So, this story. It's a little bipolar to be honest. One moment it's deep, angsty and tensiony. The next moment, it's light, comedic and cracky. It really depends on my mood at the time I've noticed. Not the greatest basis for story continuity but hey – the words are flowing and at this point that's all I can ask for. Thank you so much for the reviews, really glad you're still on board with this one despite the fact that it was started in the early 1900's!
Oh and a big thank you to my awesome beta Leah for delivering this back to me right before I jet-set outta here. Will do my best to update this one from afar.
:::::
The drive was long. Longer than she'd expected. Not that she knew what to expect because she had no idea where they were even going. They hadn't exchanged any words yet. Not since the parking garage, not since the heated stand off, not since his command for her to, get in.
She wasn't angry, she wasn't upset either. She was just numb. Numb to the course of the nights events. Numb to Marshall, numb to the case, numb to her job.
Numb to Elliot.
It was a strange feeling that washed over her at her lack of emotion. The fuel, her drive, the intrinsic fire that burned inside her earlier that evening to fix, to mend, to take back what was rightfully hers.
It had died out back at the parking station.
As they pulled up to another red light a couple walking past the front of their vehicle crossed her eye line. Even the sight of them clinging together on this chilly October morning, didn't register a single emotion. Not one.
Elliot cleared his throat, breaking the silence for the first time since they left her building and it was only then that she felt his eyes on her profile. She continued to stare straight ahead, watching the couple until they left her line of sight completely.
It didn't even bother her that he was watching her, or that he still hadn't told her about Marshall. She didn't even care that he slammed her ass with the car door.
She. Just. Didn't. Care.
"You're angry," his voice croaked from infrequent use and she wondered how long he'd been waiting to say it. Mulling on those two words. Maybe it wasn't even those words. Maybe he debated over, 'you're upset', or 'you're pissed off'. Maybe it was that apology she knew she'd never receive.
Her eyes didn't make it all the way to his, instead they stared blankly at the red hue of the traffic light and she counted the beats.
3, 2, 1. Green.
Her eyes flickered in response, because it was as if she knew it would change at that very moment, like she'd seen this scene in a movie before.
And she was tired of it.
His eyes were still on her, waiting for her to register, searching for some kind of acknowledgment, a response. She thought about mentioning the light had changed but even that seemed like effort, so instead her eyes just continued to pierce through the emerald glow until white reflective spots danced in front of her.
The honk of the vehicle behind them caused Elliot to jolt in his seat but she remained unaffected. His eyes moved from hers to the green light and he knew then. It was clear she'd seen the light change and she hadn't said a word.
Elliot stepped on the accelerator a little too firmly and she sunk back into the seat, closing her eyes, letting herself succumb to the fact that it was nearly 4am and the only emotion that continued to resonate within her was exhaustion.
As white spots continued to flicker against a jet-black backdrop she thought about his family. There should be guilt, and there was. But there had always been guilt, so it was just a fleeting, reoccurring thought that caused nothing but numbness and then just black.
:::::
When she opened her eyes again the car had come to a complete stop and Elliot silenced the ignition. She blinked a couple of times before she sat up a little, rubbing a hand over her face, arching her back from discomfort until she heard the joints in her back crack softly.
They were stationed outside a block of apartments in a part of the city she didn't recognize. Or maybe they were no longer even in the city. She was curious as to how much time had passed but it was still too much effort to lift her arm to look at her watch. One thing was for sure, her body didn't want to be awake right now, and the aches that currently wracked through her muscles were proof that she was well and truly depleted.
She felt him staring again, and this time he had practically bored holes into her profile just waiting for her to turn towards him.
But she didn't turn. Because she didn't care.
When it was clear she wasn't going to respond, he exhaled heavily and it was the firm stab of the seatbelt buckle she heard before he was yanking the car door open. He slammed it with a little too much force and she didn't even watch where he walked, or where he went, or what he did.
She just sat there, alone, indifferent.
Numb.
:::::
What the hell?
He couldn't understand it. Within minutes, seconds even, she had just turned. After everything they'd been through tonight, the long lengthy rollercoaster display of emotions he had witnessed - this was one the one that had him at a complete loss.
Suddenly out of nowhere she just stopped.
