AN: So here's another instalment. I believe this is the last one I have saved, so I don't know when the next one will be. By the end of next week, though, I promise.
Please read and review – they're what keep me driven to finish!
Again, completely unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are my own.
Gb.
xox
4
It was typically a two hour journey from Manhattan to Long Beach Island on a day with good traffic flow and reasonable speeds. Olivia drove with the window rolled all of the way down, the New Jersey breeze crisp and cool as it whipped against her cheek and filled her lungs with fresh air that wouldn't have made it into Manhattan without being poisoned by inner city pollution.
She inhaled, deep and slow, as the sun shone through the windshield from above the endless row of tall trees – a blur of lush green as her foot pressed on the accelerator – warming exposed skin.
Her palms were clammy, her heart hammering anxiously, as she eventually neared her destination, following the computerized voice that spoke to her from her phone, directing her to the quiet street dusted in grains of sand blown from the quiet beach behind the houses. She hoped that she was wrong, that he wasn't there, that instead of having to face him for the first time in too many years, she would greet his mother, Bernie, and be told that she hadn't heard from her son, either. It was a selfish hope, one for her own self-preservation, but she didn't care. A part of her wasn't ready to face Elliot Stabler. A part of her never would be.
She pulled up next to a curb, put Tutuola's car into park, and turned off the engine, before leaning her head back against the headrest. She let her eyes slide to the small beach house lined with lavender and honeysuckle, and other arrangements of plants that Olivia couldn't name. The smell that filtered through the still open window was delicate, beautiful, sweet and salty; the scent of Summer carried on the sea breeze. She watched the house for movement, and was a little relieved when she saw none.
Perhaps she would be lucky. Perhaps no one was home.
Feel the fear and do it anyway, Benson.
She took a steadying breath, opened the door and got out of the car, not bothering to close the window because she had no intention of staying. She did, however, lock the car remotely as she crossed the quiet road, and head down the rickety, paved path, her heels clacking loudly against the stone slabs.
She peered through the pane of glass in the front door, and still found no evidence that the homeowner is home. She tapped her knuckles, softly, against the wooden frame, and waited.
She was close to turning around and heading back to the car, calling Kathy and telling her that she was unable to help find her ex-husband, when she heard the familiar high-pitched voice echoing from somewhere inside.
"I'm coming! Coming!"
Olivia swallowed, glanced back at the vehicle and wondered if perhaps she should make a run for it; dash back to Fin's car and speed off before Bernadette had the chance to see her, greet her, invite her in. It was too late, though, because the silver haired woman was there, heading toward the door wearing a bright pink blouse and blue striped apron, wiping her brow with a dusty hand, leaving a smudge of something off-white across her forehead.
Blue-grey eyes met Olivia's through the glass, and Bernie smiled, her rosy cheeks plumping and laughter lines deepening.
"Detective Benson," Bernie greeted with a grin as she pulled open the door. "What a lovely surprise."
"Good morning, Mrs. Stabler," Olivia replied, holding her hand out professionally. "It's Sergeant now, actually."
"Well, how marvellous," she responded, batting Olivia's offered hand away and opening her arms for an embrace. Olivia stepped forward, uncomfortably, and wrapped her arms around the older woman. She patted her back, once, before pulling away and straightening her blazer. Olivia cleared her throat, a little relieved that Bernadette seemed oblivious to her awkwardness, eyes scanning inside, searching.
"Come in! Come in!" Bernie ushered, stepping aside to allow Olivia entry into the quaint home. She obliged, of course, her hands clutching the edges of her jacket as she walked through to the living room, eyes still scanning. She paused, just for a second, to admire the array of brightly coloured, freshly painted canvases balanced on easels.
Bernie glanced over her shoulder and motioned for Olivia to follow after her. "You're just in time for pancakes."
"Oh, no, thank you," Olivia declined, following closely behind as they walked through the sun room and into the small, white kitchen splattered with flour, egg and pancake batter overspilling the large mixing bowl. "I'm actually here on official business."
"Oh, darn it!" Bernie snapped, throwing a hand towel she'd just picked up back down onto the kitchen counter, her soft features hardening as she turned to face Olivia, her hands coming to rest at her hips. "What's Katie done this time?"
"No," Olivia quickly said, correcting the assumption. "No, Kathleen is fine. She hasn't done anything."
