A/N: You ever start writing something then re-read it and hate it? That's where I'm at right now. Sigh. I'm trying to power through, though. Sorry for delay in updating, too. I've been super busy the last few weeks. But good news, i've got the next chapter just about done and will try to have it up by Monday. That chapter is all young love EO fluff (and maybe a little bit more *wink wink*). I'm still trying to update my other stuff, too. sorry!
also, Volk v ovech'yey shkurye is Russian for a wolf in sheep's clothing.
Disclaimer: Still don't own anything.
Chap 11: Permission
The air is thick and hot, heavy with the promise of rain, though the sun inches high into the sky. It's early morning and the day is just beginning. Olivia Benson sits, legs crossed, shorts riding high, in a laundry cart. Her nose is tucked tightly in The Bell Jar, and a single tendril of dark, sweat matted hair, that is slightly curled, hangs down her face, as she concentrates on the task at hand. It's early morning and while she appears to be reading – turning the page, underlining a word here and there, she's truly contemplating how to approach her mother.
Like daughter, like mother, Serena also sits, legs crossed at the knee; book in one hand, pen in the other, reading.
Similar to a child awaiting Santa on their first Christmas, Olivia peeks over the edge of her paperback every now and then, contemplating just how to broach the subject of her upcoming date with Elliot. She'd counted herself lucky a couple of night's prior when Serena, scribbling fiercely in a notepad, had simple waved her off with a flick of the wrist in regards to going out with Ethan.
But Elliot and Ethan were vastly different people, a fact Olivia had become acutely aware of the last couple of days. While Ethan was more of a seemingly harmless boy, smiling sheepishly and struggling to create conversation, Elliot was a man. At eighteen years old, Elliot Stabler was a father and a caregiver; he had two jobs and an almost fiancé. Asking to go into town with him was going to be a feat indeed.
Clearing her throat, Olivia peaks once more over the edge of her paperback. Instead of finding Serena, nose deep in endless letters, the older woman's book is folded in her lap, and her grey eyes trained on Olivia's brown ones.
"Yes?"
"Don't worry about folding the bed spreads, I'll do them." Olivia offers, working to get into her mom's good graces. Her eyes flit to the dryer as the heavy-duty linens that'd been too much for the small washer and dryer unit in the beach house, bounce about.
Olivia knows she's walking on eggshells at that moment; with Serena, each word must be chosen carefully, meticulously articulated. She might have been an English professor, but Serena Benson knew how to cross exam her daughter as if she was a high paid defense attorney.
It's a nasty nervous tick she'd developed at the tender age of three, but she can't help it; Olivia bites at her bottom lip, tearing the thin skin off until she tastes blood.
"You're ripping your lips to shreds again. Stop, Olivia." Serena orders.
At her mother's words, the metallic taste of blood floods Olivia's mouth and a familiar sting sets in. "Ow."
"Why must you be so hard headed?" chides Serena and the older woman rises to her feet and approaches her daughter. She raises a hand to Olivia's face, and Olivia recoils. Her body works on muscle memory, the slap to the face a few days prior still fresh against her skin.
Instead of a burning cheek, however, shock fills Olivia as Serena gently pulls down on her bottom lip, and inspects the bite.
Serena drops her hand from Olivia's chin, reaches up and pushes the long dark tendril from Olivia's face, and a half smile crosses the older woman's countenance. She speaks then, her words soft and feather light, as if she says them too loud their truth will dissipate. "Sometimes, I can only see me in you."
Olivia pauses, uncertain of how to respond. Serena's words yank at her heartstrings and cause tears to pool in her eyes – but she refuses to let them fall. Sixteen years of swipes to the cheek and verbal jabs let Olivia know that this moment will become an all too distant memory soon. Still, she savors it as her brown eyes fall to the checkered tiles and she pretends to study them intently. Even though Olivia knew that this was the guilt Serena always seemed to scrounge together after a bender, she liked to think that this was her real mother - loving, attentive, and soft.