No attitude, no argument, no front. She just looked blank, vacant - like the life had been sucked right out of her. Was it something he said? Was it the door? Was that the straw? Or was it earlier, on her bed – his hands, his body, his mouth.
They'd gone from this rigorous ping-pong blame game to nothing, zero, ziltch. Not a word, or a sound, not even some fucking eye contact.
It must have been the door.
:::::
Her eyes were closed, she was lying back in the car seat but her discomfort was evident. It was like shifting uncontrollably in one of those tiny airplane seats in coach. The kind designed specifically so the passenger would have no choice but to upgrade to business class if they wanted any possibility of sleeping.
Her hand moved down to the base of the chair, sliding, grasping – feeling for that seat lever, desperately seeking the ability to move horizontal. When her fingers finally located the solid bar, she pulled firmly and suddenly her body was careening backwards. Her knee came up in response, bumping the glove box, catching the latch and before she knew it papers were spilling out, piling at her feet.
For crying out loud.
She clambered upward, a little out of sorts, blinking her eyes a couple of times to stifle the head rush, the exhaustion. She felt drunk – drugged almost. A pile of papers had scattered out onto the floor beneath her feet, and she bowed down with a groan in an effort to collect them. Receipts, a small notebook and some opened mail lay dormant at her feet, and it wasn't until she turned an envelope around that she noticed it. A gas bill.
But more specifically.
Mr Elliot Stabler
4B, 87 Hicks Street
BROOKLYN HEIGHTS 11201 NY
She narrowed her eyes. Still unsure what she was looking at and why her partner's name sat above an unfamiliar address. An address in Brooklyn Heights for that matter. An apartment in Brooklyn Heights. She looked out the front windshield then, searching wildly for a street sign, markings, anything. When she turned to peer out the drivers seat window that's when she saw it.
Eighty seven.
The brass, slightly weathered letters beaming back at her. Her eyes shot back to the envelope in her hands.
87.
Son of a bitch.
Before she had time to process what this meant, the door was suddenly opening and she felt the car bow under Elliot's weight as he slid into the drivers seat.
He was holding a navy blue backpack and he'd changed his shoes in the process. Her hands gripped protectively onto the envelope as she watched him reach over and deposit his belongings into the backseat, his face drawing closer in the process. The eye contact she had so blatantly refused him earlier was now, prominent, full force – unmissable.
When he caught her eye on his retreat the glare she was sporting right now was unmistakable. He just stopped, his eyes narrowing in response. They just stared at each other then, and he didn't look guilty or apologetic. In fact he looked pissed off and defensive - and she could tell by the way his jaw clicked that he was going to press her on it.
"What?" he whispered, almost through gritted teeth and although the volume was low, the defensive tone in his voice caused her whole body to seize up in anger, starting with her jawbone.
What? WHAT?! She wanted to scream.
She shook her head and let her eyes drop away for a second, wondering if this was the part where she was going to lose it. She wanted to – damn it she was reeling inside, but her instincts were telling her to swallow it down, stifle the anger. To keep this - whatever the hell it was, buried. Just to allow her enough time to process what this actually meant.
If it even meant anything.
She wasn't sure if her exhaustion was playing a part in this, heightening her internal response or if this actually warranted a reaction. Was Elliot not telling her he'd moved out of his family home, yet again, really that uncalled for? Was it really that surprising?
When she finally moved her eyes back his eyes were practically piercing hers, daring her to speak, to break, to fucking rip him a new one. She could see it in the depths of those blue irises, and his silent encouragement only spurred her on.
Her fingernails dug in the envelope she still held captive, and when he raised his eyebrows almost in mockery she snapped, moving forward and thumping the envelope squarely against his chest.
"Your gas bill's overdue," she rasped, the anger punctuating each word and the shock of her outburst was evident in his features. His palm instinctively came up, slamming against hers in response and she ripped it hastily out from underneath his.
Her heart beat was a heavy thud in her chest and he just stared at her then, the mail still pressed up against his chest. Taking in every second, every wild, erratic emotion that passed across her face. She watched as he drank in the familiarity, swam within it, revealed in the fact that she was breaking in some capacity.
