A/N: A .44 full of bullets. Face full of pale. Eyes full of empty. A stare full of nails. (Rage Against the Machine) For the sake of this story, the timelines of some cases and details have been altered.
DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler
The phone call he'd made to his lawyer after they'd left The Labyrinth was not a happy one, and now, at the crime lab, he decides to make the call to Kathy. He dials as he walks fast, from the car to the entrance, and he forgets that Olivia is right next to him and that they're walking toward the glass doors of the ballistics lab. "What the fuck are you trying to pull?" he asks as soon as Kathy answers the phone. Clearly, he's not a fan of cordial greetings to anyone at all anymore. "Oh, you didn't think she'd tell me? Fuck, Kathy, she's my partner! She tells me everything! Especially, ya know, when it fucking concerns me!"
Olivia flinches at the way his voice carries, the way the reverb rattles the carts and metal shelves around him. "People are…"
"I don't give a fuck if people are staring!" he shouts at her, and then he gestures angrily at the phone pressed against his ear. "I need to deal with this before…" he pauses as Kathy says something. "No, you fucking know damn well she wouldn't lie, and there's nothing she could possibly say that would...you would only need it if you were coming after me for the...oh, fuck you, Kathy! Just ask them! They're not toddlers, ya know, they can fucking make their own damn decisions!"
Olivia looks around, rocking on her heels, and when she spots one of the lab techs staring at them, she narrows her eyes. "Don't you have a job to do?" she spits, and she grins slightly when the man's eyes widen and he rushes away faster than he probably needs to. She turns and slaps Elliot in the arm. "If your bid for Husband of the Year can wait, we have a job to do, ourselves."
He makes a face at her, his brows knit and the corners of his lips turn down, then he shoots his middle finger up at her and blows her a kiss. "No, I have to go, but you fucking clean up the mess you made or I swear to God, Kathy…" he squeezes the bridge of his nose and inhales deeply, slowly, and then exhales as he says, "Right, fine." and hangs up.
"Are you good?" She asks him the question with her angled downward, her eyes gazing up at his. Concern laces her words and she has to consciously keep her hand from reaching for his arm.
He nods, then clears his throat as he takes the final two steps toward the doors to ballistics. "I'm good," he nods, and he leans closer to her. He smooths his green tie down as he whispers, "I'll be better when we get home, and I get even with you for that little stunt you pulled in the locker room." He growls softly and hisses, "You broke your own rule."
She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. Her olive green tank crinkled as she shifted to get into. "I wasn't aware we had…"
"Keep it out of the office. That's a rule," he snaps, and then he winks at her and pulls the door open a bit wider. "Marcus, my man," he low-fives the tech who's sitting at the table, "Tell me something good."
"I just told him," Marcus throws a thumb toward a young, handsome man in a tee-shirt and jeans who's leaning against a cabinet. "Bullet from the sex bench and the old man are definitely from the same gun."
"I got mine," Paul Falsone smirks, letting go of the counter and adjusting the shiny gold badge on his hip. He holds up a small, sealed evidence bag, letting it dangle between two fingers. He looks at Olivia and nods, licking his lips. "I don't know if I told you earlier, Benson. Green," he says, and he shoves the bagged bullet into his pocket. "Really looks good on you." He straightens up and takes a step in Olivia's direction, licking his lips again.
Elliot narrows his eyes as he immediately steps between Olivia and Falsone, keeping them as far apart as possible. "Stabler," he says, raising a brow and holding out his hand. He is oblivious to Olivia rolling her eyes behind him.
"I know who you are," Falsone says, shaking Elliot's hand firmly. "You're kind of a big deal in this city." He crosses his arms and says, "Paul Falsone."
"Yeah," Elliot scoffs. "I know." He feels Olivia elbow him in the side and he holds out an open palm to Marcus. "If he's got the bullet from Norm Southerland, that means we get the bullet from the…"
"Right here," Marcus gives Olivia a printed report in a manilla folder, then hands Elliot a sealed bag containing a bullet that matches the one that Falsone has in his pocket. He points across the hall and says, "Trace has something for you. Something that could crack your case wide open."
