Author's note:
The Dexter reference is for cariocalee : )
John's hero speech is borrowed from the Season 3 promo
Olivia's fists were clenched in her pockets as she walked past Markham's Book Store towards the Whitehorse, and her breath came trembling visibly in front of her in the cold night air. Although she wanted to just forget it, she kept replaying the confrontation with Harris in her mind. It was enough to make her sick ten times over. When it happened, she was more than a little shaken, although she'd hid it well. But now all she could feel was bitter anger. She'd fought for years to be taken seriously, especially by men, and now some misogynistic bastard was potentially threatening her career.
Going to Broyles about it would probably make things worse seeing as they were such good friends. Besides, she had no proof – he hadn't actually done anything, and what he said he could always deny. He'd made his point clear – if she was going to pass his class she'd need to make him happy – but who knew what that was going to cost her?
As the reached the door of the bar, she took a breath and sturdied herself, preparing to meet her friends. Inside, the air was at least ten degrees warmer, thick with music and laughter, and she found Charlie and the others lined along the counter with Peter.
"Hey Olivia!" said Astrid, the cutest smile adorning her face. Olivia couldn't help but return it. Everybody loved Astrid.
"Hey," Olivia replied. "What's up?"
"John called," said Kent. "He just finished up his punishment training session with Loeb. He's coming over here soon."
"He didn't sound too good," Amy said.
"I bet he got his ass kicked!" Charlie exclaimed, hysterical. Anything to do with John getting hurt or suffering some kind of moderate misfortune cracked him up, but John was the same way with him. Amy and Astrid both slapped Charlie playfully on the shoulder and told him to be nicer to John. Olivia just smiled and shook her head. Boys…
"Hey, Peter," she said as she sat down. "How's you're night so far?"
"It's not bad. At least I've got you guys here to chat to while my little minions actually serve people. I love being the manager. Once it gets busy, I'll have to actually work, though."
"I bet you give your employees all the awful jobs, huh?"
"That's the only way to do it. Hell, I don't want to have to clean up every time some army brat paints the bathroom wall with his vomit."
"That's an image," Olivia cringed.
Peter laughed. "It happens all the time. But hey, you guys probably see worse stuff at the Academy all the time, right?"
She chuckled. "It's just photos for us; the Forensics kids have it way worse. Poor Astrid, she actually has to be around bodies all the time."
"It's weird, though, she doesn't seem like the type to find that kind of thing interesting. I kind of pictured Forensic Science to be the kind of course all the Goths and Emos flocked to."
"Have you met John's roommate? The one who can't stop talking about blood spatter?"
"Oh, you mean Dexter? Of course. He's a little creepy, actually – and not in a good way. You know, I read somewhere that cops and criminals have almost identical psych profiles. Ever considered a life of crime?"
"No dental," she quipped. "No, I've known I've wanted to do this job ever since I was nine. I always felt like I was meant to protect people, I guess. What about you?"
He just smiled and cryptically stated, "It was a long time ago." She nodded, allowing him to leave it at that. "So what are you after tonight? Just the usual?"
"Uhh, no, can I get a Red Russian, please?"
He looked up from the glass he was cleaning. "Bad day?"
She shrugged. "Just stressed. This place…It's just harder here than I thought it would be. Did you hear Rachael's getting married?"
"No kidding. Isn't she only 19?"
"She just turned 20, but it's still too young, by my standards."
"Will you be able to go?"
"Yeah. We're allowed one three-day weekend to go home over the five months of basic training. It's better than nothing. I should be able to get to Boston and back in time. It'd be good to see Rach and Mum again…" she trailed off.
"But…"
"But the guy's a jerk. Same old story, right?"
"You worry a lot about the people you love, don't you?" Peter asked.
"Yeah, I guess. Sometimes I feel like if I don't do it, nobody will."
"So," he said as he handed her the drink he had masterfully concocted. "If you spend so much time and energy caring for other people, who cares for you?"
"Have you met me?" she laughed. "I can handle myself. Besides, I'm not some recluse who's burnt all her bridges just so she can be alone. And the way you and John and Charlie care about me goes to show that all that worrying I do is reciprocal."