She saw it in his face then. He knew. He fucking knew what she meant, the bill, the address, his marriage. She'd seen it as clear as day in his eyes, the hint of satisfaction that flickered across his face.
She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. If he thinks she gives two shits about his new residence he has another thing coming. He looks smug as all hell now at her unrestrained break, and she feels stupid, ridiculous because she'd told herself not to bite – not to take the bait, and what did she do?
So he moved out. It's not like it's the first time, and it probably won't be the last. It didn't mean he still couldn't knock up his wife again and be right back to square one. But he was reading her like a god-dammed book right now, processing every little niggle, every flinch, every fiber and she was over his assessment, his unspoken interrogation.
She wasn't giving him another inch.
Without another thought she moved her eyeline back to the windscreen. She was done with this conversation, she was done with this argument, she was done with this stand off.
She was just done.
She could feel the heat, the tension, as he watched the side of her face, but she wasn't turning, she wasn't goddamned moving because he had already seen too much, assumed too much and right now, and she was done letting him pry.
She heard him clear his throat and she wondered if he was going to call her on this, press her on her outburst, dig the knife deeper. But instead.
"I think I preferred the silent treatment," he told her sarcastically, before reaching over and stuffing the bill back into the opened glove box compartment and slamming it shut.
He moved back, and it was moments before she heard the key turning and the engine roaring into life.
Good, she thought to herself, her eyes narrowed, starring at the road ahead.
Because from this point forward that's all he was getting.
:::::
They'd been driving for over half an hour down an endless freeway when she heard the indicator and suddenly the car was starting to drift to the right.
They were on the interstate 678S when she saw the exit sign and the bold white letters housed on a green backing flashed across her vision.
Kennedy Airport
Her heart started a heavy rhythm against her rib cage. She didn't speak. Because she had made a pact with herself, to him – that she wouldn't, and this was not worthy of breaking that pact.
But she couldn't help it, her eye line was moving on it's own accord until it was sidled right up against his profile, because although she was not going to ask for answers, she was hoping that maybe if she stared at him long enough, he would offer them up.
He knew she was looking at him, but he didn't give her the courtesy of even acknowledging her, let alone an explanation, and she thought she should have known better than to expect anything more.
He continued along the freeway at a fixed pace and she knew they were going above the speed limit but she wasn't going to question it. Instead she just moved her eye line to the window beside her, staring out at all the cars that now seemed to be passing at a frantic rate, hoping – just hoping, that this night, had an end in sight.
:::::
He could feel the tension coming from his right, and it was palpable.
It was not just tension either. It was fear, alarm, mixed with anxiety and concern. He knew all she had to do was ask him. Just say those four words that had been circling her mind since he took that exit.
Where are we going?
But she was one incredibly stubborn woman, and so instead she was going to spend the remainder of this car trip assuming their going to Canada, Mexico, Belize – Russia or Botswana for crying out loud. She was probably frantically analyzing the multitude of possibilities that they could be in for. Trying to figure out how to tell him she didn't have her passport or even her wallet for that matter.
The airport was coming up on their right, but only he knew he was heading straight past it, because it was the quickest way to cut through to Long Beach at this time of night and yes, he was a prick for not telling her.
But that's what she gets for not asking.
:::::
They passed the entrance to the airport and she didn't know whether she was breathing a sigh of relief or annoyance.
What the hell was going on?
She stretched in her seat, her legs moving out in front of her and as she arched her back against the stiff seat behind her, the seat belt across her chest practically strangled her. She was shifting because she was irritated, frustrated but above all she was fighting the overwhelming urge to just scream -
WHERE THE FUCK ARE WE GOING?
But she didn't. She just drew in a deep breath, before expelling it sharply and shaking her head at nothing in particular. She knew she was one step away from mumbling under her breath like a mad woman, and despite priding herself on not actually uttering a word, it hasn't escaped her that the overzealous dramatics she was putting on were probably far worse than just asking.
But she was on a roll now, a mind-numbing, senseless roll that she intended to ride out until the bitter end.
:::::
They had been driving for over an hour when he finally pulled into the street.
He had only been here a handful of times and he only remembered two things, it being a few streets after the exit and the house being on the beachfront. When he caught water rippling under the moonlight in between the rows of mansions he knew they were in the right place.