"Thanks, man," Elliot gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder and then taps Olivia to get her to follow him through the doors. He turns, though, when he hears something he doesn't like happening behind him. He watches, nearly helpless, as Falsone stands too close to Olivia for his liking. He feels the blood that had only just settled begin to boil again as he sees Paul reaching out, watches him tuck some loose strands of hair behind Olivia's ear. "Liv," he shouts too loudly, too boldly. "Let's go."
She gives Paul a polite smile as she turns and follows Elliot out of the ballistics lab, and while they're walking across the hall, she says, "Will you calm down?"
"What the fuck was that back there?" he says, his jaw clenched. He shoves the bagged casing into his pocket and scoffs. "The way he was looking at you…"
"I can't keep people from flirting with me, Elliot," she snaps, and her eyes dart to the door to the trace lab. "I didn't flirt back, did I?" she quips, shaking her head. "Even if I did, it wouldn't…" she stops, knowing he doesn't need any more provocation at the moment. "Can we just focus? Christ," she rolls her eyes and storms into the trace lab.
He drags a hand down his face and follows her, hoping he can lower his blood pressure before he gets himself in trouble.
By the time they get back to the station, they have a suspect in the box who has one hell of a motive and no alibi. Cragen watches from behind the two-way mirror, his arms folded, his eyes trained on Elliot, watching for the signs, waiting to pull him out of the room if he needs to, because he senses it's going to happen and hopes he's wrong.
In the room, Olivia has her hands in her pockets, her boots clack against the stone as she walks back and forth, attempting to make the man in the chair nervous. "You tell us, your version of events, Larry," she says, and she stops right in front of him, gives him a crooked smile, and says, "Tell us why you don't think you did anything wrong."
"She killed me first," the man says, swiping his hand over his greasy hair. "I was just...getting even."
Olivia moves around to the back of his chair, she's not aware that Elliot is rounding the other side, cracking his knuckles. "When did you find out that she was HIV positive? That she infected you?" she asks, leaning over. Her hands are on her knees. "How long did it take for you to plan to kill her?"
Elliot doesn't give him the chance to answer, he pulls him up out of his chair by his collar and slams him into the wall behind him. "You didn't know she was pregnant, did you?" he asks, his voice low and rough. He pulls him back, raises him off the ground slightly, and slams him harder into the concrete. "You're going down for three murders, you son of a bitch," he grits out.
"Elliot," she tries, but she sees he isn't listening. "Stabler, stop it! Let him go!" She moves to pull him off of the suspect, but what he does next stops her in her tracks.
Elliot grabs the man's arm and twists it back hard, baring his teeth like an angry bear. He's taking his rage from the day out on the person he thinks deserves it, the driving force is the knowledge that their victim was three months pregnant. "You raped and killed a woman, killed her child," he seethes, hot breath filling his lungs and leaving his nostrils like a steamed bull. He can't help it. He thinks back to Kathy, trying the most underhanded tricks in the world to win a battle he hadn't agreed to fight. He thinks of Paul Falsone, the smug son of a bitch, who assumes he is allowed to hit on Olivia. Everything hits him at once, and the death of a child is merely the Alka-Seltzer in the Coke bottle. He pulls on the bastard's shoulder again, hears a slight pop, ignores the man's whimpering cry, then leans into him and says, "You didn't even have the balls to look her in the eyes, you son of a…"
"Stabler!" Cragen yells as soon as he bursts through the door, "Drop him, and get the hell out of here!" He points to the door and says, "Now!"
Elliot drops the man back to the floor, turning fast. He sees how red Cragen's face is, how angry the man looks, and he shoots his eyes toward Olivia. He watches her face fall, the color drain from it, and he nods once at her as he pulls down his sleeves and bolts, pushing past Cragen and storming into the pit. His attempt at calming down is shot to shit when he almost runs into Paul Falsone, who sneers at him before heading into the interrogation room. He takes a step back toward the door, but Cragen cuts him off. He points at the window and starts, "What the fuck is he…"
"I warned you," Cragen points an irritated finger at him, lowering his voice and looming forward. "I told you, one more step out of line, one more incident, then I wouldn't have a choice." He juts his finger toward the door to the bullpen, and he says, "Go the hell home! You just earned yourself three days on the bench. You keep telling me you're nothing like your father, you have three damn days to figure out how to prove it."
