A/N: Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win but the battle wages on for toy soldiers - Toy Soldiers (Eminem)
DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story is allllllllllllllll mine. © TStabler
"I didn't sleep with him," Olivia says, her head is in her hand, elbow on the table, eyes staring at the metal desk. "Not that it's any of anyone's business."
Ed Tucker scribbles something in his notebook, runs his tongue around his teeth, and clicks his pen as he leans closer to her. "You think that's what he was after? You weren't giving it up, so he felt like he had to…"
"Christ, Ed!" Olivia snaps, her head popping up. The look on her face is something between fury and humiliation, and she pulls the sleeves of her long sweater down over her knuckles. Her fingertips barely show as she taps them angrily and nervously against the tin surface. "Your guess is as good as mine! I broke up with him, we went right back to having nothing more than a professional relationship. It was a fucking month of my life, not even! Three dates that went nowhere, so how the fuck was I supposed to know the whole damn time, he was trying to fucking kidnap me?"
"Easy, Liv," Tucker said softly. His eyes are wide as he stares at her, amazed at how powerfully upset she is and how she'd gone from calm to vicious in less than ten seconds. He drops his pen and scoots closer to her and licks his lips as he watches her heavy breaths land. "I was just asking...if you think that's what he wanted. You could have just narrowly escaped becoming…"
"No," she sighs, rolling her eyes and dropping her head backward. "I never had any inclination that he was violent, or that he had any fucked up rape fetish. You know me too fucking well to think that I wouldn't notice. If he had any of the classic signs I wouldn't have fucking gone out with him!"
"Okay." Tucker holds up both hands. His navy blue suit wrinkles as he moves in his seat, the discomfort becoming physical after being purely emotional for the last twenty minutes. "You know I had to ask."
"Next question," she hisses through gritted teeth. She's straightened herself up and clawed her behind her ears before throwing a palm at him and waving her fingers, telling him to bring it on.
Tucker blinks once. "Is there any reason, other than the obvious, that Stabler physically assaulted him?" He picks up his pen and makes a sweeping gesture with his outstretched arms. "Nothing you say here can get you in trouble. You're the victim, here, so don't be afr…"
"He's my partner," she states dryly, cutting him off before he can finish the question. "He's pissed that my ex-boyfriend hired someone we work with, planning to have me fucking Benson-napped, so I'd say that's a pretty damn good fucking reason to beat the shit out of him. Cragen didn't stop him, neither did you, so clearly you agree with him!"
Tucker sits back and slides down a bit, shakes his head, and flattens his smile. "I didn't say I blamed him for it, I just wanted to know if there was a deeper reason. He got pretty aggressive and it took four guys to pull him off of Hilliard, it just seems like it was too much rage…" he looks at her, sees the exhaustion in her eyes, the warning behind the weariness. "Then again, uh, you're both pretty protective of each other, always have been."
"So what happens now?" she asks, and her voice is almost a cry for help. She turns her eyes up toward a man who verges on friend for two months out of the year and remains on the left side of asshole for the other ten.
Tucker looks at her, really looks at her, and it's as if he's seeing her for the first time. There's a history in her eyes that seems to belong to someone far older than she is. Her hair isn't one color, it's seven. Her eyes are three different shades of brown, with a thin and veiny gold overlay that must be so beautiful when the light hits or when she smiles. She looks thinner, smaller, than the last time he's spent this much time with her, but stronger, as if every bit of flesh has become pure muscle. He realizes it must be a result of the two weeks no one talks to him about. "Now, we...tell Rob Hilliard that on top of losing the best shot he ever had at being with a woman as close to a goddess as they come, he's also lost his job and his freedom for the next fifty years or so."
Olivia gives him a small smile and drums her fingers along the metal table. "Ed, did you just hit on me?"
He simpers and shakes his head. "Please, do I look like I wanna be the next guy Stabler beats the living shit out of?" He chuckles and points at the door with his pen. "See ya later, Benson."
