Fun part in here for y'all, dedicated to my beloved fluffernutter just for sending me Season 6. You so rock.
T Minus 2 Days, cont'd
Howie was one slick motherfucker.
At least, that was Fin's declaration.
Elliot was busy having a stroke.
At least, he was pretty sure he was. They'd lost him. Granted Howie had led them on one hell of a roundabout chase, up one random street, halfway down the next, disappearing through an alley, only to cut back across to the same street he'd been on in the first place and wind up going back the way he'd come. Fin and Elliot had been well aware that Howie was trying to lose them and they'd tried their best to keep up.
Unfortunately, Howie lucked out. His side-winding route took him past a club that was getting busted right then for serving minors and the chaos of two-hundred underage kids spilling into the street, all of whom were looking for a way home that didn't involve a police cruiser and a call to their parents, gave Howie the perfect cover. And if that wasn't enough, there was the requisite delay when uniforms stopped Fin, thinking he was part of the club's staff, delaying him needlessly after he produced his badge.
Frustrated and furious, Elliot slammed his hands into the bricks of the closest building. "God damn it!"
Fin didn't speak. He felt like an ass. In his book, he was an even bigger ass than Elliot. Because Elliot was emotionally involved and unstable as all hell and no one was actually counting on him to do anything. In fact, Cragen's words after they'd locked him in the interrogation room had simply been to let the man be. All they were trying to do was to keep Elliot was killing someone until they could find Olivia. Fin expected more of himself. He should have been able to keep his eyes on one retarded asshole for Olivia's sake.
Elliot looked like he was about to cry and that was something that Fin just wouldn't be able to take. He wasn't capable of consoling his bawling male coworker. He needed to find Olivia before Elliot made a complete ass out of himself.
Fin started walking. "Let's go back. We'll sit on the library tomorrow morning. He goes there everyday, right?"
"He won't go back there." Elliot desperately wanted to hit something, but his hand fucking hurt from bashing it into the bricks. It was just another stupid reason for him to miss his partner. Because Olivia wouldn't let him hurt himself. Because Olivia would convince him that bad coffee and a stale pastry from a diner in the middle of the night would make it better. Because Olivia would anticipate the crash and be standing in front of the wall when he went to hit it anyway.
"Come on, he said he goes there everyday at eight. He'll be there in a few hours."
Elliot was shaking his head as he fell in step beside Fin. "He knows we're looking at him. He'll expect us to be waiting. He won't go back there. Maybe not ever."
Fin laughed. "Don't give the guy that much credit. He's a retard. They have their patterns and they don't ever change them."
"You better watch out or you'll get your ass in sensitivity training for a few weeks."
"Oh, yeah? You going to turn me in?"
Elliot didn't bother reassuring him. "Howie's not retarded anyway. He just acts that way."
"What good would that do? It's not like we didn't catch him."
Elliot shook his head. "We didn't catch him, Fin. We know it's him and we can't touch him. How often does that happen?"
"I still say we hit up the library. Munch said he had all kinds of books and shit. Maybe we can find his prints there."
Feeling a bit better, Elliot smiled. "And once we have his name, we'll be able to find him." Elliot felt a bit better as he nodded off to the right. "I'm going to head home. You want to fill Cragen in or do you want me to do it?"
Fin shook his head and took out his phone. "I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart, man. I'm doing this because Cragen rips one more hole in you and Olivia won't recognize you and then she'll get on me about it."
With a final smile in Fin's direction, Elliot turned off. He tried to keep telling himself that Fin was onto something, that they'd be able to get Howie's prints off one of his billions of books, that they'd be able to nail his ass to the wall. Instead he kept thinking that Olivia was still there, that Howie was probably home with her, that Howie might be punishing her for their incompetence, that Howie might be telling her how stupid her partner was that he couldn't even be led to her. He didn't know how he'd ever find the courage to face her if she knew.