Elliot jabs at the window again, shaking his head. "You're gonna let my partner run this with someone who isn't even…"
"He has every right to be in there! It's a joint investigation," Cragen interrupts. "You're officially off this case, and for the next three days, she isn't your partner! In fact, she's working solo because of your temper. Get out, go home." He feels how hot his cheeks are, he can hear his heartbeat in his ears, and he swallows hard as he tries to keep his authority in check. "Go, Elliot. Now."
With a loud, bitter scoff, he shakes his head, smacks the side wall as he leaves the pit. Mumbling under his breath, he grabs his coat and keys, and walks out of the squadroom, hoping he figures out what the hell just happened before he gets home.
He says nothing to anyone as he storms out of the squadroom. He punches the door to the stairs open, knowing he dented the metal and not caring at all. Taking the steps two at a time, he huffs and puffs, trying to forget that he's broken a promise, one he swore he'd never break.
He's tense as he walks out of the building and toward his car, holding his breath as he gets behind the wheel. As he drives, his muscles twitch beneath his shirt. He curses at every stoplight, pounds his fists against the steering wheel before every turn. He hits the gas when he gets to the tunnel, his mind moving just as fast back to the precinct, where his partner, his lover, is in the middle of a heated interrogation with a man he doesn't trust. His heart pounds faster, harder, the closer he gets to home, the farther away he gets from Olivia.
When he parks in his driveway, he closes his eyes. He takes a sharp breath, feels the ache in his chest as his lungs burn, and he lets it out with a shudder. He can't go into the house angry; he can't break another promise tonight.
"Hi, Daddy," Lizzie shouts as she practically jumps off of the couch and runs to him, smiling.
"Hey, pumpkin," he whispers, kneeling to catch her running hug. He closes his eyes as he holds his youngest daughter, exhaling, trying to relax. "Did you have fun at preschool to…"
"Where's Liv?" Dickie interrupts, his little head tilts to the side and he blinks as he walks over to his father, his socked feet slipping on the hardwood as he moves. "Is she leaving us? Like Mom?"
Elliot's heart sinks, and he turns up sad eyes but a warm smile at his five-year-old son. "No, kiddo, she's just...she's still at work. But I got some time off to, uh...start packing up the place." He taps the boy on his nose. "You're gonna love your new room," he lies, knowing full well he doesn't even have a place, yet, only that Olivia promised to help them move, split the rent...stay with him. He ruffles the boy's hair and as he gets to his feet, he takes off his trench and blazer, and as he hangs them on the rack, he asks, "Did they eat yet?" He directs the question to the teenager on the couch.
The young boy runs a hand through his dark, curly hair as he stands. "I made them macaroni and cheese and hot dogs," he shrugs. He grabs his bookbag and his laptop, then moves toward Elliot. He offers a handshake and says, "This one's off the books, Detective Stabler. I can't charge you for…" he checks his watch. "I mean, I just walked the kids home from school, made sure they did their homework, and gave them something to eat. It's only been three hours."
Elliot chuckles as he pulls out his wallet. "Three hours with my four little monsters is enough to earn a full night's pay." He hands the young man two fifty-dollar bills and slaps him in the shoulder. "You're a good kid, Kenny. Don't, uh, don't tell your dad I paid you for the full night, I know him. He'll make you give it back."
Ken Tutuola laughs, nods at Elliot, and says, "So, you said you got a couple of days off? So you don't need me to pick the little guys up tomorrow?"
Elliot shakes his head. "No, uh, probably not until Monday. Thanks, for everything, Kenny. Can you get home, okay?"
"Yeah, of course," Ken laughs and nods, gives Elliot another handshake, and then walks toward the door.
Elliot watches him leave, and then he drags his hand down his face and lets out another heavy breath. He turns, plastering on a smile, and waves his twins over to him as he sits on the couch. He takes the space between his two older girls, makes an exaggerated groaning noise when Lizzie and Dickie climb into his lap, and he drops his head back. He's going to love every moment spent with his kids, but beneath it all, he's still festering and brooding with no way to vent, no way to let go. Not for hours.
He plays a few hands of Go Fish with his children, makes sure they take their baths and brush their teeth. He reads them each a bedtime story, and for a moment, he's happier than he's been all day, but as he kisses them on their cheeks and tucks them in, his conversation with Kathy plays like an out of tune song in his head. He changes into a pair of sweats and a tee-shirt, trying to forget the threats and foul words, but now that his kids are asleep he's left alone with his thoughts and it's one of the only things he can think about.
