A/N: Sometimes, fate erodes the parts of us that need to be destroyed. - Anonymous
DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler
Her feet hit the pavement, one at a time, the impact causing tension and pain to shoot up her arches to her calves and thighs. With every hard step, and equally hard exhalation escaped, followed by a slow and cold inhale through her nose. She knows he's going to wonder where she is, she knows he's going to be upset that, yet again, she hadn't woken him before she left. She checks her watch and her pulse, the former moving too slowly, the latter racing far too fast. She still has an hour before he wakes, an hour to clear her head and come to terms with the fact that what she wants goes against everything she believes in, or at least she had until now.
One foot lands, her muscles tighten, and she remembers being wrapped in his arms, his body against hers, his cock buried within her. She closes her eyes and exhales, another step taken, and she recalls how hard she had to work to pry herself free from his hold, and how surprising it had been that he hadn't stirred in response. Left foot landing hard on the sidewalk, she inhales again, tasting the remnants of coffee, wondering if she'd put her mug in the dishwasher or if it was still on the table with her book. As she runs, the last words that she'd read scroll across her mind. This is also a good place to mention that sex crime investigators should not allow personal sexual habits, values, morals, or beliefs to prejudice their investigations. They must keep an open mind and remain nonjudgmental when dealing with complaints. It is not their place to judge the lifestyles that victims lead or the decisions they have made.
The more she learns about doing her job, the more she realizes that the cops in charge when her mother was assaulted didn't know a damn thing about doing theirs. She wonders, as her straining muscles twitch, if it would have made a difference. If her mother hadn't been drunk, if she hadn't gone back to give second statements, third ones. Would it have mattered at all if the investigating detective hadn't written the words "sorority girl" and "casual sex" in the margins of the report he'd filed? Would someone have cared more if they'd made a notation of her Catholic upbringing?
As she rounds the corner and Elliot's East Side townhouse comes into view, she slows her pace and exhales a bit more sullenly. Would things have gone different if someone like him had been the one in charge? Hell yes. Closing her eyes, she walks up the nine terra-cotta colored steps to his front door, wondering when she'd committed the number and height to memory, and just before she sets her hand on the knob, the brown door opens. "You're awake," she spits, confused.
"Good job, Detective," he chuckles, reaching for her. He pulls her inside, then, as he kicks the door shut again, he smooths his hands up and down her arms. "I thought I told you to wake me up if you…"
"You don't get to sleep enough," she interrupts, kicking off her sneakers, and she raises one eyebrow as she takes in the sight of him. Shirtless, his muscular chest and strong arms are in clear view. His dark green sweatpants are untied, slung low on his hips, the v-cut of his hips peeking out over the elastic waistband. Stifling a moan, she realizes he isn't wearing anything beneath them, and the outline of his thick, semi-hard length is embossed in the cotton. He's yours. He could have anyone, and yet, he's yours. "I have to…"
He stops her from speaking with a hard kiss. Gripping her shoulders, he walks her through the archway, into the living room, his tongue stifling the already-soft moans coming from her dry voice. With a low chuckle, he leads her blindly across the floor, past the closet, toward the guest bathroom. She tastes like love. He groans and grunts as he fumbles with the brass knob, refusing to stop kissing her.
As the door finally gives, she laughs, stumbling backward into the room. "What are you…" she tries to say, but his brutal and demanding mouth refuses to give her permission. Don't fight this. She feels his hands on her waist, his fingers tugging at the spandex running pants she's wearing, and her throat catches his softly stated words as he rolls the fabric over her hips.
"Hear me?" he asks, pushing the material lower, and he chuckles when she kicks her pants off completely. He feels her body move and shift, knowing she's toeing off her socks, and he brings her hands up to her blue racer-back top. With a begrudging whine, he pulls his lips off of hers, only enough to be able to pull the nylon off over her head, and once she's completely naked before him, he stops moving. He stops breathing. She's yours. How the fuck did this happen? With a sly smirk, he drops her top, then takes her hands in his. Moving them toward his sweatpants, he whispers, "So fucking beautiful."
It's not that she doesn't believe him; she knows he means it, that to him, she is beautiful; she just doesn't think she's enough for him. As she shoves his pants down, letting his cock spring free, she bites her lower lip, knowing he's still staring at her. Her fingertips trace the curve of every bulging muscle as she drags them up his stomach, his chest. When she drops her hands to his shoulders, she whispers, "I love you, too," but she can't be certain he's heard her.
He kisses her again, slower, deeper, and shoots one hand out to pull the lever in the shower. Still swiping his tongue along hers, he tugs her with him, stepping over the lip of the frame, then slides the glass door closed before turning her fast and pressing her back against the cool, blue tiles.