He was watching her out of the corner of his eye and she was following his line of sight, scanning the beautiful houses and he could almost hear her mind ticking over.
He saw the house up ahead and it was unmistakable in all it's heightening glory. He sucked in a breath as his hands tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning a whiter shade of pale.
There was street parking right out the front but he drove a few houses down to lessen the chance of his car being recognized. When he finally came to a stop, he switched off the engine, clicked off his seat belt and he wasted no time reaching for the bag in the back.
He could feel her eyes on him already and this was the part where he was going to have to tell her as little as possible and still expect her to comply.
He bid some time, ignoring her penetrating gaze a little longer by pulling out a rectangular black satchel and a small flashlight from the backpack. He felt her eyes on the satchel but he ignored her loaded question, and shoved it deep into his front pocket. He drew in a heavy breath before his eyes flicked to hers and he finally met her stare.
"Liv," he whispered, his voice feeling as rough as sandpaper, and even he was afraid of how this conversation was going to go, but he just needed to say it. Rip it. Like a Band-Aid.
"I need you to stay here," he told her firmly.
That was it, that was all he needed her to do. Stay here. Yet even as he said it, he in no way, shape or form believed it was actually going to happen and he was kicking himself already because he knew he should have worded it differently. Her eyebrows were already furrowing and she was shaking her head again and he knew he was dealing with a matter of seconds.
"Liv please," he rasped quickly before she had a chance to rebut and he couldn't believe he had just begged her, but that was what it has come down to. He would do anything. He just needed her to stay in the car.
"Ok?" he whispered again, his voice a notch lower so she realized the severity, or at least humored him but it was too late. He saw the anger imbedded in her eyes at being left in the dark for far too long, and he knew his luck had well and truly run out.
"This his house?" she asked, her voice deep and somewhat horse but he ignored her question, because the less she knew the better.
"Just.. let me fix this," he whispered. Because he knew it was his fault, his cause, his cross to bear.
"I'm coming with you," she told him directly raising her eyebrows, as if he was insane to think otherwise and he watched her for heated moments until he finally moved his eye line back to the windscreen ahead and stared straight ahead.
He scrubbed a hand down his face because he thought he had gotten through to her, but he was a fool to think that after everything that's happened tonight, that she'd actually reason with him on this.
The beats of silence continued to tick over until his eyes finally moved back to hers. Then with all the seriousness he could muster he switched gears, offering up the one line he thought might be his saving grace.
"I just need you to trust me on this," he whispered, and yes, he went there. That word, almost always guaranteed to trump all others. A tangible godsend reserved only for times where he was in desperate need of level headed, rational, acceptance.
If you can't trust your partner, Elliot, it's time to get a new one.
Her words from a life time ago circled his mind, and he hoped she could see them imbedded in the dept of his eyes. He waited anxiously, for her response because he knew this could go either way, and it was long, agonizing moments until she finally ripped her eyes away from his with a look of fury he wasn't sure he'd ever seen before. She exhaled heavily into the space in front of her and raised her hand in clear dismissal, like she was done, like she was over it and the gesture she'd just given him might as well have been:
"Just get the hell out."
But he took it, before she had a chance to change her mind, and before he had a chance to change his.
:::::
It had been fifteen minutes.
Fifteen damn minutes. Since she watched through the rearview mirror as Elliot scaled the automatic gate and disappeared over the other side.
She should have been worried, but she was just livid. Her whole body felt like it was constricting from within, and her jaw muscles were already aching from the strain of being fixed in place the moment she got into this god-forsaken car.
She's going to go in there. She knows it. He knows it. The fact that she had lasted this long should not only be commended, but recorded in a history book somewhere because each minute had been just as agonizing as the last.
Her hand moved to the door handle and as her fingers grasped the lever, moments from pulling it open, she heard it.
I need you to trust me on this.
It should have been enough to deter her, to reiterate her role tonight, their unspoken agreement. But all she fixated on is, I need you. And not under an emotional pretext, but in the demanding sense.
