A/N: Step by step, heart to heart, left right left… - Toy Soldiers (Eminem)
DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story is allllllllllllllll mine. © TStabler
Maybe it was the two weeks she'd spent living in a gorgeous three-story house, but as she sits on the small couch in her tiny living room and looks into the open kitchen space, she feels almost claustrophobic. She scoffs. It isn't her apartment walls that are closing in on her, it's her life in general. She bites her lip as she shifts in her seat, pulling her legs under her and reaching forward to grab an egg roll out of the paper take-out bag on the coffee table.
Something stops her before it passes over her lips; she tilts her head and bites the inside of her cheek, glancing again at the kitchen. Briefly, she wonders why she's paying an extra two-hundred dollars a month for the place just so she can have a kitchen she never uses. Shaking her head in mild self-pity, she bites into the fried roll and checks the clock. He'd told her he would be at her place by ten, it's almost eleven-thirty, so she resigns herself to eat cold Chinese alone while he has make-up sex with his wife. At least, that's what she assumes he's doing.
As she swallows, she leans her head back against the couch, her thoughts drift back to the townhouse. Her first night there, she couldn't fathom why anyone would need so many bedrooms, or more than one bathroom. She didn't see the purpose of having two ovens and three sinks in the kitchen. Elliot had laughed at her, making some crack about her not getting it because she was single and lived alone. But by the end of their third night in the place, they'd imagined having a kid in each bedroom, a houseful of children who'd never need to fight for the bathroom, and dinner parties that would be so simply to plan because of all the extra space and huge functional kitchen.
She closes her eyes and bites violently into her egg roll, wishing the now painful memory away, but the click and jingle of her doorknob snaps her back to the present, back to her reality. She sits up quickly and, even though she's only half-sure she'll need it, rests her hand on the handle of her gun, which is still at her hip despite wearing a pair of thin, cotton sweatpants.
"Sorry I'm late," he offers, his voice low, as if the words weighed too much to say any louder.
She's on her feet in seconds, dropping the egg roll onto the coffee table, and she moves toward him quickly. "What the hell happened to you?" She squints and gingerly runs her fingertips over a red and purple circle under his eye. She notices he also has a split lip, the blood dried but obvious. She eyes him for any other injuries, and she winces as she grabs his hand from where it hangs, on his coat over the hook. She holds his hand in hers as if it's made of glass, gently turning it over to hit the light. His bruising knuckles glare back at her. "What did you do?" she whispers, and she's afraid of the answer.
He shrugs, and before he speaks, he falls into her, his head drops to hers and he shakes it in defeat and dejection. "I told you…" he shrugs again, as if it alone explains away his appearance. "After I talked to my kids, and to Kathy...something she said was so…" he loses the word on a cough and he breathes before telling her the rest. "I went back to the station, I didn't plan on getting into a fight, I promise, but he was there, and his uncle…" he grits his teeth as he lifts his head away from hers. "Fucking Lenny, man, he used his pull with the department to get Ken released, and he was actually...they were just letting him go."
She grazes the side of his hand with her thumb. "Lenny bailed out his nephew, you had to know that he was gonna…"
"No, you don't fucking get it," he interrupts, and he peers down at his hand, marvelling how perfectly it feels in hers, how perfectly they fit together. He smiles slightly and says, "Someone paid Ken to do what he did, Lenny knew it, and he throws down some kind of deal...a name for a slap on the wrist. They were just…" he exhales and he licks his lips, wincing at the tang of the blood and the sting of his cut. "He didn't deserve to just walk away, so I followed them out...this...this happened in the parking lot, but trust me, he looks a lot worse than I do." He smirks. "He's not taking the deal. He still gave up the name, but, uh, I convinced him...to own what he did. Lenny agreed with me."
"Sure he did," Olivia says, and she raises her other hand to his purpling cheek again. "You need ice," she says, and she moves to head for the kitchen but he clasps her hand and refuses to let her move anymore than a few steps. She looks at him, puzzled.
"Later," he says, and he walks toward the couch, tugging her with him. "I know you waited, so…" he points with an open palm to the bag of food. "We should eat." He sits and digs through the bag for his carton of pepper steak, but he can feel her eyes on him. "What?" he sighs, leaning back against the sofa. He cracks his chopsticks apart with one hand and maneuvers them into position expertly. He eyes her as he opens the carton and stabs at his food.
She grabs her egg roll, swiping away the bits of it that have fallen onto the table, and she takes a bite. "Now you're gonna tell me the truth," she says with a mouthful. As soon as she swallows, she asks, "Who threw the first punch?"
