Chapter 10

If I kill Munch, you have to keep me from being sent to the tombs," Olivia began before the door to their, penthouse even had time to slam shut. Her right hand pressed against her lower back and her left steadied her balance by clinging to the edge of the desk. "Munch is a hypochondriac."

Setting down his book, an old, paperbound version of "The Merchant of Venice", dear to him because of the wonderful strength and intelligence of Portia, Brian started to get up from his chair. Watching her take a deep breath and straighten, he realized he couldn't yet place all of her body language. If she was in pain, her unfounded rage was keeping it from him. He worried frequently for her physical well-being. Watching her become so dizzy on the elevator had been difficult for him and Brian still felt the protective need to keep his gaze on her when she was in the room. Perhaps it was just a period of adjustment for both of them, Olivia hadn't had the first two months of her pregnancy to adapt to the changes in her body, and he hadn't had the time to integrate his new role into his life.

"Of course," Olivia's tirade continued, "he thinks something's wrong with the medication. Munch thinks he needs to talk to one of the doctors and monopolizes his when I need him to work on the cases before him. Sighing as she released the desk and started towards the center of the room, Olivia dropped her badge down off of her belt yanking viciously on her sidearm holster.

Tearing the holster off her right hip, she dropped it on the sofa near the window. Pulling her hair back from her shoulders and starting to knot it up, she gave up and loosed it again as she paced in front of his desk. Making an angry line between the kitchen and the doorway to the bedroom, her feet never stopped moving.

Bending her back in a slow arc backwards, Olivia rolled her shoulders from side to side before her right hand landed firmly on her neck. Long fingers dug into the muscles there as she turned to him. Is it possible my pregnancy made it into the gossip between the local precincts? I just don't see any reason why they should care or why they don't just come out and remind me to be careful because I'm pregnant. As if I'd forget! So on top of everything else, this wunderkind uni, who looks barely older than Rollins, just continues to insinuate that she knows without actually saying anything of the kind. Like she's trying to goad me into mentioning it first," Taking great care not to smile, stare at her or move too quickly, Brian removed his empty coffee cup from the table and made his way slowly to the dishwasher as she paced to the other side of the room.

While she hovered between the desk and the sofa, she continued to run through her day. Her coat falls from the other side of the couch to the floor squatting down to pick it up instead of bending her back; Olivia balanced and glared at the coat. Without missing a moment, she continues. "The DA wants to know if we're ready with the Reynold's case we have been working on since before I was pregnant."

Laughing harshly, Olivia tossed her infuriating leather coat onto the sofa seat instead of the back. Following behind her, now that he'd let the dishwasher reclaim his cup, Brian took her coat and folded it neatly in his lap. Sitting on the sofa as he tried to remain out of her way, he continued mutely watching her.

"Of course, it's completely impossible!" she snapped angrily and turned back to him. Her left hand flew to her hip and her right started pulling her hair back behind her head. In the last few minutes, it seemed she'd decided to tie her hair back after all. Brian allowed himself a moment to enjoy the contrast of the black of her casual attire. "I try to explain that to her but she gets increasingly unreasonable as the conversation moves on."

Now pacing the shortest route in the room, between the desk and the window while she spoke, Olivia still hadn't made eye contact with him. "Brian, it's like hitting my head on the wall when I speak with that woman. No matter what I say, she thinks we work miracles over here and have absolutely nothing else to do. Maybe no one goes rock climbing or catches scum on the streets of Manhattan's 1-6 precincts. She still has three times the staff I do and five detectives! She has more than enough hands to run her own prosecuting cases but she seems to believe the data will somehow be compromised because she's getting the initial data through our M.E."

Throwing up her hands, Olivia tried to stick them back in her pockets, but her coat was gone and she had to fidget with them in jeans instead. "As if we weren't going to send our results through the DA! As if every order, every bit of data we get from the rape kits doesn't travel through our social networks to begin with. If it were so unreliable we'd be at war with the suspects simultaneously and trading for deals with the DA." Taking a deep breath, she folded her arms over her chest and finally brought her gaze to his.

Watching her pace was easier from his position on the sofa. Covering the discarded coat, his hands rested in his lap. When she didn't launch into a new tirade immediately, Brian set the coat aside on the coffee table and folded his hands into a pyramid on his legs. Keeping his tone even, Brian looked up at her with the most neutral expression he could manage.

"How would you feel about something Italian for a late dinner?" he suggested. "I was just reading about the streets of Venice and I think it's put me in the mood."

Her abrupt change in mood was so intense he could almost hear the wall of anger crashing to dust behind her eyes. "Damn," Olivia swore before she sank heavily to her knees on the floor in front of him. Dropping her head to her hands, she made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat before lifting her head and apologetically making eye contact. "I was going to try not to do that." Hitting her fist against her knee, Olivia stared directly up into his face. "We just talked about this at breakfast. We'd agreed I'd at least say hello before I launched into my reasons why everything is wrong with the world at warp speed."

Sliding off the sofa to sit nearer to her on the floor, Brian reached for her chin. "That was your rule, not mine," he reminded her. "That doesn't mean you shouldn't hold me to it," Olivia retorted as she grabbed his hand away and held it tightly in her lap. "I made it for your own safety." Reaching for her shoulder with his other hand, he felt warmth run through his chest. "I could go back to the desk and you could come in again," Brian teased. "I believe I was just about to read the beginning of act five."