She rolls her eyes again as she stands and heads for the door to the interview room, shooting a wave over her head at Tucker without looking back. Once she steps out into the pickle jar of a squadroom the unit's resigned to, she heads over to Elliot, who's standing by the coffee pot rubbing his knuckles. She grabs his shoulder and spins him around. For a split second, she contemplates kissing him for all he's worth, but she simply shakes her head. "How many fights you gonna get into because of me?" She grabs his hand and turns it over, clicking her tongue at how much worse it looks now than it had last night.
"As many as it takes," he whispers to her, pulling his hand out of her grip, "To keep you safe." He shoves one bruised and swollen hand into his right pants pocket and pulls something out of it, staring down at it for a moment. Without word or warning, he snatches her hand back, shoves up the sleeve of the sweater that's too fucking big for her, and slips the cold metal around her finger. He presses his lips together as he stares down at her left hand, as if he's looking into the face of God, and he whispers, "Yeah, I took it out of your jacket pocket. Don't. Don't ask. Just...wear it."
She can't breathe. Her mouth feels like sawdust in the Sahara. Her heart is pounding harder and faster than Kieth Moon on Pinball Wizard, and she can't think of anything to do with her fucking hand other than leave it sitting in his as she stares at her finger dumbly.
He runs the pad of his thumb over the ring, feeling the slight separation between its two parts. The solid solitaire engagement ring clips into the platinum and diamond chip band the way he feels her hand fits in his: fucking perfectly. It's her, he thinks. Simple, but stunningly gorgeous. Not too flashy, but enough to tell the world it's priceless. He exhales, it's heavy and firm, and finally, he looks up into her eyes. "Okay?"
She looks back at him, something terrifying in his eyes, and she's afraid to say no. She's afraid to, and she doesn't want to, a deadly combination that makes her slowly nod, agreeing to the most asinine thing she's ever heard. She lifts her other hand to his face, swiping it tenderly over the horrid bruise on his cheek. "You need to…"
"Hey!"
As soon as they hear the sharp call, their hands fall to their sides and they jump three feet apart, turning obediently toward the voice.
Fin looks at them strangely, one eyebrow up, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. "Uh," he begins, trying to discern if they've both calmed the hell down. "Since your boy got pinched, your call was kicked over to Montgomery. We got a hit on the tat."
Olivia's eyes widen and she practically rips the file out of Fin's hand. She hears him mutter a bitter, "You're welcome," but she's flipping it open and reading intently so she simply grunts at him. "Son of a bitch," she hisses, and she turns on her heels and slaps the folder into Elliot's stomach.
"Christ, Liv," he huffs, winded by the blow. Shaking it off, he fumbles to get the folder into his hands and reads until he finds what's made her so furious. "Son of a fucking bitch," he spits when he gets to it, and he looks at her.
"You got somethin' you wanna share with the rest of the class?" Fin's lips twist to one side as he folds his arms, then plops into the folding chair at his tiny table.
Olivia leans back against the copy machine; the rolling cart it's perched on moves just a bit as she does. She bites her lip and wraps her arms around herself, feeling her rings snag on the knitted sleeve of her sweater. She does have something to tell the unit, but she can't. It's classified. Between her, Elliot, and two FBI agents she hopes she'll never see again. "It's just...a connection to an old case."
Elliot snorts. The case isn't that old, and it's hardly a connection one would deem important, but it's a lead they can't follow and it pisses him off. "The tattoo and the artist are linked to a trafficking ring upstate." He tosses the file onto Fin's small desk. "The runner, he, uh...he would host these parties for the most affluent couples in the area." He darts his eyes over to Olivia, bringing his right hand to his mouth to hide the salacious smirk that thinking about her in expensive dresses and stilettos has brought to life on his face.
Fin sees the look in Elliot's eyes and misreads it. "Swinger parties?"
Elliot clears his throat and drops his hands, shoves them into his pockets, and looks toward Fin. "Uh, not...not exactly. He would choose the couples, stalk them, watch them. Then, uh, he'd run into them, on purpose, ya know? Casually invite them over for dinner, hoping they'd be...dessert. If they were willing to do...whatever he asked, uh, he'd let them go, end of story."
"If they didn't?" Fin asks, but he has a feeling he already knows.