"Well, that I can't argue with." He gave her a charming smile. He found himself staring at her as she smiled and took a sip from her drink, but was broken from his reverie when a customer called him over. "Excuse me, I've got to go serve this guy," he said as he walked away.
"Hey Livvy," Charlie piped up, bringing her back into conversation with the others. "How did it go with Harris?"
"He wants me to do extra credit hours, but I'm going to go to Broyles about it. I don't think the bastard even read my essay."
"That guy's a creep," said Amy. "I'm so glad he's not my teacher. A couple of the older girls warned me about him when I first got here. He's horrible to everyone but especially to the girls."
"What do you mean?" asked Astrid. "Like, sexual harassment?"
"Yeah, and the rest."
"If it's so common, how come no girls ever report it?" asked Brandon.
"Sex crimes like harassment and abuse are the least-reported crimes we know of," said Amy. "They're hard to prove, hard to prosecute, and it's especially hard for victims to have to retell what happened. It's a humiliating process, like the women are weak because this happened to them. It's even worse for male victims."
"It's like what Jacobsen always says in psych," Kent mentioned. "As cops we should refer to people who experience sexual violence as rape survivors rather than rape victims. It helps filter out some of the stigma."
"Still, shouldn't someone stand up to this guy?" asked Charlie. "I'd crucify anyone who did something like that to Sonia."
"What's the point?" muttered Olivia as Peter rejoined them. "Whether or not we become Federal Agents depends on the approval of men like Harris. It's hard enough to pass this course even on a level playing field. To me, it'd be worth putting up with his chauvinist bullshit if it meant I made Secondary Training, as long as it stayed verbal. If he did ever actually hurt me or someone else I'd report it, though. It sucks, but that's the way it is."
"Wait a sec," Peter interrupted, now back at the table. "Are you guys talking about Agent Harr-asment?"
"Yeah."
"Why? Did he do something to one of you girls?" he asked, worried.
"We were just saying how he wants Olivia to do extra credit hours coz he's been marking her badly," said Amy.
"Which means I'd have to do extra work or filing for him in his office to make up the marks – and the last thing I want is to spend a few hours alone with that son of a bitch." Olivia said. "I just stayed back after class to talk with him about it. He's…insistent."
"You talked to him alone? What did he say to you?" Peter persisted.
"Nothing," she lied.
"Olivia, what did he say?"
"Nothing! We just argued about my marks."
Peter's jaw tightened. "You girls be careful around him, and under no circumstances be alone in a room together," he warned. "That guy's violent."
"How do you know all about him?" Charlie asked.
Peter was gripping the counter now, his knuckles turning white. "Girls may not talk to the cops about this kind of thing, but they do talk to each other, and on a really bad night, they'll even talk to the bartender. From what I've been told, Harris is the kind of psycho who fucking likes kickback, and if a girl's feisty enough to intrigue him, his exploitation doesn't stay verbal for very long. He targets girls who are the most determined to pass because he has emotional leverage over them. I think he's disgusting."
"So how come you never reported it?" Olivia asked steely, her stomach twisting in knots.
He sighed. "The girls begged me not to. They thought it would cost them too much. But I encouraged them to tell someone. You know, often with these things all it takes is one person to speak up for all the other victims to come out of the shade. So when you are reporting something like this, you're not just doing it for yourself. You're doing it for the next girl he goes after, and for everyone else before you." He released his hand so he could run it over his head. "Just be careful, girls, OK?"
Olivia was getting really uncomfortable now. She was even more confused than before, and she just wanted to get it all out of her head. "Come on, let's not talk about this. Screw Harris – I just want to have a good time tonight. Hey, did you guys know my sister's getting married?"
Astrid squealed, and everyone blocked their ears. "Astrid, stop! My brain is haemorrhaging!" Brandon exclaimed.
"Sorry," she said. "That's just so exciting."
"I know, right?" Olivia said, grateful for the distraction. "It's happening next month. She said you guys are welcome to come. But I understand if you don't want to waste your one weekend-off coming to Boston."
"I'd love to come if I can," said Astrid, grinning from ear to ear. "I love weddings. Let us know when you have a set date."
Peter raised his head and started laughing. "What?" Olivia asked.
"Look behind you."