"Italian for dinner sounds wonderful," she replied to his almost forgotten question. "You know, Amanda and I had lunch together today at her apartment. A spring salad, the one with the purple radish-like things." Grinning as he leaned back against the foot of the sofa, Jean-Luc watched the tension in her posture start to ease. "I don't believe she was mentioned in the tirade," he said. Shaking her head, Olivia changed position and crossed her legs beneath her instead with a sigh. "No, she wasn't," she agreed. "Talking to her was one of the bright spots of my day."

Chuckling in the back of his throat, he straightened a lock of hair that had fallen into the collar of her shirt. "Perhaps while we work on saying hello to each other, we can work on adding the positive parts of your day to these recaps." Closing her eyes and smiling, Olivia tried to relax as she sighed again. "She returned from the eighty-eighth annual Police Academy Art exhibit in the Bronx three days ago," she reported. Smiling as he replied drolly, Brian felt her take his hand from her shoulder and squeeze it.

"However, listening to her explain how to eliminate the hideous grey slugs that are after her vegetable garden was by far the best part of my day, at least, since I left you with the breakfast dishes again." Nodding dryly, he remembered her continuous, hasty apologies as she got dressed and hurried to the precinct. "We may need to start getting up earlier," he observed.

Groaning and getting to her feet, Olivia rescued her coat from the coffee table and hung it where it belonged by the door. "Can't we just eat faster?" she hoped, reaching down to offer her hand to him. "Should you really-" he wondered as he refused her hand and stood on his own. Rolling her eyes at herself, Olivia sighed and shook her head. "No," she answered the unfinished question. "No, I definitely shouldn't try to be gallant and help you up.

His surprised glance made her laugh. "I didn't touch anything," she promised, though her smile was impish instead of serious. "So far my biggest physical complaints are stress related and I'd really like to keep them that way." Pausing on his way to the kitchen, Brian caught her chin and kissed her lightly. "Welcome home," he said. "I hope you had a good day."

"It had its moments," she answered, resting her forehead against his. Her skin was cool and the smell of her hair reminded him of lying next to her in bed. "Breakfast, my visit to the IAB, Amanda's grand tale of how she conquered the mighty slug invasion, dinner, a shower and bed." Keeping his hands on her hips, Brian kissed her again. "I hope you're not setting the bar too high," he wondered dryly. "I haven't even made dinner yet."

"Cannelloni, caprese salad, the city's best approximation of a Merlot and rosemary herb bread," she recited his usual choices when they had Italian as she slipped from his grasp and sank onto the sofa. Yanking off her boots as she ran through her predictions, Olivia finally stopped projecting frustration around her like a firestorm. "We'll eat. You'll laugh when I tell you about the slugs. You'll tell me what the 1-6 was really doing today, how IAB found new ways to create more paperwork and drive me mad. We might deviate and have tiramisu or talk about how Amaro and Rollins keep taking long looks at each other when they think no one sees them."

Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared her down from the stove. "Two weeks together and it's already become that dull and predictable?" Dropping unceremoniously to the floor of their living room, her boots lay forlorn at the edge of the sofa where she abandoned them. Olivia pulled her legs up to her chest and massaged her toes in slow circles through her socks. When she didn't hear the sound of the stove hissing, she looked over at him innocently. "Maybe I like it that way?" she asked, only half-teasing.

Brian created exactly what she had predicted. Moving the dishes from cupboard to table, he set it under her affectionate gaze. Lining up the plates around blue candles in the elegant candlesticks that had arrived in the wave of things from her apartment, Brian caught her eye as he lit them. "You're entitled to your opinions," he replied. "I reserve the right to be surprised by them."

"I thought you'd like those," she said, lazily pointing at intricately carved stone candlesticks. "I half intended to give them to you when I bought them last year, but I never got around to parting with them."

Setting the wine and the glasses around their plates, Brian poured it first, letting the main dish remain on hold at the stove. Cider had no real effect on pregnant women, for which he was doubly grateful. Dinner without wine was an anathema to him, and it calmed Olivia's nerves.

"It appears they have made it to me regardless," he joked as he fingered the cool black stone of the one of the candlesticks. "Ingenious of you to find a way not to give them up," Fetching the salad, Brian set it on the table before he moved to stand over her at the sofa. "Madame," he jested, reaching for her hand. "Your uninspired dinner is served."

Smirking as he helped her to her feet, Olivia wrapped her arm around his as they crossed to the table. "Brian, there's a vast difference between predictable and unconscionably dull." "Good," he answered quickly. "Perhaps you'll do me the service of warning me if we ever get too close to the later." Shaking out his napkin and dropping it to the table, he reached for her plate and stopped in surprise when her hand caught his.

"Thank you," she murmured. Appreciation radiated from her face and suffused the warmth of her touch. Confused, he returned the pressure of her hand and replied, "It's the work of moments to make dinner, Liv." Laughing at the joke only she understood, she released his hand and allowed him to serve her. Taking the plate, she met his eyes. "I'm sure it is no small effort to return tranquility to your home have each time I invade them with my barrage of post-shift complaints."

Tilting his head as if he'd never considered the idea Brian nodded slowly and pretended it was just dawning on him. "I do remember a certain difference in the ambience of my home," he mocked. "However, I haven't yet." Laughing over her salad, Olivia reached for a second slice of bread and set it on the side of her plate. "Have I ever mentioned how much I like coming home to destroy the silence of our home?" she wondered impishly.

Lifting the bread knife and cutting a few more pieces, Brian watched as her salad disappeared quickly from her plate. "Besides," he added. "The noise level hasn't come up for discussion yet."

TBC…