He chuckles. "He did, believe it or not. I just wanted to ask Lenny what the fuck he was pulling, but Ken came at me. It got heated, I beat the hell out of him, and Lenny figured instead of adding assaulting an officer to the charges, he'd let the bastard take his chances with the ones he was already facing."
"Mmhmm," she mumbles, scooting closer to him. She pulls another carton of food out of the bag, but instead of getting her own chopsticks, she takes his and grins victoriously at him. She laughs when he glares at her, but does a little dance when he simply gets himself a new pair. She jabs at a piece of her broccoli and asks another question. "So, uh, did you...did you find out who…"
"No," he says fast, Shoving a bite of his food into his mouth. He chews for a moment, and then he tells her, "Cragen and two uniforms came out, I guess we were loud enough to get their attention. They pulled me off of him and escorted him back into the house, Cragen told me to get the hell outta there, so I did." He waits, catches another piece of his steak between his sticks, and then says, "We'll find out tomorrow, though."
"Wonderful," she bites with a sigh, and she shoves a piece of chicken into her mouth. They eat in silence for a minute, and then she looks at him, her eyes landing on the grotesque fist-shaped bruise on his cheek. "Did you, uh...did you tell the kids...what you had to tell them?"
"Well, the only one awake was Maureen, but I told her everything," he says, and he shoves his chopsticks into Olivia's carton of chicken and broccoli, ignoring the playfully disdainful look she's giving him. He eats the stole food and says, "Kathy was right there, and she couldn't deny any of it, so...it wasn't bad."
She seeks vengeance by digging around in his carton for a large, green pepper, and she chortles when she grabs one between her chopsticks. She makes an exaggeratedly satisfied face, rolling her eyes and moaning, but when she looks at him again, his gaze is smokey and she realizes what's just happened. She clears her throat and elbows him. "So what are you gonna do?"
"What do you mean?" he asks, and he tries like fuck to move into a spot on the couch where his suddenly painful erection isn't obvious and his body doesn't touch hers in any way.
"You can't stay on my couch for the rest of your life," she teases with a roll of her head. She licks her teeth and sets the carton of food down on the table.
He tilts his head and slides a pepper off of his chopsticks into his mouth. "I know that," he says firmly. "Eventually, I'll move into the bed." He winks at her, and then he makes a very bold and potentially very stupid decision. He plops his food beside hers, the chopsticks sticking up in the pile of beef and vegetables, and he looks into her eyes. "Maybe I'll just skip the couch, though, huh?"
Her eyes pop, her lips press into each other and she isn't sure if she wants to hit him or kiss him. He's been hit enough, tonight, she thinks, but kissing him would lead to trouble. "Are you…"
"We spent two weeks sharing the bed," he interrupts her, wearing an expression that seems to ask her what the bog deal is, "And the week we've been home, I spent every night on my own fucking couch, so I would actually prefer the bed." He sees the question in her eyes and he laughs. "Just another reason she cheated on me, I guess," he gives an over-the-top shrug.
She chuckles at him, but then she sighs and bites her lip, contemplating letting him sleep with her, wondering what his insistence means and weighing how willing she is to be his rebound if that's what he's after. "Talk to me," she whispers, and she moves off the couch before he can stop her.
"Where are you…" he turns toward her and spots her standing in front of her freezer. "You ask me to talk to you and then you walk away? Nice!"
She laughs as she pulls something out of the icebox, and she closes it before turning to him. She wiggles a bag of frozen french fries at him and moves back in his direction. "I don't have any ice."
"What a shocker," he scoffs, and he takes the bag from her with an amused smile. "I'm surprised you even have these," he tosses the bag up and catches it, and then pretends to look for an expiration date. "What, are these from 1973?"
"Asshole," she spits, slapping him playfully in the shoulder before she sits beside him again, and she seethes when he presses the ice cold bag to his face and winces. "Jesus," she hisses.
He raises one eyebrow at her. "Finding your faith?" he jokes.
She looks down quickly, unable to tell him she already has, and that it all lies with him. She rubs a hand through her hair and sighs. "Okay, talk. How are you feeling about...all of this shit with Kathy?"
He makes a face, his lips turn down and his head shakes slightly, and he says, "I'm not really upset, I keep telling you that, I just…" he exhales. "I don't know how to be an adult, is what it comes down to, not a single one. I was barely eighteen when I got married, I never really processed what that meant, and there I things I never figured out how to do because I assumed Kathy would always be there to do them." He held up hand and waved it. "I don't mean shit like cooking and laundry, I can handle that, I mean...raising four kids by myself, suffering through parent-teacher conferences alone, balancing the checkbook three days before I actually get paid, food shopping on a budget that has no room for beer and potato chips." He makes a pained noise as he moves the bag of fries. "I don't know how...not to be married," he looks at her and he completely loses his breath. He smiles, his heart thumps and his stomach lurches, and he moves closer. "But the worst part about all of this, is that I realized it's not Kathy I can't imagine living without."