"Really?" Bernie questioned, her gaze narrowed as if she suspected Olivia wasn't being honest with her.
"Of course. I promise. I'm actually here on behalf of Kathy. She's concerned about your son -"
"Elliot?"
"Yes, have you seen him?"
"Of course I have," Bernie said, the ice melting from her eyes and face warming again, "He's outside planting some more lavender for me. It's very calming, did you know?"
"Yeah, sure, great. I'll just call Kath-"
"I'll call him in. He'd love to see you, I'm sure," Bernie offered, before tilting her head toward the open window above the kitchen sink and yelling, "Elliot! You've got a visitor."
"Oh, no, it's okay. You don't need to," Olivia said, because she didn't need to actually see him to determine this case closed. All she needed to do now was make the call to Kathy, and the ex-wife could follow up herself.
"Don't be silly. He's always spoken so highly of you," Bernie continued, waving a hand in her direction, before shouting again. "Elliot! Get your behind in here!"
"No, really. It's fine," Olivia insisted, her pulse thrumming erratically as her heart rate began to kick it up a notch, the panic coursing through her veins as the realization that she was just a few moments away from colliding with her ex-partner slammed into her. Hard. "It was lovely to see you, though, Mrs. Stabler." Olivia offered a quick, genuine smile, and then she was turning on her heel and heading back the way she'd come, intent on getting back to her car without incident.
It was a damned hope, though, because the second she stepped into the sun room, the rear door swung open and He stepped over the threshold.
She halted, the soles of her boots scuffing loudly against the wooden flooring. Her mouth dried and palms dampened as those familiar enchanting pools of blue met hers, instantly drawn to her as if they were magnetized, pulled together by the force of gravity. A force they were unable to fight.
For a second – a long, drawn out second – neither said anything, and Olivia wasn't entirely sure she was breathing. And then his tanned brow slipped into a frown, his lips parted, and he was saying her name just like he had every day for the many years they'd spent together.
"Liv?"
"Elliot."
It was the first time she'd actually said his name, and it was familiar and strange at the same time; like a long forgotten memory filtering back in fragments. At least, she noted, her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
"What are you doing here?" he asked her as he pulled a rag from the back pocket of the light blue, distressed jeans he was wearing, and wiped his dirty, soiled hands off, before swiping it across his glistening brow.
"Official business," Bernie answered for her, the older woman's sing-song voice breaking whatever spell was holding Olivia there, planted to the floor, unable to move her eyes from his. "Lemonade, Dear?"Bernadette held out a glass of freshly made juice, but despite the dry tongue and throat, Olivia shook her head, declining politely, because she just wanted to get out of there.
Elliot's brow furrowed a little more. "You're on the job?"
"I just came to see if you were okay," she answered, scratching at her eyebrow, fidgeting. "And I can see that you are, so..." she trailed off, her hand waving up and down as her eyes trailed over Stabler's body, as if to make sure that he didn't have a knife sticking out of his gut, or a GSW to the leg, or something.
He did look okay. Better than, in fact.
Maybe it was because he seemed so relaxed in the ragged jeans and the red faded graphic tee, was comfortable with having his bare feet covered in dry sand and planting soil. And though he was older, he looked younger, and Olivia could only guess that it was because the lines etched in his face were from years, rather than the endless line of harrowing cases that used to haunt his dreams and taint his waking world.
"Thank you for the lemonade, Mrs. Stabler," Olivia said in place of a goodbye, though she hadn't so much as sipped the declined refreshment.
"Are you sure you don't want to stop for pancakes?" Bernadette asked as she moved back toward the kitchen, apparently oblivious to the tension mounting in the room.
"I really do have to go," Olivia affirmed, with a quick glance at her watch for everyone's benefit but her own. "I'm needed back at the precinct."
"Next time, then," the silver-haired lady smiled, her eyes sparkling. Olivia didn't accept the invitation, because she had no intention of ever returning to the beach house, so instead she offered another smile, albeit a small one, and uttered a quick goodbye.
She avoided Elliot's gaze as she cut through the sun room and into the living room, and though his bare feet padded stealthily, she could hear the rustle of denim, the frayed hem of the too-long legs sweeping over floorboards, following after her in heavy silence as she hurried for the door.