It was a few minutes after three when he let himself into her apartment, into the place he'd been calling home, into the place that comforted him and torn him apart simultaneously. Knowing he'd only brought one change of clothes the one night he'd had enough forethought to bring any, he stripped out of the suit he'd been in for two days and threw it in her washer. Whether or not she hated him for hanging out in her place, he was sure she wouldn't care about him using her washer, not as long as it kept him from smelling like shit when he found her. And he figured she'd notice that he smelled like shit because as soon as he found her, and he'd never stop looking until he did, he was going to hold her and never, ever let go.
He fell into her unmade bed, remembering the ridiculous logic that had convinced him to leave her bed unmade. With a grin, he stripped off his boxers and tossed them in the washer as well. Because, in his book, finding him sleeping in her bed in buck naked was even more likely to result in Olivia coming home. And somehow, it made him feel closer to her, as though he was there, drifting to sleep after having made love to her.
He wasn't sure what time it was or how much time had passed. He only knew that he'd been rolling from his side to his back to his other side to his stomach so many times that Olivia's bed was a mess. The comforter was on the floor, the sheet was untucked, the pillows were stuffed between the mattress and the headboard, even the fitted sheet was pulled up and wrinkled under his frame. No matter how he'd redecorated the room, he was no closer to getting any rest.
He flipped over one more time, his eyes coming to rest on the doorway, a grin slowly making its way across his face. "Hey."
"Hey, you." She smiled, her eyes drifting over the mess he'd made of her bed. "Can't sleep?"
He shook his head, but his eyes remained locked on her shapely frame, barely covered by her thin yellow robe. "Too busy thinking about you."
One eyebrow rose, the corners of her mouth quirking up at the same time. "Oh, yeah?" She crossed one leg in front of the other, allowing her long leg to peak through the folded fabric. "What about me?"
His grin widened, knowing, for once, her leg was on display for him and him alone. He took the time to take in every inch of her perfect body with his eyes. "I'm thinking you're all the way over there."
She threw her head back and laughed, a light, soft sound he'd never heard before. He wanted to make her do it again. "What else are you thinking?"
Sitting up, he crooked his finger, calling her over to him as her sheet pooled in his lap. "I'm thinking you should come over here."
She glanced at his hand, still raised in the air, then at his bare chest, where her eyes lingered for a bit, and then finally back at his face. Cocking her head to the side, she put her hand on her hip which in turn let the neck of her robe fall open almost to the waist while still keeping her covered. "Now why would I want to do that?"
Between her sultry voice and the amount of skin she was willingly showing him, the sheet that covered him had started to levitate several inches above his lap. He looked down, almost embarrassed at his eager response to her presence, and grinned. "Because I have something for you."
Her eyebrows rose as she stepped forward, working loose the knot at her waist. "Oh, you have something for me, huh?"
Swallowing hard, his eyes followed her hands. With each step she took toward him, her hands shifted the robe, starting at her shoulders and slowly working it down. Just as she reached the bed, the robe dropped from her fingertips. Her eyes met his, her face somber as she grasped the sheet and threw it away from his body.
"Well, if it isn't my Elliot in his birthday suit." And then her grin reappeared. "You weren't kidding about having something for me, were you?"
He reached for her hand, pulling her body onto the bed next to him. "Would I kid you about something like that?"
"God, I hope not." She slid forward, placing her hands on his chest as she moved to straddle his legs. His hips bucked up against her, seeking the moist warmth between her legs. "Although, I seem to remember you enjoying it too."
His hands moved to her waist, one pushing her hips down while the other pulled her shoulders forward. "Good thing you're in your birthday suit too, then, huh?"
She did it again, threw her head back and laughed with abandon, so happily that he had to join her. When she finally returned her attentions to him, she wiggled closer, lifting herself up so his erection just brushed her folds. "It certainly makes it easier."
Before she could take control, his arms reached up, his fingers burrowing into her hair, his hands guiding her face to his. He spoke when their faces were close enough that his lips brushed hers as they moved. "I love you, Olivia."
She smiled, the shine in her eyes revealing that she loved hearing it at much as he loved saying it. "I love you too." And then she let him kiss her. Let him, of course, because her body was still drawn tight, just barely hovering over him, knowing that the slightest move would render him completely at her mercy.
