A/N: Kinetic, the energy expended when parts move in any direction at any speed, as long as the motion is continuous.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the show or the characters, but, oh, how I wish I did.
March 18th, 9:00 AM
"That's your sixth cup of coffee," Elliot remarked with a small smirk, a plastic spoon doing laps in his own mug of hot caffeine. He looked at her and his heart stopped. The intense desire to kill anyone who'd ever hurt her in any way rooted itself to his chest, settling there permanently. "We're already running on fumes," he said, and he blinked once, wondering where the light in her eyes had gone. For a moment he forgot they were in the interview room, on the other side of the table. He cleared his throat and smiled at her. "Slow it down, huh?"
As she sipped, she shot him a hard look. "You're one to talk," she scoffed. She squinted at him, watching the way he moved, her eyes on the hand that was inching toward her face. She flinched slightly at his touch, but gave a long sigh when he ran his hand over her cheek, through her hair. "Don't do this," she whispered, her tired eyes slipping shut.
"Excuse me, what am I doing?" he quipped, sliding his fingers under her chin and cupping it. He kicked the leg of the nearest chair and plopped into it, but did not for a single moment move his hand from its home. He set his coffee down and leaned closer to her. "I'm not doing anything."
"You shouldn't be this close to me, not here, not like…" her words were cut off by the door opening. Elliot's hand shot down to his lap as Cragen and a man she didn't recognize clomped into the room and she instantly missed the warmth of Elliot's touch. It had been the only thing keeping her from freezing. Her eyes darted between the men, and she held her breath as Cragen moved closer.
The older man stared at her for a moment, as guilt seeped into his pores and burrowed into the pit of his stomach. Her hair, shaggy and falling into her eyes, seemed darker. Her eyes were dim, and her sweatshirt was three sizes too big, hiding her entire frame in the folds. "Olivia, I know…" he cleared his throat. "Well, I don't know the specifics, but I know that the last two weeks have been…"
"Come on, Donny," the man beside him chuckled. "She's a big girl, isn't she?" He licked his lips and tilted his head as he gave Olivia the once over. "Ain't nothing she hasn't been through before, right?" He looked at Olivia. "Nothing she shouldn't have expected, it's probably gonna happen again. Can't deny that. Not with this job, eh, Detective Benson?"
The horrified look on Olivia's face burned itself into Elliot's memory, and in that moment, he did not care that he was wearing a faded NYPD jogging suit, or that he smelled more like a clinic washroom than the more manly soap laying dry in his home shower, he shot to his feet and moved fast, ready to beat down the bastard in the expensive suit. "What the hell did you just say?"
Cragen stepped between them, knowing that, if given the chance, Elliot would flatten anyone who dared speak so crassly to his partner. "Stabler, uh, this is Malcolm Young, new legal counsel for Seal…"
"I don't care if he's the fucking Pope," Elliot huffed, swatting Cragen's arms off of his shoulders. He sneered at the smarmy lawyer and felt the veins in his neck throb. "You have no idea what the fuck she's been through, and her job does not automatically come with an expectation of assault, you slimy, mouth-breathing son of a…"
"El," her voice was soft but firm, and she grinned only just barely when he calmed and backed away. "What do you need from me, Cap?" she asked, lifting her coffee to her lips and sipping slowly. "Just tell me, so I can go the hell home and get some sleep."
Cragen cleared his throat. "Full statement, on record," he told her, and he held out both hands. "And if this goes to trial, your full testimony." He took a step toward her. "I know it's gonna be hard, but…" he tried to smile. "Tucker's bringing in the box. I'll be right here, with you, just take your time."
"Wait, you want to tape her statement?" Elliot barked. He turned fast, then, with his eyes widened. "No, this...this is not happening. You're not being put through this shit again." He snapped his glance over his shoulder. "Not for that piece of shit," he jutted his chin toward Young and then moved quickly, scouring the shelves and flipping through piles of notebooks.
"What are you doing?" she asked so only he could hear her. He didn't answer her, simply slapped the cleanest yellow pad he could find and a ballpoint pen down on the table in front of her. "What is…"
"Statement," he said sharply. "Write it down." He turned toward Cragen. "Call Tucker, tell him to shove the recorder up his ass, we don't need it." He cracked his knuckles. "She writes it down, and no one else needs her to…"
"Elliot!" Olivia's voice was sharper, clearer, with a hint of something unrecognizable in her tone. "Why are you treating me like a…"
"Because you are!" he shouted back, matching her volume and emotion exactly. He let out the rest of his breath and dropped back into his seat. He took her hand and held it tight, linking their fingers, and he whispered it again. "You are, as much as neither of us wants to admit it, you're the vic." He pressed his lips together for a moment. "You could barely tell me what happened, and you tell me everything...so I am not letting you re-live that fucking nightmare, out loud, in front of people who are trying to sweep what happened to you under the Goddamned rug so they can use any minor inflection against you!" He tossed a hand at the lawyer. "Your voice cracks, he'll say you're nervous because you're lying. You stutter, he'll say it's because you don't remember clearly. You pause for too long, he'll convince the judge you're trying to think of something to say. They won't give a shit that it's because you're trying to stop yourself from crying, or screaming, and I am not letting it go down like that."