"He'd tie the guy up, make him watch as the bastard did whatever he wanted to do with the girl," he grimaces, photographs and stories and the fear of what might have been creep up and flash through his mind. "Then he'd make her watch as he killed her husband, and then he'd sell her to the highest bidder." He folded his arms. "Once, uh, he kept her. She was marked as his." He nods at the file on the table. "With that tattoo."
Fin turns and grabs the folder, confused, and he reads the two pages inside. "You...what the hell in here told you that…"
"We said it connected to an old case," Olivia interrupts, unwilling and unable to explain. "The name that came up in the database, the tattoo artist? He was the runner. The bastard who was behind the whole fucking thing." She rubs her fingers across her forehead. "He's sevring two life sentences in Rikers, so..." she shrugs. "Dead end."
Fin nods, following, and he pops his head over to her. "So, what, you think the prick had another girl? One he kept, and, uh, marked? And that it was this...uh...what's her name?"
Olivia chuckles then, bending one arm and flicking the hair out of her eyes with a finger. "I win," she says, directing her grinning gaze toward Elliot.
"Win? What do you…" his screwed up face relaxes into an easy smile, and then he laughs. "Oh, you can't be seriously holding me to that bet. We didn't even have solid terms!" He crosses one foot over the other and leans closer to her.
"I got the information I asked for before your hot little redhead got us an ID," she shrugs and makes a victoriously smug face at him.
Fin pipes up, then, staring in awe at Elliot. "Hot little redhead? You bangin' Barton behind Kathy's back?"
Elliot's stomach sours at the mention of his wife's name. "God, no," he shakes his head and his green-tinged face drops. "Hell fucking no, she was...she was just teasing me. Barton's, uh, got a little crush on me."
"Little?" Olivia quips, her eyes upturned and her brows in a W on her forehead. "You could drive a MAC Truck through her crush." She catches his eyes, bites her lip, and shrugs at him. "Sorry, I shouldn't have…"
"No, no, it's just…" he breathes out and rubs his palms over his knees, then glances at Fin to make sure he's preoccupied. Then he lowers his voice. "With everything going on here, with these two assholes coming after you, and this case I...I kinda forgot about this bullshit with Kathy." He brings one hand up to his neck and squeezes as he rolls it in circles, trying to ease suddenly high tension. "Still gotta figure out what the hell to do with my kids, and how I'm supposed to explain this to my mother, and I need to find a lawyer that'll actually fucking fight for me."
There's a moment of silence, a few quiet breaths pass between them, and then she makes a pensive face, her brows curling in thought. "I'm sure anyone you ask will fight for you, and they'll win," she tells him, and then she smirks at him. "That is, uh, if they don't want to be on the receiving end of those killer left hooks." She winks and when she sees him crack a smile, she nudges him with her elbow.
The movement jostles the cart they're leaning against and it moves too far too fast. There's a bit of a surprised yelp as they lose balance, and he lands first, breaking her fall.
Fin shoots to his feet to help them, his eyes wide in panic, but when he sees them laying on the floor, tangled limbs and chests pressed together, laughing, he can't help but join in. "You two okay?" he chuckles.
They give him simultaneous nods as they work together to help each other up, and they wipe the dirt and dust off of each other's clothes. They're aware Fin's watching, but they really don't care. When they're satisfied that there's no sign of injury or permanent stain, they stop laughing and move apart awkwardly before they do something that Fin should definitely not see. "How much longer is this gonna take?" she asks, her head turning toward the back room.
Elliot shakes his head, also staring at the wall behind which Cragen and Munch are interrogating former Detective Rob Hillard, Olivia's ex-boyfriend and the man who tried to have her abducted. "No idea," he says, and then he smiles almost evilly, his eyes darken and narrow. "Maybe they can't get a decent confession because I broke his fucking jaw." He cracks his knuckles, instantly regretting it as pain sears through him. He makes an odd noise as he drops into the small metal chair by the card table he now shares with Olivia. "Fuck," he spits.
She watches him as he rubs his hands and rolls his shoulders back, and then she looks down at her hand. Her left hand. The fake wedding rings that now mean something far too real. If only she could ask him what, exactly, it was.
A/N: What do the rings actually mean? What's going to happen with Kathy? Will they be sent back under, or will they simply have to declassify their op?