He plods down the stairs and fixes himself a drink. He winces as he takes the first sip and he wanders over and drops onto the couch, wondering how he'd managed to fuck up his entire life in a single day. He takes another gulp of the hard, amber drink, asking himself how much longer Olivia could possibly be, because it's nights like this that he needs a fucking cigarrette, and he doesn't smoke around her. He doesn't even drink around her, because when she's around, she is his only vice. He thinks back to Falsone, the way he'd looked at Olivia, and he's terrified that the prospect of someone else will be enough to give her a way out. He knows she has doubts about their relationship, Falsone is a threat. He swings back his whiskey and growls. He's losing his grip on everything else, and now, he fears, he's losing her, too.
It's almost midnight when the waiting becomes too much, and he's three drinks in. He's had far too much time to overthink and he's got a few things he needs to say to her, tonight, but now he's just worried about her. He pulls out his phone to call her, find out where the hell she is, but the turning of the knob catches his attention. He puts his phone and his short glass of whiskey, on the rocks, down on the coffee table and runs toward the door as fast as his bare feet will allow. "What the hell took so fucking long," he snaps at her in a whisper. It had taken too long to get all four kids to sleep; he refuses to do anything that would wake them up. "Do you have any idea what the hell was going through my mind all damn night?"
She closes her eyes and turns away from him. "I just walked through the damn door," she whips back at him, and she tosses a large black duffle bag into the corner. "You threw a fucking hissy fit, so I had to run the investigation with two rookies who can't even lace their own boots the right way!"
He feels something in him snap at her words, he knows she'd been in a position she hates to be, tonight, and it's his job to get her out of it. His smirk widens as he figures out exactly how to do it.
She kicks her bag again and then turns to him. "The least you could do is wait until I take off my coat before you…"
"Let's get a few things straight," he hisses, his jaw tight. He pulls off her leather coat for her, hangs it on a hook beside his, and then wraps his fingers around her suit jacket. As he slips it off of her shoulders he says, "The next time some hot-shot cop puts the moves on you, the first words out of your mouth better fucking be 'I'm seeing someone," he says softly. "And what were you gonna say, back at the lab. Even if you were flirting with him...what? What the fuck was that?"
She eyes him for a moment, her mouth goes dry as she takes in the fact that he hasn't shaved, yet, the beginnings of scruff on his chin make him look more devilish than usual. She hides her sudden arousal as she says, "Even if I was, it wouldn't be your place to do or say anything about it, not at work. That's a rule, remember? We both agreed, as far as anyone in the department knows, we're just partners, so you can't fly off the handle if…"
"You," he stops her as he grabs her shoulders and pulls her closer to him, lowering his voice, "Are not allowed to flirt with people, Benson." He grins at her, seeing the way her eyes have flitted down his body, the way they've hovered a bit too long on the drawstrings of his sweats. He cups her chin and lifts her head, and when she looks into his eyes, his smile flattens. He swallows hard and his free hand unties the white strings at his waist. "He try anything with you? Huh? Is that what took so fucking long?"
She shakes her head slowly. "Guy wouldn't cop to killing Norm," she says, and she feels him moving, shuffling. "Falsone...can't break people the way you can. No one can, and Cragen knows it." She slips her fingers between the elastic of his sweats and his skin, and she teases the fabric, pulling lightly, back and forth. "I only got him to crack when they finally left me alone with him, his arraignment's in the morning," she says too quietly.
He gives a silent chuckle. "You didn't answer the question, did he try anything?" He keeps her chin in his hand, stopping her head from turning. She can't look away from him, so she can't lie to him. "Tell me," he says, and he bites his lip when he feels her hand slide into his pants. "Liv," he breathes.
"He did," she says, and she moves closer to him. Her lips hover over his as she says, "And I told him...I'm seeing someone." She raises a challenging eyebrow. "So now you need to tell me if I lied to him, because your wife is…"
"Insane," he chokes out, trying not to moan at the way her hand feels wrapped around his cock. "We already agreed to keep this quiet at work, but fuck, you are still mine, Olivia, no matter where the fuck you are." He swipes his thumb under her right eye once, then moves his hand from her chin to the top of her head. "Mine," he repeats with clenched teeth. He pushes on her head, an action caught between a command and a plea.