She drew back, her tongue jutting out to collect the moisture that had collected on her lips from his kiss. The sight alone was nearly his undoing and he groaned and whimpered and squirmed under her.
With a wide smile and a wicked gleam in her eyes, she laughed at his impatient response. "So can I have my present now?"
He nodded and leaned up to kiss her again, his tongue delving into her mouth as her body settled onto his. He was in heaven. Absolute heaven. The velvety soft feeling of her body surrounding his, her delicate, petal soft skin touching his, her sweet mouth open to his. He let her take command, knowing it was important to her sometimes, knowing he could trust her with his body, knowing nothing she ever wanted to do would be unacceptable. His hands roamed her body freely, albeit sloppily because as desperate as he was to give her pleasure, the feeling of her tight body squeezing his as she rode him mercilessly drove him almost to a point where he had no conscious control at all. When he could think straight, he touched her breasts, suckling one nipple and then the other, loving the moans his action drew from her. He cupped her ass, her slender, muscular ass, trying to help her with the work of the unbelievable rhythm she kept. And then when he knew he was losing it quickly, when he couldn't quite keep his hips from pumping up in a counter-rhythm, he reached between them, his fingers flicking against her core, watching her head fall back in utter bliss from his touch, even as her momentum increased, her steady, constant rhythm failing in favor of hard, fast, uncontrolled thrusts.
He felt the blissful moment when her body tightened and froze, her head thrown back, her mouth open, his name escaping from her lips. She fell forward, collapsing into his arms, relaxing against him until her mind rejoined her body and she started to move again, to tighten her relaxed body around him, to lure him over the edge with her.
His own body started to tense, his muscles lifting half of him off the bed as he tried to push himself deeper than physically possible into her. He kept his eyes open as long as he could until the white hot fire shot out in every direction from the point where their bodies were joined.
For a long moment, he just tried to keep breathing, thinking that he wouldn't mind dying, not if that was the way he was going to go. He reached out, feeling for her body in the space beside him, realizing that he had actually lost consciousness since the last thing he'd remembered was her on top of him. He wanted to curl his spent body around hers and tell her the effect she had on him.
But his hand, his arm, found only cold, empty space.
His breath hitched in his throat as he opened his eyes, knowing she wasn't there, seeing his right hand still wrapped firmly around his flaccid dick, feeling the stickiness on her sheets.
Fuck. He was a fucking asshole. He'd sworn he wouldn't do it and then he'd gone and done it. Unconsciously, of course, but he still fucking hated himself. Not to mention that if there was a chance of her coming home to find him naked in her bed, it would, in fact, be very, very bad for her to come home and find him having just jerked off in her bed.
As he climbed to his feet, yanking the sheets off the bed and dragging them to the washing machine, he decided it would be worth explaining why he was stark naked in her hallway, with her stinky sheets in his hands, trying to wash away the evidence of what he'd done. Because she'd be there, demanding an explanation and if she were there and demanding an explanation, then she would be safe and healthy and home.
Instead, Elliot didn't have to explain shit to anybody as he transferred his clothes to the dryer and threw her sheets in to wash. He padded undisturbed to the bathroom and started the shower without having to answer a single question as to what he was doing.
Standing under the freezing spray, trying to keep himself from thinking about Olivia coming home to find him in her shower, Elliot let his head fall heavily against the tiles. He hated himself for giving into the urge, the urge he'd given into a thousand times before, either alone or willfully picturing Olivia's face instead of his wife's, while Olivia was trapped with Howie. He'd found such pleasure, such contentedness, such comfort in the idea of being with her, asleep or dreaming or halfway in between, while Olivia was at the mercy of the freak who'd taken her.
Howie might well have found the same pleasure in Olivia's body that night, he could have found it a hundred times in the five days she'd been his prisoner, he could have hurt her, raped her, molested her, tortured her innumerable times. He could have killed her for all Elliot knew. His precious Olivia, the reason he'd only recently understood was why he'd continued to live for so many years, could be lying debased and mutilated and degraded and dead somewhere while he was busy making nice with his right hand.