Sure enough, John was stumbling into the now crowded bar, barely able to walk. He looked exhausted and in pain, his body stiff and rigid. He hobbled to their table and cringed as he sat down next to Charlie, who was already in hysterics.
"Don't even start, Charlie," John said.
"Dude, what happened to you? You can barely stand!"
"Yeah, probably because of the punishment training Loeb just put me through. I swear that guy does not even need an excuse, he's a fucking sadist. He made me run cross-country, do push-ups with his foot on my back, suicide runs, shuttle runs, you name it. It was awful. Peter, I need some alcohol, now!"
Olivia scanned his injuries. Most of his pain was from over-worked muscle, but she noticed the back of his shirt was stained. "John, you're bleeding."
"Still? Damn it. I scraped my back when I fell on a rock on the cross-country run. I thought it had stopped bleeding. No big deal."
"If you scraped it on a rock there could be grains in the cut we need to clean out. Peter, have you got a first aid kit?"
"Livia, I run a bar for cops and military wannabes. It's in the back room," he said, reaching into his pocket for the key. "Head past the bathrooms, third door on the left. The kit's on top of the cabinet."
"Thanks," John said, taking the key.
"John, you can't reach the cut by yourself. Come on, let's go." She weaved in under his arm to help him walk, and they headed off down the corridor.
Peter looked on as they shuffled away, and couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the thought that Olivia was under John's arm and not his. What bothered him more was that he knew something had happened between her and Harris that she wasn't telling him about. He shook his head and got back to mixing drinks.
Meanwhile, Olivia and John were looking for the back room. John looked down at her, still with his arm around her shoulders. "Thanks, Liv."
"You did the same for me – on that first run when I busted my ankle."
"I remember. Hey, I heard Rachael's getting married soon."
"Yeah, in a few weeks. You want to come? She wants me to bring some FBI friends along so she can meet them. But it's hard when everyone only has one weekend off."
"I'll have to see what happens. But then again, most of my friends are still in combat and I don't know that I want to spend all three days of freedom being with my Mum. Maybe I can squeeze in a day in Boston on the way back."
"That'd be good," she said as she unlocked the door to the back room. In it there was just a desk, a cabinet and tonnes of files – mostly for taxes and supply orders. John rested against the desk as Olivia found the first aid kit. "I can't believe he did this just because you bitched about Harris."
"Ah, I've had worse."
"Seriously?" she asked incredulously.
"Well, no," he admitted with a charming smile. "I'm just trying to sound like a tough guy."
She grabbed some alcohol wipes and stood closely behind John. "So where are the cuts? You've only got a couple, right?"
"It's just my back and a couple of smaller scratches on my head, from the branches."
"OK, let's start with you're back then." Her fingers rested on the hem of his shirt. "Do you mind?"
She was just going to lift it up enough to access the cut, but instead he winced and pulled it all the way over his head. She couldn't help it, but her eyes roamed his body, taking in every inch of muscle. She had to admit, John was good-looking, but because they were friends it was only in extreme cases like this that she actually noticed. Hesitantly, she let her fingertips rest on his skin, and she felt him shiver beneath her hands. "Sorry if I'm cold," she said.
"It's OK," he said. In truth, the feel of her touching his skin was anything but cold. He closed his eyes, reminding himself that she was a friend. Olivia blushed as she touched his back, thankful that she was standing behind him and he couldn't see her. She shook her head to clear it and started cleaning his scrape. He flinched. "Sorry, tough guy," she muttered.
"I'm fine, you just do your thing." He chuckled. "So are you going to be a bridesmaid or something?"
"She wants me to be maid of honour."
"That's pretty cool. What if she makes you wear fluoro orange or something? You're worst nightmare," he joked.
"Hey, as long as it's not pink."
"I think you'd be cute in a little pink dress."
She laughed. "You're such a jerk."
"With frills and ribbons?"
"Shut up."
"A little tiara?"
"John, I'm warning you…"
"Sorry, I just want to make a contribution, coz I'm gonna want photographic evidence of Olivia Dunham wearing - "
"Dammit, Scott! You know full well I can kick your ass even in a dress."
"Alright, alright. I'll stop teasing you, jeez. I thought you chicks loved dreaming up weddings."
"Not me."
"Not even when you were a little girl?"
"When I was a little girl I dreamt about saving the world," she said honestly.