In other words; I need you to trust me on this, but I'm not going to give you any insight into what's actually happening. The history, the severity, the risks, the timeline, the plan, the agenda. Yes I know you're my partner, we're equals, we're bound by mutual reliance and dependence, but that doesn't mean I'm going to tell you who Marshall is, why he called me when he cuffed you to your bed, and I'm certainly not going explain why I failed to tell you I've been residing in Brooklyn Heights for the past 3 months, despite the fact that we've worked a multitude of late nights and stakeouts where instead I've offered up in-depth details about my children's recent scholastic achievements, yet kept you completely in the dark regarding the demise of my marriage. Instead, I just need you to sit here and wait for me to handle this and trust me on this ok. Oh and if you think I'm telling you what's in that tiny black satchel you've got another thing coming.
She was livid. How the hell could he expect her to just sit here and trust him when his every action tonight contradicted that very term. He had trusted her with nothing tonight. Not a thing. Instead he just managed to intricately extract as much information as possible without offering up a thing. She felt the pin pricks and it hit her like a fist to the gut, because he completely manipulated the situation tonight, taken charge and left her here without so much as cracking a window.
Your viewpoint will always be partial.
She moved forward then, and slammed her feet against the dash of the car and let out a harrowing guttural noise followed by a –
"Fucking, fuck!"
She was losing it. She really was. But she couldn't anymore. She - just - couldn't.
Her hand moved with urgency, grasping the door handle and just as she went to push the door open, headlights rounded the corner bouncing off the side mirror and straight into her eyes. She squinted against the light, freezing momentarily, holding the partially opened door as she impatiently waited for the car to continue down the street and pass her.
It didn't.
It slowed to a stop just behind her and her heart beat should have been kicking into overdrive at the possibilities but all she felt was anger and a severe lack of patience. Her eyes moved to the rearview mirror but she couldn't make out the driver in the blinding light, but one thing was for sure - if they didn't move their carin the next 5 seconds she was going to make them.
Then she saw it, the automatic door Elliot had scaled earlier - opening. The large white barricade moved inward and the car was no longer blinding her with light as it moved into the drive way.
Son of a bitch.
Her mind ticked over then, she had split seconds to decide her course of action because she knew she only had moments. She moved, and it was lightening speed, she pushed open the door, jumped out of the car, slammed it shut and ran for the gate.
She saw it already starting to close and her stomach dropped, because she knew if she missed it, it was unlikely she'd have the same upper body strength required to scale to the top. She saw the small space she needed to run through slowly getting smaller, and she knew it was going to be exceptionally close.
Her mind was telling her she wasn't going to make it, but her body was refusing to listen. She mounted the sidewalk, and it was one, two, three steps before her body slipped through the crack. The side of the gate clipped her left arm and she yanked it clear before her shoes slipped on damp leaves and suddenly she was falling onto the tiled ground. The impact rattled her momentarily, her knees scuffed beneath her jeans and her hands grazed but she was up in a matter of seconds. She jutted behind the pillar to give her a chance to catch her breath, and waited for him to head inside.
Fuck.
The footsteps started towards the front door and she knew it was now or never. She raced as quietly as her feet would allow until she rounded the car and came up behind him.
She drew her weapon, until it was in line with the back of his head and her heart was a heavy thud because she knew she could be compromising everything in this very moment. She was surprised he hadn't heard or sensed her presence, but she took no chances and moved in closer.
"Don't move," she rasped, and pressed the barrel up between his shoulder blades so he knew she was serious. Both hands were saddled around the gun, her finger loosely fingering the trigger – almost daring him to fucking try her.
She watched his body tense, straightening beneath the gun and it appeared that he was complying with her command.
"Hands where I can see them," she whispered.
He raised them slowly until they were shoulder height, and she swallowed before she moved in pushing him roughly up against the door with her free hand. With his palms flattened against the door, she moved her hands down his sides in search of a weapon. She patted the edge of his jacket until they reached his hip, and ran across the perimeter of his belt, searching, moving, across his back, finding no cuffs, no weapons, no nothing.
She moved in closer, to his front pockets, her hands running over contents, coins she thought, keys maybe, but no weapons. Her body had drawn closer to his in the process, the barrel of the gun still pressed firmly into his lower back before she finally took a step back.
She saw him visibly let out the breath he was holding upon her retreat.
"Don't do anything stupid Olivia," he told her, and the familiar way in which he spoke to her sent chills down her spine because she shared no connection with this man before tonight.