She tucks this moment into the recesses of her memory for a horrid day, in order to remind herself that her mother wasn't always a monster.
Serena's fingers dance gently along her daughter's forehead when a ding sounds the air. The moment breaks, and Serena stands. With a pointed look, she huffs, "now, out of the basket."
Rolling her eyes in jest, Olivia chortles; she climbs out of the basket, and decides that it's the right moment to press her luck. They're in a laundry mat full of people, what was the worst that could happen? Always one for appearances, the professor with a pension for physical punishment, never laid a hand on her daughter whilst in public.
As Serena begins to fill the basket with the items from the dryer, Olivia rocks back on her heels, and weighs her options, nerves setting in. She faintly considers sneaking out – running down the beach like a mad girl under the cover of night, but quickly decides against it. A slap to the face was child's play compared to what Olivia knew her mother was more than capable.
"Are you going to stare off into space or are you going to help me?" Serena's voice cuts through her thoughts and Olivia follows her mother over to a folding table.
Together they begin to fold sheets, blankets, towels and other heavy linens that Serena had deemed too much for the small washer and dryer in the beach house to handle.
The two women are half way through the pile when Olivia clears her throat. "Mom," she starts, her voice quivers with nerves as she fumbles with her words. "Can – may I go out later tonight?"
"Out?" Serena's hands still, the towel between her fingers goes limp. All of her attention is now focused solely on her daughter.
"Yes . . .out. Purple Rain premieres tonight, and before hand I was going to grab a bite to eat with a friend. I won't be out too late and you promised me before we left Manhattan that I'd be able to see the movie while we were here." Olivia begins, her lips graze against the sore skin of her punctured lip and she flinches. Each word that rolls off of her tongue is carefully chosen and painfully articulated.
"A friend?" questions Serena, she drops the towel down on the folding table, willing Olivia to look at her. "By friend do you mean one of Bernie's sons?"
Olivia finishes folding the pillowcase in hand and takes a deep breath. She can feel her mother's eyes on her, the normally grey-blue now icy and invading.
"Maybe." she replies, her voice small, as she suddenly finds a very interesting piece of lint to pick at on the pillowcase she'd just folded.
"Which one?"
"El – Elliot."
A bob of dark brown, almost black hair, peppered with streaks of grey shakes furiously. "The boy whose lap you were perched in like some love sick school girl the other night? Did you think I forgot? Volk v ovech'yey shkurye." Serena all but hisses - the last of her words in Russian.
"He's not like that," insists Olivia, who knows that she's skating on ice so thin the bottom of the lake is visible. When Serena Benson rattled off in Russian, the native tongue of her grandparents (Olivia's great-grandparents), Olivia knew to tread with copious amounts of caution.
"From what I saw the other night; he is. Perched on my doorstep with his tongue in my daughter's throat – a boy, who, if I remember correctly, you told me was getting married. Is his fiancée joining you two?" Venom drips from Serena's voice.
Reluctantly, Olivia brings her eyes up from the cloth in hand to meet her mother's. She hopes that if her mother can see the conviction in her eyes, she'll be believed. "He's not getting married. She's not his fiancée; he explained everything to me and we sorted it through –"
"We?"
"Not like that, mom, just." she all but begs, her thoughts grim as it becomes more than apparent that her night will be filled with crying in her room.
"No." The one syllable response slips from Serena's lips once more.
"Mom, please." Olivia pleads, her brown eyes large and wide. Mentally she kicks herself over and over again. Now she wouldn't even be able to sneak out; Serena would be watching her like a hawk.
"Olivia, I said no. End of discussion." The look in Serena's eyes reads 'test me' and Olivia knows better than to do so. Testing a hung-over Serena Benson only meant trouble.
Frustration and anger rise in Olivia, and her knuckles go pale as she grabs a towel from the endless strew garments in front of her and grips it tightly. All she'd wanted was one night – one night to feel like a normal teenager - go out on the town with her boyfriend and see a film.