She sinks to her knees, pulling the black cotton over his hips and down his legs, and she lets her eyes roll upward, staying on his as she moves forward, taking his dick into her mouth.
As the wet heat envelops him, his head falls back against the wall. "Fuck," he spits. "And I'm yours. All fucking yours." His jaw drops and he fists her hair, losing himself in the way she takes him all in, the way she wants it as much as he does. "Fuck, yes," he thrusts gently, twice, and then he pulls her hair upward, telling her to stand. "You," he whispers when their eyes meet again. "You're in for it," he grits out, and he spins her around, nearly tripping on the pants around his ankles. He kicks them off and stares into her eyes as he unbuckles, unbuttons, and unzips her pants. He slowly rolls them down and says, "I told you, I'd get even." He winks, and before she can speak, he's rolling his tongue up and down her wet slit, moaning at her taste.
"Shit," she sighs, and her hands are searching for something, anything to hold onto. "El," she moans. Her eyes roll when he pushes his tongue deeper and swipes up.
He moans again, closing his eyes, and he bends lower only for a moment to get her left leg up onto his shoulder. When he rises up on his knees again, the move shifts her body and spreads her farther open for him. The noise he makes is the perfect blend of victory and satisfaction. He looks up at her, and he watches her face, her eyes, as he flicks his tongue over her clit rapidly before wrapping his lips around it and sucking hard.
Her hands fly to the back of his head as her legs start to shake. "Elliot," she moans softly, her voice wavering as her entire body starts to tremble. "I can't...fuck, I'm gonna…"
"I got you," he tells her before returning to the task of bringing her sweet release. He'd lost control, today, more than once, he knows it. But this? This is what he can and will control, for the rest of his life. How she cums, how often, when, where, how many times in a row, this is the control he needs and he is thankful she has so willingly given it to him. "Baby," he says, eyeing her. He spreads her wider with his fingers, and hooks one arm around her other leg. "I got you," he breaths, and he nods as he delves into her, running his tongue in circles and diagonals, driving her crazy. He latches onto her clit again and his eyes roll back into his head as she cums. He can feel her pulse on his tongue, he's lapping up every new drop she gives him, and her moans and soft cries of his name alone are enough to make him explode.
She crumples slightly, and true to his word, he has a tight hold on her. She grinds herself into him, feeling him diving in for more. His growl makes her entire body vibrate, and she moans again. "Baby, please," she whispers, and she tugs on the fabric of his shirt. She needs him somewhere else now.
He gives her one more long, slow lick, from the very bottom of her body to her belly button, and he kisses every spot he can reach as he lowers her legs and pushes himself to his feet. He doesn't realize he's stroking his cock until she takes over for him. He gasps when her hand wraps around his and pulls it away, and he drops his head to her neck when she starts her strokes, rough, fast. "Oh, God, Liv…" he nips at her skin, sucks and bites, and he turns just enough to suck her left earlobe into his mouth. He lets it go, he's panting into her ear as his hands reach for the backs of her knees, and he whispers, "I need to be inside you."
His words make her weak and she lets her hand fall away from his shaft to loop her arms around his neck. "Good," she says softly. The moment he looks back at her, she says, "Because, God, El, I need you inside me."
He slams his mouth over hers as he thrusts his hips, sheathing himself inside her. His entire body shakes and he doesn't move for a moment. He kisses her deeply, and he nudges her nose with his to get her to open her eyes. "Look at me," he whispers, and as he very slowly pulls out, he kisses her lips. "Baby, look at me." Once her eyelids raise, he drops his forehead to hers. He keeps his eyes open, and through slow thrusts and soft kisses, he tries like hell to convince her that he's not what everyone else thinks he is.
He needs her to believe that he is more than arrogance and attitude, but he knows he has only just begun to show her any different. He's been so closed off and so tightly wound for so long, that two weeks of pure freedom isn't enough, yet, to undo the damage. "Tell me," he grunts as he slams back into her, "Tell me you love me."