"Open the door," she told him quietly, not falling for his efforts to soften her because she was on a war path and this anger she was retaining was just about the only thing that would get her through tonight.
"Oliv-"
"Now," she rasped cutting him off, digging the barrel of the gun a little deeper into his side, because they weren't going to do this outside in the middle of a suburban street.
That worked, that propelled him forward and his hand reached for the keys already dangling from the keyhole. When he opened the door, she pushed him through the threshold, and led him up the few stairs until they reached the living room which boarded the kitchen.
"Turn around," she told him quietly. "Slowly."
He did so and when their eyes connected, she kept her gaze steady, fixed, but she wasn't sure how to take his sudden compliance. She had expected him to be far more aggravated, belligerent, difficult – and she'd been ready for that. For a fight. But he was just looking at her somewhat seemly concerned at the lengths she might take this.
"Where is it?" she whispered slowly, her eyes desperate to move off his and onto the surfaces of his kitchen bench and coffee table to see if she could spy the familiar manila folder.
"Where's what?" he asked her and if he was playing coy he had about five seconds to drop the act because her patience dissipated the moment her partnertold her to trust him.
"The file," she rasped, her fingers stiffening against the trigger. "The Lindbrook file Marshall, where is it?"
His eyes flickered at the use of his name and his lips turned slightly upward. She knew it was to her detriment because it was clear it wasn't her memory that would have triggered the use, it was her partner. Marshall's eyes left hers then and moved behind her to the entrance to what she assumed was a bedroom, before they came slowly back to hers.
"Where is he?" he countered his voice taking on a mischievous tone, and she blinked, once, twice, before she dismissed his question entirely.
"I'm not going to ask you again," she rasped.
"Lower the weapon," he told her gently, and he took a step towards her, trying to ease her down with hand gestures but it only fired her up.
"One more step Marshall," she warned and he stopped in his place, raising his hands in defence.
"Liv, I wasn't going to hurt you," he whispered and her eyebrows narrowed in response to her nickname, to his bizarre confession. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to ease her in a false sense of security before he'd make his move. She'd played that game before, and she was done.
"I was just doing my job," he whispered, "please Liv, just put down the gun and we'll talk. I'll explain everything."
She just wanted to scream - I don't even know you! Instead she just scoffed, laughed in response because this guy had to be kidding her.
"You're full of it Marshall. I don't want to talk, I don't want an explanation, I just want the file and then I'm leaving," she told him firmly, slowly so he could understand point blank what she was there for.
"And what if I don't?" he told her shaking his head. "You're going to shoot me? How do you think you're going to explain that one to your Captain? I don't think Don's going to take something like that very lightly."
Her mouth was running dry, he knew her Captain.
"Where's your partner?" he repeated, stepping closer and when her lower back came into contact with the kitchen counter she realized she was subconsciously recreating the distance Marshall seemed intent on removing.
Her hands remained steady, the barrel aimed directly at his chest, knowing she still had the power within her hands, and no amount of intimidation was going to change that.
"You're not going to shoot me," he whispered, "I'm not a rapist, or a murderer, or a criminal," he told her, his steps getting closer and closer.
"I will," she mouthed, her hands shaking in her grasp but it was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when she realized that despite being armed, she wouldn't. Not when she was that ill equip to make the decision, not when she didn't have all the facts. Not when he had drip feed her tidbits of information, referencing her life, her coworkers, her captain.
She would kill to save a victim, to save her partner, but she wouldn't take someone's life to save her job. It was when he took the few remaining steps towards her that he'd read the truth she'd been so desperately trying to conceal and the balance of power shifted between them immediately.
He was on her in a matter of seconds, grasping her wrists quickly moving the gun up to the roof, pushing her body further into the kitchen counter until a noise of exertion left her throat. His hands were like a vice around her wrists and it was a tug of war for the weapon she was still desperately gripping onto. He was using his body as a cage, she had nowhere to go, and he was practically bending her backwards over the tabletop. The edge of the counter dug into her spine and she moaned her distress as she tried her best not to let him overpower her. It took everything within her to twist, but she did it, turning beneath him, gasping heavily when she ended up facing the counter.