"How hard did Briscoe hit you?" she jokes, trying to give him a way to take his foot out of his mouth.
"I'm not joking," he tells her, and there's a softness in his voice he usually only reserves for whispered goodnights to his kids. "I've been trying to find a way to ask you this without seeming like the world's biggest asshole, but…" he lets the french fries drop into his lap, the cold becoming too much for his hand but not enough to numb his cheek. He moves his icy fingers to Olivia's wrist, and he stabilizes her when she jumps at his frigid touch. "I think...it feels like we've been dating for the three years, doesn't it? I fucking feel like that, so...I'm pretty sure the reason I didn't notice Kathy cheating on me was because...emotionally, anyway, I was doing the same fucking thing, and I need to know…"
She closes her eyes and she hears the question but part of her brain refuses to believe he actually has asked it. Her hand twitches and she feels his fingers wrapped around her wrists, it's ironic that the emotional hold he's always had on her is manifesting as a pair of handcuffs. "You need to sleep this off," she challenges, dismissing his words. "We had a rough couple of days, so maybe we both just...we need to get some sleep."
He holds her tighter as she moves, and he pulls her closer when he's sure she won't fight him on it. "I'm thinking clearly, okay? I'm not trying to get you into bed to prove I can, I'm not just trying to get even with Kathy, and I'm not acting out of any kind of emotional imbalance or suppressed fear of being alone, so don't try to 'Huang' me, okay? It was an honest question and I need an honest answer."
"I can't answer you," she whispers, yanking her hands out of his, and for the first time in her entire life she wishes she listened to her mother and took that job on Wall Street because she wouldn't be in this situation. She moves as far away from him as she can get, but in her small apartment, it's not as far as necessary. She folds her arms and stares out of her window, the grime of the city looking more like a beautiful escape from the couch. She feels his hands on her shoulders and she closes her eyes, not trusting herself to stay calm, not trusting anything at all at the moment.
"Please," he whispers, and he slides his left hand down her left arm, along her skin, taking hold of wrist again, pulling her hand free and taking in his, and he brushes his lips across the back of her head. "I need an answer."
She blinks, her heart growing wings as the rest of her body wants to jump out the window. "You don't know what you're…"
"I know exactly what I'm doing," he interrupts. "I'm not on the rebound, if that's what you're worried about," he turns her around and holds her shoulders, and he leans closer and looks into her eyes. "Nothing in my life made as much sense as those two fucking weeks, I can't explain it, and I don't want to waste any time trying to, so just answer my fucking question."
The blues in his eyes shift in color the longer she stares at him. It's almost like looking at a galaxy, stars and planets in orbit around a deep blue sun. She licks her lips and tries to remember what breathing feels like because her lungs aren't working and there's a burning in her chest that will kill her if she doesn't figure it out. She gasps when his left hand moves to the side of her face and she sees him smile; it's the smile she only ever saw for the two weeks they spent trapped in a live action version of The Sims, one she had never seen before and hasn't seen since. "What was the, uh…" she blinks. Words are hard.
He chuckles, and he already knows her answer, he's only asking out of necessity and propriety, and he wipes the thin skin under her left eye with the pad of his thumb. "I asked you…" he inhales sharply and suddenly the words feel like daggers and he's afraid to throw them at her. "Um, I asked you if...if it was real for you. If you felt...still feel anything for me." He drags the hand that sits on her shoulder down her arm and wraps his fingers around hers. "Say no, tell me it was all an act, just a job, and I'll gladly park my ass on your couch and forget this ever happened. But say yes, Liv, and then we admit that for three fucking years...lunches, dinners, coffee, nights at work that may or may not have ended with us huddled together on a lumpy ass bed in the cribs, conversations in the car that held more weight than anything I've ever fucking talked about with Kathy...we admit what that was, what that...is."
Words are still hard. She blinks twice, her mouth opens and closes, and for a moment she thinks she's speaking. Her face when she realizes she isn't must be amusing because he laughs and tells her how cute she is, and it only makes it harder to find the strength to tell him anything. "You know," she offers softly, "Don't you? You already know."
"But I need to hear you say it," he says to her, and he thumbs over her knuckles again. "Because for the past two days, I have felt...hollow. My life fucking fell apart, but I don't even notice when I'm with you. When I'm not with you, I feel empty, and that has to fucking mean something, doesn't it?"
