Part Ten
If there was one thing Olivia Benson knew, it was that pain hurt less when she was in motion. Through the years, she'd learned to keep moving and running and ducking and turning. Whatever she could do to stay a step ahead of what would surely crush her if it caught up to her. And from experience she knew the pain wrought by a truly hideous scene with Elliot was a particularly evil, cruel sort of pain. The type that came at her with a vengeance.
Which made it all the more important that she keep moving until she was sure she'd outrun it.
She dropped her shirt on the floor, reaching behind her back to unhook her bra. Concentrating on refusing to let herself think of how Elliot had so recently been trying the same thing, her slippery fingers revealed that her body was much less able to forget Elliot. She gave up on the beige lace for the moment, moving to her pants instead. The button and zipper were ridiculously complicated as well, with her mind drawing up the memory of Elliot's earlier assessment that her cotton-blend slacks were hot.
She stopped trying long enough to wipe away the tears, then redoubled her efforts, managing to yank the button open. She slid her fingers along the waistband of her panties, intending to strip her bottom half in one swift tug. But as she glanced down, her eyes caught the dark, inky swirls of her tattoo peeking out from the cloth.
Damn it. There was nothing she could do to escape him. Not with that there.
At least she hadn't fucked him.
At least she hadn't let him see that damn tattoo.
The ne she'd gotten in Oregon when she felt so lonely and disconnected from him that she'd feared they'd never get their friendship back. A couple of nightmares, a little too much to drink, which she suddenly and belatedly realized often went hand-in-hand with the more spectacularly stupid moments of her life, and she'd gone into a tattoo parlor owned by a male tattoo artist named Bunny and done something as dumb as, if not dumber than, nearly fucking Elliot.
Ok, definitely dumber.
She squeezed her eyes closed and breathed a sigh of relief.
Thank that fucking god of his that he blew his chance of seeing her naked.
She couldn't imagine what the fuck she would have done had he found out she had his fucking name tattooed on her hip. She took a deep breath, certain that if she told herself everything was fine, then maybe it would be.
There was a rush of cold air chasing away the heat of the steam, causing her to shiver. She turned, expecting to find the door that didn't quite fit its frame had fallen open as it tended to do.
But rather than the misfit door, her eyes fell on Elliot. Just standing there. Fierce anger rose up and made her blood boil.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She felt exposed and crossed her arms over her chest in some attempt at modesty.
His eyes were narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. Fury was radiating from him. She needn't have felt embarrassed for her bra and unbuttoned pants, though, because he wasn't looking. His eyes were locked on hers, his rage heating the small room as much as the hot shower had. He said nothing, just looked at her.
"I said what the fuck do you think you're doing?" She prayed he didn't confuse her heavy breathing anger for something else entirely.
"Is that what you think of me?" His eyes didn't sway from hers as he took a step into the bathroom. He barely waited a beat as he barked at her. "Answer me!"
She didn't know how to. Because she if she were sober, she would have known better. Because she knew, even drunk, that Elliot wasn't an asshole. Because, even knowing that, she was still afraid.
Not of him, but of how completely vulnerable she was around him. No one had ever been able to strip her defenses and leave her raw and defenseless and terrified.
She looked away, scared of letting him see how scared she was. Her shoulders moved in the slightest indication of a shrug. It was as close to an answer as he was going to get. It was as close to an answer as she could give.
"Do you think I would do that?" He took another step toward her, crowding her against the wall. His head leaned to the side, trying to catch her eyes as she avoided his. Finally he brought his hands to her biceps, the heat of his hands causing her to shiver.
"Look at me, Olivia."
Her eyes moved to his instinctively.
"Do you really think I would take it this far if I thought it was a game?"
Her face crumbled under his scrutiny. He was so angry, so hurt, so offended by her behavior. And she couldn't blame him. She would have felt the same way in his place.
She wanted to correct him, to explain that it wasn't him, to point out that the person she thought so little of was herself. Of course he wasn't so cruel. But she wasn't sure she deserved better than a pointless game. Her entire life had been built around making sure she never actually got what she wanted or was ever happy.
Dating jerk after jerk and devoting her career to the unending trauma of rape and child abuse was hardly the plan for someone who knew what to do with happiness.
"Answer me, Olivia!" Despite the harshness of his words and tone, his face wasn't angry. His hands were soft too, gentle as they slipped from her upper arms to her face, cradling her cheeks as he pulled her to look at him.
Her tears continued to fall, their frequency only increased by his kindness. The steam from the shower seeped around them, the moisture adding to the heat her body always generated when she was too close to him.
His eyes didn't waver from hers and she knew they wouldn't until he got what he wanted. But what did he want? Her body? Her respect? Her honest declaration that she needed him more than she needed to breathe? And then she remembered.
Her answer. That was what he wanted. He wanted to know if she really believed he was the type to chance the destruction of his career and the closest friendship he'd ever had for a quick fuck.
He wasn't. She knew that because in all the years she'd known him, he'd never dared touch her before. Like her, he'd tried to protect their relationship by avoiding anything more than they already had. Until one night, when an innocent game and too much beer had gotten the better of both of them.
The pause was too long, she realized, while she tried to get her alcohol-addled mind working again.
Way too long.
In the interest of protecting herself, she'd forgotten to protect her partner as well. And it quickly became clear, as his hands fell to his sides and he started to back away, that she not only had failed to protect him but had dealt him a terrible blow.
He didn't try to conceal the hurt, probably because he was still drunk too, possibly because he was too crushed to really give a shit. He was shaking his head as he took tiny, uncertain steps backwards.
She hadn't meant to hurt him. She'd never thought that thinking he might hurt her would hurt him. To hell with protecting herself, she had to fix what she'd done to him.
She reached for him, sniffling as she tried to stop crying long enough to speak. Her hands grabbed his elbow, fastening around it.
"No, I know you wouldn't do that." She pulled, feeling his body cautiously obeying her command. As he moved back in front of her, she found there was no way to explain herself. That she'd been afraid of him breaking her heart sounded stupid, even in her own head. "I'm sorry." She hoped it was enough.
His eyes burned into hers for a long time as he weighed his options. But finally, he stepped forward, crowding into her personal space again, his hands going first to her arms and then reaching around her.
As she fell forward into his embrace, she felt the rumble in his chest, the first indication he was speaking, before the sounds reached her ears.
"Trust me, Liv."
She was terrified to go out on the limb, even for Elliot, but she didn't want to hurt him again. And she did trust him, when it came right down to it. She never would have fallen for him if he hadn't first earned her trust.
She turned her face into his neck and nodded, as she breathed in the scent of him, intensified by the steam and his racing heart. "I do trust you."
Slowly, he pulled back, bringing his hands to her face, and looked her in the eye. "Let me show you." He moved forward, his lips pressing against her forehead. His mouth moved slowly, drifting across her temple, down her cheek. "Let me touch you." His lips brushed ever so lightly across hers. "Let me love you."
She could barely take a breath, so scared that even something so small might dispel the hot fog around them, so afraid that Elliot might disappear into the magical mist. She looked at him, at the warmth in his eyes, at the desire in his parted lips, then she squeezed her eyes closed. She had never trusted anyone to love her before. She had never trusted anyone to make love to her before. She had never trusted anyone like she trusted him.