But life with Serena Benson was forever far from normal.
Nearby a dryer dings and more laundry is ready to be folded.
/
She fighting with putting the freshly cleaned fitted sheet back on her bed, when the door to her bedroom bounces open.
Serena Benson stands in the doorway, Anne Sexton in one hand, cup of steaming black coffee in the other. The look on her face is indiscernible to Olivia, who turns and rests against her bed, waiting for her mother to say something.
"You can go."
Olivia's jaw all but drops as the words leave Serena's thin lips. She has to blink a few times before she's able to adequately compute what's happening. Even when the words sink in, they still seem like a cruel joke – or in the least wrong. Surely Serena meant to say 'you'll never go.' Hadn't she?
Blinking, brown eyes bright with confusion, Olivia clears her throat. Disbelief swarms through her. "What?"
"I said: You can go. Don't make me repeat it again."
A squeal of absolute happiness and utter delight rocks the peaceful calm of the room and Olivia jumps for joy. It must be the salt water and the lurking sea, but for some reason Serena's relented.
For the second time that day the behavior of one – if not both of the Benson girls is out of character as Olivia rushes forth and throws her arms around her neck. She's careful not to spill the coffee or knock the book from Serena's hands.
"Thank you, Mom. Thank you!"
Serena stumbles slightly, but stays upright, nodding at her daughter's words. She clears her throat. "There are some conditions that you will follow, however."
Of course, it was too good to be true.
Stepping back, Olivia awaits the hammer of cold hard reality; there was always a catch.
"First, I get outfit approval. If I say no, you don't wear it, understand? Two, he picks you up from here and I talk to him first. Three, you're home no later than 11PM."
Olivia nods; she could deal with that.
/
"It's too short." Serena sounds off as Olivia steps in front of the mirror. She's dressed in a blue and white polka dot dress that ties at the waist. The garment hits just above her knee, and cuts across her chest, thin straps hold it up, and the back dips ever so slightly.
"Mom, Elliot is going to be here in a half an hour; you've nixed everything else I've picked out." With a roll of her brown eyes, Olivia gestures to the pile of tank tops, skirts, and shorts piled on the floor. "I'll wear a pair of shorts underneath."
Arms fold, eyebrows rise, and eyes roll as Serena Benson shakes her head in disapproval.
Frustration running hotly through her veins, Olivia throws her self down onto the pile of clothes. "How about I just wear a chastity belt? Give you the key and never leave the house again?" she grits, her words getting out in front of her before she has the opportunity to assess them.
"Excuse me? I'm letting you go, aren't I? How about you stay home. Spend the night helping me arrange my lesson plans?" the tone of Serena's voice is artic cold- frigid and foreboding.
Olivia knows not to say anything else; she's pushed her non-existent luck way too far today.
Stepping over piles of discarded clothing, Serena crosses the room and heads for the closet. She rifles through it for a moment before pulling a light wash denim jacket from a hanger, and walks over to where Olivia sits. With a flick of the wrist, she tosses it into her daughter's lap.
"Put your bike shorts on and wear this. You're sixteen, not twenty-six; dress like a piece of meat and wolves come out to eat."
A heavy sigh leaves Olivia lips, and she brushes back a stray strand of brown hair that falls into her face as she slips the jacket over her shoulders. The jean material is coarse against her almost burnt tanned skin. As the jacket settles on her shoulders she smiles, remembering the day before and the fun she'd had. For once, she'd been able to enjoy her youth without inhibition.
"When does the boy get here again?" Serena voice cuts through memories of water fights and wet kisses, shaking Olivia from her thoughts.
"Half-hour. We're going for food first, and then the film."
"Food where?"
Olivia shrugs and rises to her feet, wiggling her toes. The pain in her ankle is gone and the swelling is barely visible. "I'm not sure. Probably somewhere around the theater."