She squeezed his hand as hard in return, but her eyes closed. "Right," she whispered. "I know you...you're right, but how can I…"
"Fuck," he spat. "I can write it for you, if you want." He lowered his gaze, slipped his other hand over their clasped fingers. "I fucking remember every word you said, I hear it over and over, I can't get it out of my mind." Sniffling, he bit his trembling lip. "I should have been there. This would never have happened." Another sniffle. "I couldn't protect you then, but I'm not letting that mother fucker hurt you again, not like this. So just…" he swallowed stiffly and nodded at the notepad.
Her tightly clenched mouth flattened even more, and she pulled her right hand free from his hold. Picking up the pen, she exhaled slowly, and quietly asked him, "Can you get me another cup of coffee? This is probably gonna take a while."
He gave her a sad smile and short nod, then leaned over to her as he rose from his seat. He kissed the top of her head, unconcerned with whatever Cragen would have to say about it. He knew there would be consequences.
For everything.
He breezed past Cragen, ignoring the confused and concerned look from him, and headed into the squadroom to get two cups of fresh coffee from the back table. The back of his mind swirled with a to-do list he'd been ignoring all night, all morning. Call his lawyer, call Kathy and his kids, transfer money between his accounts, pay his kids' tuition, call his mother, fax a background check consent form to an upscale apartment complex he'd looked into, try to call Fin. None of it mattered and it all came with side-effects he wasn't ready to deal with yet.
Calling his lawyer would mean the end of his marriage, admitting he'd failed, admitting he'd fallen helplessly in love with the woman his wife was always jealous of, the woman his mother warned him about. Calling Kathy would lead to fighting, and then complacency, both caused more discomfort than he could handle. Calling his kids would mean explaining where he'd been, what had happened, who he'd been with, and why. An emotional toll he wasn't yet ready to pay. Making transfers and payments seemed too practical for his current frame of mind, too normal too soon. Sending that fax would mean accepting the even split Kathy demanded, losing the house he and his father had paid for, the only home his kids had known for their entire lives. Calling Fin would make it all too real, driving home the fact that he'd almost been a casualty, collateral damage in a game of cat and mouse Olivia had been forced to play without him by her side.
He snapped out of his foggy daze just in time to stop pouring the coffee, narrowly missing a scalding mess. He set the pot down and then carefully poured one cup halfway into another. "Shit," he hissed, grabbing the carton of milk out of the small refrigerator. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, hearing the footsteps coming closer. He spoke before he turned around. "Morning, John," he mumbled, directing it at the older detective who'd come to a stop behind him.
John Munch peered at Elliot over the rims of his glasses. "She okay?" He crossed his bony arms. He'd never admit it, and he hoped people could never tell, but he had a bit of a soft spot for the younger cops in his unit, Olivia in particular. His eyes pinched shut a bit more when Elliot finally turned to him. "You look like hell."
"Gee, thanks," Elliot sipped from one of the foam cups in his hands, then looked beyond Munch toward the interview room. "She's, uh, writing her statement. The whole thing. Um, everything that…" the words got caught in his throat and he jostled them loose with a low cough. "What happened."
"I didn't ask where she was or what she was doing," Munch proffered, "I asked if she was okay."
There was silence between the men. Munch pushed his glasses up higher and crossed his arms again. Elliot rocked on his heels and poked the side of his cheek with his tongue.
"No," Elliot finally stated. "No, she's not. But she will be." His eyebrows rose and fell once, and he moved away from Munch. He'd made it to the door before his pulse began to race, before the pent up emotions of the last few days and sleepless nights caught up to him. He had the good sense to lay the coffee cups on the window ledge before turning and punching the wall. "God damn it!" he growled lowly, hoping no one had heard or seen. He seethed, chest heaving, as he pushed the anger and fear back down where it belonged, burying it under the only emotion he was glad to have finally accepted.
He thought of her, whispered her name, and grabbed the foam cups. He promised himself that, as soon as she was done talking to Cragen and Young, that he'd call his lawyer. He'd been stuck for too long, ready to move but not willing to try, and now it was time.
With a smile, he kicked open the door and headed straight for Olivia, not fully understanding what he was about to set into motion, but not really caring at all.
A/N: Next? Conversations with Kathy, the kids, and a hitch in the plan.