She turns her back to him, choosing instead to look back out the window, because the street below can't react to what she's about to say. She watches as the wind picks up a few bits of trash and swirls them around, blowing them down the street. The street lamp they land beneath flickers and she takes it as a sign. "You mean more to me than anyone ever has," she speaks, but it's a voice that isn't hers. It's low and tremulous, uncertain, and weak. "And I know what you're asking, what you need to hear, but I…"
"Tell me," he breathes, right into her ear, and he can feel her shiver against him. He drops closer, his nose brushes against her cheek, he nuzzled her as he wraps his arms around her and presses against her, and he closes his eyes, praying as he whispers again, "Tell me you love me."
The wind kicks up again; it rattles the window and shakes the trees, strewing more litter across the pavement. "I love you," she says, and she hopes the loud rush of wind has drowned her out, saving her sanity and her job. She feels his lips hit the back of her head and she knows he's heard her. Closing her eyes, she struggles to breathe again. Two days ago she was a thousand percent sure that telling him his wife was having an affair would be the death of him, but now here she is causing more of a rift in his universe at his own insistence.
He stops shaking long enough to convince himself she's said it, and he kisses the back of her head again. "I love you, too," he tells her, and for the first time all night, he sounds sure and definitive, no wavering or hesitation in his voice at all. He means it with everything he has.
"What aren't you telling me?" her whispered question forces his arms tighter around her, earns another kiss from his lips to her head. "I know you," she tells him, answering his unasked question: How did you know? "What did she say to you?"
He drops his chin to the crown of her head and he folds his hands together as they rest on her stomach. He's locking her in, keeping her safe, keeping her with him. "Promise you won't hit me," it's a demand, not a request.
She chuckles. "I promise nothing," she teases, craning her neck back to look at him. She's stunned when he bends his head forward and kisses the end of her nose, but she doesn't move. "What is it?"
"She told me..." he looks around, sighs, and then says, "She sees the way I look at you, and she knows...just from the way I talk about you, that...there's more here than friendship." He bites his lip and says. "We've never just been partners."
"Okay, yeah, I'm aware," she straightens up, looks over her shoulder at him, and starts again with, "What does that have to do with anything?" She shifts and turns herself around in his arms. "You got something to say to me, say it, don't…"
"She knows," he spits out. "She's fucking known for years, and she knew I was fighting this thing with you because I promised her, and she still…" he chuckles but it's an angry laugh. "She still looked me dead in the eyes and told me she could look past it if we just gave her fucking asinine idea of an open marriage a shot. She would rather have me be head over heels in love with you, but not when I…" he looks into her eyes and loses his nerve. "Forget it. I already dealt with this. Let's just...go to bed."
"What did you say?" She asks the question as she follows his lead, heading into her bedroom without debate. Loving someone and being in love with them are two vastly different things, and she can't willingly believe he means what he's just said. "You said that you're..." she pauses. "Okay, you don't think you're jumping the gun, here?"
Without any hesitation, as if he's done it every night for years, he moves to the bed and throws down the covers. He turns to her as he unbuckles his belt and he smiles at her. "I'm not going back to her, or back to that house," he drops his pants and doesn't pretend to ignore the way her eyes drop and her mouth curls into a smirk. It gives him a surge of courage and boosts his ego, and he peels off his shirt. Standing before her in nothing but a pair of light blue briefs, he smirks right back. "I belong right here," he says, and he sits on the edge of the bed and beckons her to him, and when he's sure she's walking into his waiting arms, he exhales. "With you."
She stands still, her body between his knees, and she stares down at him as he slowly runs his hands under her shirt, up her bare back. Her breath hitches, her hands begin to tremble, and she knows exactly what he's doing. She remembers this; it haunts her dreams. It's how he baited the bastard they were after, but two weeks ago she was wearing a lot less and he was touching a lot more. "We aren't undercover anymore," she tells him, as if it matters, as if he cares.
"No shit," he chuckles. Without warning, he grabs and pulls, tossing her over him and into the bed. He hears her laugh, the greatest sound in the world, and he crawls up to her and whips the covers over them. "Goodnight," he whispers, and he kisses her cheek and cuddles close to her, just like he did every night for two weeks.
She can't help feeling like it's right; she feels home, and as she closes her eyes she wonders just what the hell is going on. She realizes, when his arms tighten around her and his lips fall to her neck, that she doesn't fucking care. Well, at least for tonight.
A/N: A new case in the morning brings an unexpected challenge, and we find out who Briscoe was working for and why!