"Liv," he finally said, his voice strained, quiet, sounding almost desperate, like it was loaded with everything that she couldn't handle at that moment. She stopped short of her exit, sighed and turned to face him, her clammy hands coming to rest at her hips; one thumb looped through the clip of her gun holster, the other though a belt loop, his fingers almost framing her shield.
He stood a couple of feet away, fidgeting with the dirty rag in his hands as he watched her, brow tense as if he was deep in thought, trying to work out what he was going to say, how he was going to say it.
"Look, I'm just doing my job. And I'm done, so now I'm leaving," she said, afraid of what he might say, because she didn't want to hear it; because once it had been heard, it couldn't be unheard, and she'd spent so damn long being angry at him, hating him, she wasn't sure if she wanted that unravelled by him affirming Kathy's version of events. "And by the way," she added, her tone harsh, edgy, almost spiteful, "I know walking out on people without a word is your forte, but you may want to call Kathy back. She's been worried sick about you."
"Shit," Elliot breathed, his toned shoulders dropping, the weight of guilt apparently landing on him as he realised what he'd been putting his ex-wife through. Olivia reached for the door handle and pulled, allowing the sea breeze to slam into her as it rushed into the house, rustling her hair. Their eyes met and held each other, and she could feel her resolve slipping, the wall she'd spent years building beginning to bow, and she was so close to telling him how good he looked, with his sun kissed skin and well defined muscles, how (despite the initial problems he'd encountered with alcohol and his family) it seemed that retirement was treating him well, that her mouth opened and the words almost spilled out in a rush.
But she couldn't shake the memory of his empty desk, abandoned for her to clear, the way Cragen's brows had pulled together when he's informed Benson of Stabler's retirement because he wouldn't do it himself. She couldn't stop hearing the dead line and automated voice as she tried, and tried, and tried, to call his disconnected number.
So instead, she closed her mouth with a snap and said nothing.
She tore her eyes away from his expectant once, stepped over the threshold and slammed the door behind her, refusing to look back as she hurried up the path, her stride bolder than she felt. It wasn't until she was behind the wheel of the unfamiliar car, with her shades pulled down over her eyes, that she allowed the tears to fall.
It was typically a two hour drive from Long Beach Island to Manhattan, on a day with good traffic flow and reasonable speeds.
Olivia made it in just over half the time.
SVU
Olivia stared down into the amber liquid, watched as it smoothed over melting chunks of ice, splashing against the sides of the tumbler as she swilled it around in the confines of the glass. She was in no hurry to toss the fiery liquid back, to ignite her body as the scotch splashes over her tongue and slides down her throat like hot treacle, because she was entranced by the dancing hues of gold and orange as the soft glow of the overhead lamp sliced through the liquor.
"You're too pretty to drink alone."
She looked up at the owner of the soft voice, the only other customer in the small, intimate bar. Her eyes locked onto his familiar sea green eyes, and she shook her head slightly, lips twitching into a smirk as she dropped her gaze back down to the drink cradled in her hand.
"I'm not 'drinking alone'." She shrugged a shoulder, before bringing the glass up to her lips to take a delicate sip, the salty smokiness of the blazed liquid tickling her tongue before she swallowed. "It's an exclusive party for one." e
"Well then," he said as he leaned against the ornate, oak bar, propping himself up on an elbow. "Shall we consider this party crashed?"
Olivia slid her eyes back to his, before dropping them to observe his appearance; the day, the week, had apparently been hard on him, too, because his usually crisp shirt was crumpled and creased, his top two buttons were undone, and his tie had been pulled so it hung loosely around his neck. She looked back up, to his stubbly face, to his ruffled hair, before settling back on tired eyes.
"Barba," she sighed, putting down her glass and resting back against the barstool, "I don't need a babysitter."
"Benson," he countered, an eyebrow twitching as he struggled to keep the amusement from his face, "I wasn't aware that I was one."
Olivia contemplated him for a second, and then she was shrugging nonchalantly, tearing her eyes from his as she reached for her glass. She watched in the mirror behind the row of liquor bottles as the District Attorney moved around the barstool and slid into the seat next to her, tossing his jacket over the back as he moved.
"Of all the bars in Manhattan," she said to his distant reflection, "You happen to walk into this one?"