They take turns, almost as though this is an everyday practice, alternating between long and languid kisses and scouring the sponge over each other's body. He washes her hair; she scrubs his back; his fingers work conditioner through her locks; her hands massage a good lather between his legs. As they rinse off, he spins her around again, braces her to the wall, and works his way between her thighs. With a wicked gleam in his eyes and his red, swollen lips curled into a smile, he thrusts once, hitting the ends of her, making her cry out his name in a pitch he's never heard. "Liv," he sighs, letting himself settle, feeling her surrounding every inch of him.
Raking her nails across his scalp, she murmurs, "Elliot," and drops her head backward as he lifts both of her legs up and wraps them around his waist. Breathe deep. Her eyes roll forward and lock on his again. "Elliot," she keens.
It's slow, deep, his hands gripping her ass and keeping her as close to him as possible as he thrusts in short, rolling motions. Their kiss never breaks; he won't let it. "So fucking tight," he whispers, and it's something he says every time, because he still can't fathom it. Custom-fit, tailor-made, she's always going to be this tight for you, you lucky son-of-a-bitch. The thought makes him moan her name, and he takes great pride in knowing it. "God, Liv," he whispers, nipping at her lips. "Eyes on me," he commands, and once she looks at him, he holds her gaze and mouths, "I love you," as he moves just a bit faster, grips her just a little harder.
"Oh, my God, Elliot," she whimpers, and when her back curves away from the tiles behind her, she tightens around him and her muscles, still overworked from her run, tense and constrict. Her body shudders and her jaw drops, but she doesn't make a single sound.
"Fuck," he growls, droppig his head forward. He presses his lips to the thin skin in the middle of her chest as he fights to thrust through her intense tightness, and when he no longer can, he gives into her. Gritting his teeth, he spills into her, murmuring her name over and over again in the same syncopation as his clenching muscles.
Her chest heaves as she struggles to breathe, and she feels his lips traveling over to each nipple. "Shit," she laughs nervously, her body jerking as he sucks lightly on them, one at a time, as if punctuating their tryst.
"Don't wanna let you go," he mumbles, her left nipple still in his mouth, his dick still twitching inside of her. With a single low breath, he drops her to her feet and he kisses her again, deliberately undemanding, as he pulls the chain and shuts off the water. Sliding the shower doors to his right, he chuckles. "Good morning," he teases, looking over his shoulder. He laughs a bit harder when he feels her flop forward against his back. "Sorry," he chortles, and he turns to hold her in his arms. "No, I'm not," he whispers, winking at her.
She kisses him, then, and takes an easy breath when she feels him wrap her up in a soft, plush robe. Raising an eyebrow at him, she smirks and watches him as he puts on a robe of his own, then gathers their dirty clothes. "You just keep these in here for guests?" she tugs on the white cotton belt.
"Yeah," he nods once, tosses the clothes into a wicker hamper, then leads her out of the bathroom.
As she follows him back into the living room, it hits her. She's only ever seen two floors of his place. There are five. She's never seen the kids' rooms, there's a rooftop patio and garden, a home-gym and the laundry room in the basement, and it all just reminds her that she shouldn't be with him. His mortgage is more than she makes, his credit score is excellent. She would never even be approved for a mortgage, and her credit score is non-existent. Her eyes travel up the swirling staircase, and they land on the door at the end of the hall. Maureen is less than a year younger than her, still living at home, without even having to worry about so much as a car payment. You lead such different lives. "When are you waking up your kids?" she asks, looking further up the staircase toward the other children's rooms.
"Give them another twenty minutes," he says, stifling a yawn. He bends toward the coffee table and picks up Olivia's long-forgotten mug and her book. "You haven't finished this yet?" he wags the thick volume at her.
"It's not exactly riveting fiction," she rolls her eyes and walks with him toward the kitchen. When he drops the book onto the counter, she opens it to the page she'd abandoned. "Some of this is...a lot to take in." She blinks once and knits her brows. "Why do you do this?" she asks softly, turning the page, scanning two lines before deciding she can't read it on an empty stomach and shutting the cover with a slap. "Why Special Victims?"
He sighs as he pours fresh coffee into Olivia's mug, then a cup for himself, and as he sets the pot back onto the burner, he clears his throat. "You want the pragmatic answer, or the truth?"
"Both," she shrugs, taking the coffee he's offering her, and as she sips, she stares at him. Her eyes widen as she swallows; he moves fast and wraps his arms around her. Her body sinks into his almost automatically.