John smiled. He could imagine that. "Is Rachael having a hens night?"
"Maybe, I don't know. If there is, I probably won't be there for it. Why, were you looking to crash it? There's no boys allowed at a hens night, you know that."
"Not unless I go undercover as a cute bartender," he turned and winked. "You think she'd hire me?"
She burst into laughter. "My guess would be no. Stay still."
"I'm not gonna lie, I'm a little offended," he joked, theatrically gesturing to himself. "I may not look like much in the Academy uniform, but I scrub up alright in a suit. Suave and sophisticated, some might say. Irresistible, even."
"Liar. You may be suave and sophisticated, but I can resist you just fine."
"Well then there's something wrong with you, clearly. Hold on, did you just admit that I can be suave and sophisticated?" he asked with a grin.
"You're shameless." She finished placing a bandage over his wound and stepped around to see what the cuts to his head were like. The view of him shirtless was better from the front, but she bit her lip and forced herself to look up. He just had a couple of scratches around his hairline – nothing to worry about, but it was best to clean them anyway.
"Did you talk to Harris?" he asked.
"Yeah," she muttered. "No luck. I think I'm just going to talk to Broyles."
"Good," he said. "I hope that helps."
"Yeah, me too."
She began cleaning his wounds, using her other hand to gently steady his face. "What is it then, Liv? You seem upset about something."
She sighed. She hadn't wanted to talk about it with the others, but she knew John would do the right thing if she told him what happened. "Just Harris…he…"
"Liv? Did he say something to you?"
She could barely look at him, and kept focusing on the task at hand. "Not really, it was all really implicit, but…I don't know, he was trying to intimidate me… He didn't do anything…I mean, he blocked my path and tried to touch my hair, but that's all…I brushed him off, and I was angry…but, I was scared, John. And I hate myself for that."
He gently held her hand still, stopping her from cleaning his skin and forcing her to look at him. "Don't," he whispered, their faces not far apart. "Don't ever be ashamed of being scared. Being scared means you care, it means you have something to lose. It's like…The difference between a hero and a coward…they're both scared…it's what a hero does that makes them a hero. You're can handle this. I won't push you to report him if you don't want to, but Charlie and I will be by your side in every one of his classes. It's OK to be scared, but, Liv, don't you dare let a bastard like him make you question what you're made of."
She looked into his eyes and she noticed how piercingly blue they were, but also the gentleness in them – it was a rare balance. John had a quiet intensity she'd never seen in anyone before, like he was a walking oxymoron. In that moment, something she couldn't define or place made her compare him to Lucas. She had always been a little inept at this kind of thing, but John was straight-forward, decisive, charming, and no matter how bad her day was, he made it his mission to make her smile. It was wonderful to see him in that light.
"We should get back to the others."
"Yeah, we should…"
Now there was a certain kind of look between them. It was that glance between two people: the kind where both want the same thing, but neither wants to initiate it. Finally, John decided to bite the bullet, leaning in to kiss this girl he had so swiftly fallen for over the course of their short friendship, and was shocked to find that she was leaning in too. "John," she whispered against him, sending tremors through his body. Just before they made contact, the door burst open, and they sprang apart.
Peter stood still in the doorway. "Hey," he said. He hadn't seen anything, but he could tell that he'd interrupted something – he just couldn't tell what. Olivia blushed and continued to pack away the kit as if nothing was wrong, and Peter laid a glass down on the table. "Thought you could use a Russian, John. You look like shit."
"Thanks, man. I appreciate it."
"You guys finishing up soon? Coz Kent's doing some slightly drunken acrobatics outside."
"Yeah," Olivia said. "We were just coming out." She packed away the first aid kit and brushed past the two men, desperate not to look at either of them as she rejoined the buzzing atmosphere of the bar. She ran a hand through her long, blonde hair and squeezed her eyes shut in frustration.
Shit. What the hell had she gotten herself into now?
Thanks for reading, PLEASE REVIEW!
Ps. If you have experienced sexual violence or harassment, I encourage you to learn more about it and consider talking to someone who will be able to help you. Here are some websites to get you started:
Australia: http:/ rapecrisiscentre .com .au/
America: www. rainn. org/ index. Php
UK: www. rapecrisis. org. uk/
