to confirm his question and then swallows. "Yeah. Olivia Benson."
"Livvie's my best friend!" Bits of salad fly from Elizabeth's mouth at her declaration.
"You've known her for what, an hour? She's not your best friend, she doesn't even like you." Ethan teases and Liz shakes her head in disbelief.
"You're just jealous because she doesn't like you and you like her! That's why you keep staring at her butt!"
Right then and there Olivia almost chokes on a spoonful of potato salad. Her palms hit the table with a thud as she fight to fill her lungs with air. The tension between Elliot and Joseph dissipates as they laugh at Ethan's behest.
Ethan's face turns bright red. "That's not true!" He insists.
"Uh-huh! You told El when Livvie was in the bathroom. You said that she had nice jugs and you were going to ask her to the boardwalk. But she's not your friend; she's mine and she doesn't like you!"
Crimson waves of embarrassment crawl up Olivia's cheeks and she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and then proceeds to fold her arms across her chest. Her eyes fall to the plate of food in front of her and her brows furrow together. She wonders what her mother and Mrs. Stabler are up to; she knows that they're probably discussing some complicated concrete verse of T.S Elliot's or sipping from wine glasses. She also knows that they're most definitely not discussing her anatomy.
A part of Olivia, however wonders if Elliot's had anything to say about her "jugs" and another part wonders why she should care if he did. Her mind meanders through the discussion she had earlier with Liz and the name Kathy gnaws at her persistently.
"Why don't you eat up, pipsqueak? Then you, me, and Liv can take a walk down to the ocean while Ethan tries to figure out how to pull his foot out of his mouth?" Suggests Elliot; once again the Brooklyn comes out in his accent, and Liz nods dutifully.
Liv . . . Olivia thinks, and she smiles to herself; she's never really been one ruminate over the way someone says her name, but she likes the way the nickname sounds as it falls from his lips. Her toffee flecked eyes cast sideways and on the other side of Liz she can see Elliot, skin bathed in the glow of the deck lights, grin teasingly at his brother.
Up Next: Elliot and Olivia take a stroll along the beach.