Serena's eyes narrow and for the five thousandth time that evening she shakes her head angrily. "I need to know the name of the restaurant and the theater – also the number before you go anywhere. And you're taking my mace with you. Don't be afraid to use it, either. Even if he brushes up against your shoulder the wrong way – aim right at his eyes and kick him, hard. Do you hear me?"
An image of Elliot slinging her over his shoulder from the day before plays in Olivia's head at Serena's words. She forces herself to not smirk at the thought of his strong hands innocently dancing along her soft flesh as they played on the beach. Oh how Olivia wants to defend Elliot, tell Serena how he'd been a complete gentleman the day before, and his own crime had been stealing chaste kisses.
"I'll put it in my purse." she agrees and then walks out the room and into the bathroom to style her hair.
/
Twenty or so minutes later, her stomach is in knots as she spots Elliot walking up the steps of her beach house. Before Serena, who is sat on the couch, glass of wine in hand, can rise to her feet, Olivia runs to the door. She opens it just as Elliot's hand wraps around the handle of the screen door.
Elliot smiles, his expression one of earnestness as he leans in to press a kiss to Olivia's lips. He's denied, however, when Olivia steps back, her eyes wide with worry that Serena, whose grey eyes bounce back and forth between the two teens, will explode in misguided rage.
Instead, she smiles at him, her dark eyes full of apology. "My mom needs the names and if you have them – the numbers to the restaurant and theater we're going to be at."
"I figured as much, Kathy's mom was the same way." Elliot says as he reaches into the pants pocket of his light wash jeans. He's wearing a white tank and a jean jacket to match. His attire is casual and laid back, and Olivia drinks in his physique in fleeting appreciative glances before reaching out to grab the paper he holds out to her.
"Eh-hmmm," Serena clears her throat, and Olivia glances up to find her mother standing only a few feet from the door, where she and Elliot are perched, each hand rested on a hip. Her grey eyes are full of scrutiny and there's a sudden – yet subtle ferociousness to her expression.
Olivia backs away from Elliot and crosses the space to where Serena is, and holds out her hand. "This is the - "
"I'm not deaf, I heard him." she snatches the paper from her daughter and walks to where Elliot stands.
The atmosphere of the room grows cold, stringent and tight, as Serena circles Elliot like a lioness ready to pounce.
"My daughter is to be home at 11:00 PM on the dot – not 11:01, not 11:03. I will be awake and waiting for her. Understand?"
Elliot nods, a crooked smirk crossing his lips. "Yes, Ms. Benson."
Embarrassment builds in Olivia's stomach at Serena's overprotective bit. All she wants to do is link her fingers in Elliot's and run far away, from everything.
"If anything happens to my daughter, I will hurt you."
"Mom!" Olivia's eyes go wide at her mother's threat. She attempts a reassuring smile in Elliot's direction, one that lets him know she feels safe with him, and also lets him know that Serena's only kidding. But she isn't, and Olivia knows she's not.
As if to reiterate what Olivia already knows, Serena, voice level and eyes narrowed, adds, "I'm not joking."
"I didn't think you were," is Elliot's response as he throws a Cheshire like grin between the mother and daughter pair.
Normally Olivia loved the way his smile spread across his face, eyes crinkling as he laughed or joked, but at that moment she feels like the sky is falling down on top of her. She can see the disapproval and disgust in her mother's eyes and knows that Serena is rethinking her decision to let Olivia go. If they don't leave soon, there will be no date.
As if Elliot can sense the wheels turning in her head, he clears his throat and holds out his forearm for her to take. "We do have to get going though if we're going to make it down to the dinner though. Ready, Liv?"
Olivia nods, and runs to the breakfast bar where her purse sits on the counter. She grabs it and locks eyes with Serena, letting her know that she does indeed have the mace, and she knows how to use it.
"I'll be okay, mom." she reassures Serena and grabs onto Elliot's outstretched arm.
Serena nods and takes a few steps back. "I love – be safe, Olivia." She throws one more pointed look in Elliot's direction, and the two teens set out for the night.