And for the second time in five days, he sunk to his knees in the shower, his pain and horror and helplessness escaping in a low, keening moan as he sobbed into his hands.
If he didn't find her soon, he knew he wouldn't find her at all. Another couple of days and he'd be a permanent resident at Bellevue where his biggest worry would be fighting for control of the slobbery purple crayon during art therapy and that would only be when they jacked him up on enough meds to get out of bed in the first place.
Elliot was pretty sure, given the various behaviors they'd seen from him in the previous five days, that no one at the 16 ought to be surprised to see him walk through the doors with a shrunken suit, a wrinkled shirt, and red eyes. Yeah, he looked like shit and he knew it. But his better half, an indisputable fact given the shambles his life had fallen into since she'd been gone, was missing and honestly, she was the one he was usually trying to impress when he came to work looking damn good anyway.
He didn't really care who was whispering or what they were whispering as he leaned on the frame of Cragen's door. He knew he should sit down and ask what, if anything, anyone had found while he'd been out, but with his lack of sleep and his breakdown in the shower Elliot was fairly certain that he was going to pass out the minute his ass hit the chair. And while his coworkers would probably be thankful for a respite from the fear that he was about to go ballistic on them, he didn't want Olivia to ever hear that he'd been asleep at his desk while she was being abused.
Cragen nodded at him, the same greeting he always gave except that it was lacking the usual smile. "I sent Munch and Lake down to Howie's library to pick up any books Munch or anyone else could remember seeing Howie with for prints. O'Halloran was sending someone down to print the desks too."
Elliot nodded, wondering if Cragen could read between the wrinkles of exhaustion on his face. He needed to be directed, succinctly and pointedly, as to what he should do. He would have even been happen for someone to write out directions or draw him a damn diagram. He was too tired to think, too tired to come up with anything on his own. He just wanted to find Olivia, but given his mental state, he was completely unable to think of anyway to go about such a task.
Cragen nodded slowly, as though Elliot's silence revealed more than any words would have. "You could head down there, give them a hand. Munch wasn't there the first time you talked to Howie."
Elliot thought about it, knew it was probably the best idea. It would give him something to do if nothing else and keeping himself busy until he could put his hands on Olivia and pull her close was the only hope he had for sanity. But his body didn't move. Instead his eyes found the kind, understanding warmth of the man he'd called his boss for the vast majority of his career.
"Something you want to talk about?" He wasn't being rude; he simply didn't mince words. Elliot couldn't blame him. The crime rate hadn't dropped in five days, and with one of his detectives missing and the rest of his squad looking for her, Cragen was probably catching holy hell from the brass.
Elliot nodded, not even quite comprehending the question or his own answer. His eyes darted down to his feet and for a moment he was distracted by the idea that he needed to get a new pair of shoes. It was the sort of thing he'd always relied on Kathy to tell him. He usually relied on Kathy to mention it a hundred times, then to go out, buy him a new pair and put them in the closet after she threw the old ones out. He wondered how long it would take Olivia to realize she was the woman in his life and therefore needed to tell him those sorts of things, and to remind him to take his suits to the cleaners instead of ruining them on his own. He imagined hell would freeze over before she got around to it because she'd expect that by his age he'd be able to figure that sort of stuff out for himself.
Then he looked up, wondering why he never wanted to talk when Olivia was practically begging him to, yet he couldn't seem to keep his damn feelings to himself when she wasn't around. "That was the day after Phil hit her."
Cragen nodded, waiting for Elliot to explain himself.
"Olivia's cheek was all swollen and bruised." He shook his head, remembering how awful he felt that night, when he'd been an asshole about driving up to get her after she'd been abandoned. She'd been so enthralled with watching Eli that she'd forgotten to hide the mark from him. He'd realized his mistake and had offered what she'd accept – a bag of her own frozen peas and a smart remark about the guys she dated. Shaking his head at himself, he realized he could count himself in with the rest of the assholes who didn't deserve her, except he really did love her, so much that he apparently couldn't survive without knowing she was ok. He looked up to find that Cragen was still waiting, expecting he had something to say. But he didn't, not really. He was just a hair short of stark raving mad.