She cups his face, gripping hard, and she kisses him deeply to catch her moan of his name as she cums again. When their lips part, she whispers, "I love you. So fucking much." She tries to roll her hips into his, meet each of his eager, deep thrusts, knowing he's never satisfied with one, and thanks to him, she can fight through the tingles and pinpricks to give more than that. "I do," she whispers to him, she sees the shift in his eyes and she knows something is wrong, something is keeping him from letting go.
With a low and deep rumbling growl, he peels her away from the wall, holding her tightly. Still thrusting slowly, he walks her to the sofa and lays her down, and he peppers her neck and chin with soft kisses as he speeds up. He slams into her harder, deeper, and his hands find the bruises on her hips they'd left there a few nights ago. He runs his fingers over them gently, then wraps his palms around unmarked skin as he kisses her, letting his tongue dance with hers. He catches her moan, feels her tighten again, and he knows this time he's going with her. "I love you," he says, and he works to thrust even deeper, needing to reach parts of her no one else ever has, that she doesn't know exist, because that's exactly what she's fucking doing to him. "I love you," he tells her again, and he makes sure he pulls out all the way before sliding home one last time.
She closes her eyes, the sparks igniting behind her lids are blinding anyway, and she knows she's louder than she intends. "Elliot," she cries, her nails clawing at his back.
He's got the skin of her neck in his mouth, muffling his own grunts as he lets her convulsions and pulsing pussy take from him. He doesn't try to fight it, tonight he doesn't need to be so punishing to himself. His ass clenches, he feels himself twitching and her whimpers prove him right, and he kisses her slowly as they both try to come back down.
She caresses his back slowly, her fingers drawing shapes and patterns over the angry scratch marks already there. There's silence as he kisses her, every so often their bodies jerk together, and when it no longer hurts to breathe, she takes the chance. "What brought that on?" she asks. "That wasn't just you being jealous, because if that's all it takes, then you would have fucked me five ways from Friday the day we met." She kisses his chin as they share a laugh.
He inhales and shakes his head, and then clings to her tightly as he tries to roll them over without falling off of the couch. He swings an arm up to grab the throw blanket and covers them up. He runs his fingers through her hair and closes his eyes, and he moans softly when she starts dropping light kisses to his chest. "Fucking...Kathy...she has no right to ask you to write a statement, and you know, she was only trying to see if you'd slip up and say something she could use to take the kids…" shaking his head, he stops. He realizes he's calmer with her in his arms, she takes the edge off, and it's something he needs to figure out how to channel, all the time.
"Is that it?" she asks. "I wrote her stupid statement, by the way. Gave a copy to your lawyer, and hers, and whatever she was trying to pull…" she gives him a sideways smile. "It ain't happening."
He smiles and kisses her again, then sighs. "And then that fucking...I know, I know, I got jealous, too jealous," he sighs and works his hand against her head with more pressure, almost massaging. "But it's because part of me thinks you're not ready for...what I need from you."
She props herself up, her arms folded across his chest. "What do you need from me?"
He kisses her forehead and says, "Everything."
She squints. "Whatever it is, just tell me." She kisses him softly. "I think I've already proven that, uh, I'm very willing to do whatever you tell me to do," she licks the rims of his lips and whispers, almost too softly to hear, "Sir."
The way he moans is more like an earthquake than a man, his body trembles, and he bucks upward into her again. He weaves a hand through her hair and pulls hard, biting his lip when he watches her eyes roll. "It goes both ways," he nods, and he kisses her once. "Just remember that." He nuzzles her nose and says, "I promise, I'm going to give you...everything you fucking want and need." He chuckles. "You can handle it, huh?"
She nods, laughing, and she feels him wrap his arms around her. They rise off the couch, her in his hold, the blanket curled around them. She laughs, taking the ride he's giving her, as he hikes her up on his hip and collects the rumpled clothes and her duffel bag.
He doesn't let her go until they make it upstairs and into his bedroom. He sets her down on the bed then drops her bag to the floor and kicks it aside. He throws their dirty clothes into the hamper and then he crawls onto the bed and curls his body around hers. He works the covers up and over them, and he whispers, "I love you," as he pulls her tighter to him.
As he falls asleep, the smile on his face turns into a sly smirk. She's already promised that she's with him all the way, but tomorrow?
He'll make her prove it.
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