"Una maravillosa coincidencia," he said as he waved down the bartender, Sean, pointed to Olivia's glass and held up two fingers. "What are we drinking?"
"Bowmore, 25."
"Ah," Barba said with a hint of a smile, "I wish I could be surprised by your exquisite taste, Sergeant, but there is little that can surprise me these days."
"New York will do that to you," Olivia replied as she watched Sean pour another two perfectly measured shots into separate clean glasses. She took hers before he could add the ice, shaking her head slightly, just enough for him to notice.
"Special Victims will do that to you,! Barba amended, taking his own drink once two cubes had been added. "One thing I can admire about you, is your strength, Olivia. I don't know how you can be here, after seventeen years, after everything you've been through, and still be so...whole."
Olivia laughed without humour, her eyes fixed onto the drink in her hands as she confessed, quietly, "I am not whole, Rafael."
"Is that why you are sitting in a bar at barely noon, drinking expensive scotch, alone?"
"You're drinking too, no?"
"You're avoiding the question."
"If this a cross examination, Barba?"
"No, of course not." The DA shook his head and offered a small smile as he settled against the spine of the tall chair. "But I can see something is bothering you, Liv. I am your friend. I know when something is wrong."
"I'm fine."
"No. You're not."
Olivia took a breath, held Barba's gaze for a few seconds, and then she sighed, defeated, fingers rubbing at her forehead, where pressure began to mount.
"I went looking for someone – an old...friend – and I found him, but I'm not entirely sure that I wanted to. I think I may end up regretting it," Olivia said, before adding, "I now understand how ignorance can be bliss."
"Oh."
"Is that it?" she scoffed, eyes crinkling, her face softening. "I confide in you, and all you can say is 'oh'?"
"I'm not a therapist, Olivia," Barba defended, fingers playing with the tip of his red, silk tie.
"I wasn't looking for a therapist," she retorted, before tossing back the shot of warmth, the fire dimming almost immediately after she swallowed, "Just a friend."
"You're right, I'm sorry," Barba apologised, shifting a little to reach forward so he could slide his drink over the chipped wood of the bar, toward Olivia. She glanced at it, but shook her head no, declining the offer. "Please, continue. Tell me everything."
"I don't think there's much more to tell," Olivia said, straightening her spine, stretching from side to side as she tried to relieve sore muscles. "It is what it is, I suppose."
"There's always more," Barba argued. "The one thing that I have learned since moving to Manhattan, working with your unit, is that there is always something more to say, always something left out."
"You're right," Olivia nodded, "And you're wrong. You may think that you have only learned one thing, but I for one can bear witness to the change from the man that you once were, to the man that you have become."
Barba shook his head, picked up the drink he had offered away, took a sip and then stared at it for a moment, in silence, as if he was pondering it, or something.
"Be the change you want to see in the world."
"I never pegged you as a Ghandi man," Olivia teased gently, an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere.
Barba met her gaze, smirking. "I never pegged you as a scotch girl."
"Well then," Olivia said, her mouth spreading into a grin, "We both know each other a little better."
"Tutuola said you'd taken a personal day. I don't know much about parenting, but I'm guessing you would much rather be at home, with your son, than sitting here with me," Barba said, grabbing for his jacket to search the pockets. He pulled the Italian leather wallet from the interior, pulled out four fifty's, and slapped them on the bar.
"No, I've got this," Olivia insisted, attempting to slide the cash back toward Barba, but he placed his hand on top of hers, squeezing gently.
"Let me," he said. "Go. Be with your family."
She held his gaze, a silent challenge for him to give in, to stop being so chivalrous and to let her pay for their drinks – or at least her own – but it was a futile attempt when she was up against a hard headed prosecutor, so she gave in. Just this once.
"Okay," she breathed, sliding from the stool, "Thank you."
Barba nodded, his eyes softening as he regarded Olivia, a friendly smile tugging at his mouth. "And Liv, don't regret anything. It is what it is."
Olivia nodded, leaned forward to peck Barba on the cheek as a goodbye gesture, before unhooking her blazer from the stool and moving toward the exit. "One more thing," he called after her, from his spot at the bar. She half turned, throwing a glance over her shoulder. "Take a cab; I don't want to be representing you on a DUI charge."
Olivia laughed, shaking her head, before she pulled open the door and stepped out into the chilly Fall air.