His body caged hers from behind but it wasn't enough leverage to push back into him, slip a hand from her weapon and elbow him in the side. She just needed to summon the energy. He still had a powerful grip on her wrists, and the full weight of his body was pressing her into the counter.
She took one sharp, steady, deep breath before she moved her body forcibly backward, her ass slammed into his crotch and it rocked him at first, but he recovered quickly ramming her back into the counter. She felt his mouth behind her ear, his nose buried in her hair and he exhaled heavily into her locks.
"Christ Olivia, this how you like it?" he whispered and a shiver ran up her spine at the words. The intent. The off the hand comment that pierced far deeper than he would have expected but it was the flame that ignited the wick and it was all she needed to set off her explosion.
"Get off me," she seethed, and her words were muffled by the counter below her and she wanted this. To take him. She still had her hands wrapped solidly around her weapon and she was not giving it up without a fight. She felt his mouth slip from the back of her head until his lips skimmed across the skin of her neck. Her heart beat was a steady thump against the counter.
"He do you from behind?" he whispered, and it was the final straw. The final break within her. Her hand slipped from beneath his grip, until her elbow shot backward, slamming forcibly into his ribs. His cry was loud and pierced her ears, mirroring the plain that had shattered through her elbow but she was running on adrenaline. He didn't release his grip on her wrist holding the weapon but he moved backward slightly, giving her enough room to launch up and knock him backwards.
Her foot moved behind his ankle in an attempt to trip him and it worked. He was falling but she didn't even have time to catch her breath before her body followed suit. He still had his grip locked on her wrists as she came crashing down, and it was a few disorientating seconds before he'd rolled her onto her back and moved on top of her.
A noise expelled from her throat as he used his body weight to press her into the floor, all the air leaving her lungs instantly. He grasped her wrist that clung to her weapon and started to slam it roughly, repeatedly against the kitchen tiles. The sound of metal against marble filled her ears, her fingers ached, bruised as she clung desperately to her only lifeline. When he finally managed to pry the weapon from her bruised hands she let out a strained yell in defeat and her eyes pricked with moisture as the barrel dug into the bare skin at her waist where her hoodie had risen.
Her mouth clamped shut in an effort to muffle her sobs because there were parallels from earlier in the night with Elliot – on top of her, pinning her down. Smothering the air from her lungs but this is poles apart, because she knew the man above her didn't care what happened to her tonight. There was no compassion and no agenda - except for his.
His mouth was inches from her ear and she could hear him trying to reign in his own breathing, but it was hers she knew she wasn't likely to catch. Her lungs barely filled with each gasp and her eyes were clamped shut now too because she didn't want to commit this image to memory.
"Where is he?" he rasped, his voice instantly a notch lower and a flood of anxiety shot through her at the new tone he'd adopted, only reiterating that everything he'd said up until then was just an act. She was stupid, fucking stupid, for not trusting her instincts and letting her guard down.
He was waiting for her answer but she could barely breathe let alone speak.
"You know breaking and entering is a serious crime, Olivia," he told her, his words washing over her ears but all she was concentrating on was the pins and needles rapidly developing in her arms and legs. He pressed the weapon a little firmer into her side and a stifled noise came out before his body weight quenched it.
"I have every right to shoot him," his lips scaled the side of her neck and she closed her eyes, trying to shrink away from his advances. "And you."
She wanted to tell him to do it. To shoot her. Because she couldn't anymore. With this night, with this case, with her job, with Elliot - but she couldn't move her mouth, her body or utilize her vocal chords even if she wanted to. All she could think was that Elliot was in this house somewhere, most likely listening and watching every single second.
It was just time she needed to give him, for him to get the better of this situation, the upper hand, but the bittersweet realization was, it was time she was rapidly losing. She was no longer drawing in breaths and the words that came from the body above her sounded like they were being whispered to her through a broken telephone line.
Olivia, where is he?
She felt dizzy, lightheaded, achy - distant. She wanted to call for Elliot. She wanted to scream his name with all the exertion she could muster. Tell him to get this son of a bitch off her. But she didn't. She just thought it, tasted it, breathed it, and craved it, before the light above her seeped into darkness and the muscles in her body finally released their ache.
:::::
TBC