He shrugged, vaguely remembering that he had kind of had a point. "I saw it and I gave her some ice and made some stupid crack about her taste in men."
Cragen offered a half smile. "Well, her history is rather depressing, at least, what I know of it."
"You know, the asshole left her in New Haven after he hit her."
"After she broke his nose, I believe."
Elliot nodded, knowing that Olivia's self-defense had been instinctive rather than thought out. Had she stopped to consider what she was doing, she probably wouldn't have hit him knowing he was her ride home. She'd opted to follow her partner's pattern, reacting without thinking. "So she called me in the middle of the night and asked me to pick her up." He squeezed his eyes closed, remembering what a shit he'd been. "I fucking snapped at her for waking the baby." Taking a step forward, he fell into a chair, barely keeping his head up. "Her fucking boyfriend hits her and leaves her an hour from home and she called her partner, the guy who's supposed to have her back and I fucking yelled at her."
"Everyone's pissy in the middle of the night, Elliot, especially when there's a screaming baby involved." Cragen's half smile returned. "In fact, I seem to remember a few years ago, you'd picked up a call with Munch and wound up in the hospital with a broken ankle. I called Olivia around four in the morning to tell her and I used your phone to do it." He stopped talking as the smile lit up his face and crinkled the corners of his eyes. "She ripped me a new one, not knowing who was on the other end of the phone, assuming it was you." He shook his head, still grinning. "She lit into me for about twenty minutes before she stopped take a breath. And you know, as soon as she heard my voice, she knew you were hurt and she was terrified, damn near flipped out again on me."
"But you know we went in to question Howie about a rape that hadn't even happened and he takes one look at her and one look at me and tells her she shouldn't put up with that shit from me." He looked up to meet Cragen's eyes. "Son of a bitch is a psycho and even he knows I'm no fucking good for her."
Cragen looked utterly baffled for a moment before he shook his head. "Wow, Elliot, you're – I mean – if you had actually hit her and Howie wasn't a cop-napping psycho, I might agree with you, but since that's not that case, I'm going to have to tell you that you need to get some sleep or counseling. Possibly both."
Elliot shook his head. "He might have been wrong about me hitting her, but he was right about me in general. She deserves better than me." It was a crushing thought to voice, but he knew it was true.
Cragen stood up, coming around to the front of his desk and taking a seat in the chair next to Elliot. "I don't have any kids, Elliot, so I like to dole out fatherly advice at random to people who don't have any choice but to listen to me." He waited for a smile, even a nod, of recognition, but it wasn't forthcoming. "The fact that you think she deserves better than you, that you think so damn much of her, tells me that you really love her." He sat back, knowing the detective wasn't about to deny it, but giving him a chance to all the same. "And if you really love her, to the extent you've made clear to all of us here, then there is no better man for her."
"No, no, you don't understand." Elliot kept shaking his head, well aware, yet unable to explain why Cragen was so wrong. "I don't treat her right. I'm not good enough for her. I'm not good enough to her."
Cragen smiled. "You can spend the rest of your life trying to be the man she deserves, Elliot. But you shouldn't make her wait that long, cause I think she'll take you as you are."
"But I shouldn't take advantage of her like that. Maybe she's willing to settle, but I shouldn't let her."
"Somehow I doubt she'd think she was settling. In fact, I think she'd beat the shit out of anyone who suggested such a thing, even if you were the one to suggest it." Cragen saw the hopeful, pathetic, questioning stare in Elliot's eyes and nodded. "Like I said before, she loves you. She'll happily spend the rest of her life as your partner, hoping you'll feel the same way eventually, but I think it would probably do you both a lot of good just to suck it up and admit you're head over heels for each other."
He wanted to believe, so much, that Cragen's opinion was right. "What if you're wrong?"
Cragen smiled. "I'm not." He angled his head toward the door. "Now go find her."
Still tired, but filled with hope, Elliot pulled himself to his feet and headed for the library. He'd make them print every damn book there until they found something, anything. Olivia deserved that much from him.