"Once upon a time, it was the only unit that had an opening," he says after he swallows a mouthful of coffee. "I took whatever I could get as soon as I could get it, I didn't want to be in the uniform any longer than I had to be." He winks, then. "You win, there, though." He kisses her forehead as she laughs, then he lets out a somber and almost despondent sigh. "After about a week, I realized it wasn't just child abuse or helping little old ladies across the street," he scratches his chin, "When I really got a good grasp on what we do...it made me more determined to stay." He looks into her eyes and brushes her damp hair back with his fingers. "Sex...is supposed to be one of the most incredible parts of life." He smirks, kisses her once, and lets his eyes widen and narrow slightly. "So fucking incredible, when it's with the right person, when it's completely consensual, it's fucking amazing." He licks his lips and holds her a little tighter. "Having something so wonderful turned into a fucking nightmare, to have that part of life ripped away, that's...not fucking fair."
She stares into his eyes and tilts her head. There's more to it, she knows, and she cups her hands under his chin. "Go on," she whispers.
"And the kids...no one has a right to hurt those innocent little lives, it's the worst kind of criminal out there, the monsters that prey on those babies," he shoots his eyes toward the staircase. "The more of those bastards I can throw in the cage...the happier I'll be."
Her heart cracks at the look in his eyes, the way he's staring up at the rooms his kids are sleeping in, and she pulls him down just a bit to kiss him softly. "God, you're amazing," she whispers.
He gives a silent, breathy laugh, swats her ass, and kisses her again. "So are you," he tells her, and he downs the rest of his coffee before dragging Olivia up the stairs to get dressed.
It doesn't take long at all, they're dressed and ready within minutes, and after they rouse the kids, they walk the six city blocks to Saint Patrick's, with Lizze and Dickie each holding one of Olivia's hands, much to Elliot's chagrin and Maureen's dismay.
After sitting through a long but beautiful service, just as the six of them step back out into the New York morning, Olivia's phone buzzes. "Well," she sighs, "At least this didn't happen inside," she jokes, ignoring the expression of anticipation on Elliot's face. When she looks down at her phone, it becomes clear why his didn't ring. She answers it with a quick breath and suddenly tight chest. "Mom?" Her head turns fast, she can feel the color drain from her face, and she spits out, "Okay, okay, stop...stop crying, I'm on my way. No, I know where it is, just...I'll be right there." She hangs up and eyes Elliot. "I'm sorry," she spits out, and she runs down the cathedral steps fast.
"Hey, wait!" he shouts, running after her with a twin gripped in each hand, knowing Kathleen and Maureen are right behind him. "Liv! Come back home, I'll drive you…"
"No!" she yells, shaking her head as she steps off the curb and signals desperately for a taxi. "Take your kids to breakfast, I'll…" she exhales and closes her eyes as a yellow cab pulls up beside her. "I'll call you!" she shouts, and as an afterthought, because she's not used to it, yet, she rolls down the window and yells, "I love you!"
"What happened, Dad?" Dickie asks, watching the taxi drive off with Olivia in tow. He looks up at his father with wide, sad eyes.
"I don't know, kiddo," Elliot answers, then he sighs, resigned to the fact there's nothing he can do now, she's gone. "We'll just...bring her pancakes home with us." He tries to smile at his son, but his fears are rooting themselves firmly, threatening to blossom.
"Dad," Maureen jogs to catch up to him, leaving her sister a few feet behind, annoyed, and she leans into him as she whispers. "That phone call, that was Olivia's mother?"
Nodding, Elliot chews on the inside of his cheek. "Apparently," he exhales.
"Call her," she says. "I'll take them to get their pancakes, just...call her, find her, if her mother is in trouble she shouldn't be alone," Maureen watches her father's eyes widen. "It's a matter of public record, if you know where to look. Last night, when you said she was a lot older than…" she pauses, swallows back hard, and then says, "She shouldn't have to go through this by herself, now that she doesn't have to. Now that...she has you." She blinks once. "All of us."
With a quick and short relieved breath, he hugs his daughter, kisses her cheek, and then lets go of Lizzie and DIckie. "Take them," he says, and he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials fast. As he walks backward, he speaks directly to Maureen. "Get me an order of chocolate chip pancakes, uh, get Liv the red velvet ones. Go straight home after you eat, you hear me?" He doesn't wait for an answer, he holds the phone to his ear and prays that Olivia will pick up as he races to the corner to fight for a cab.
When he gets to where he's told him to meet her, he's out of breath and shaking, and he says nothing as he runs down to the hall and wraps himself around her. "What happened?" he pants, but he's holding her so tightly to him she can't answer. "Baby," he wheezes, pushing her back slightly. Looking down into her pain-burdened eyes, he asks again, "What happened?"
Shaking her head, she shrugs and loops her arms through his. "She's okay, they're just…" she throws a look behind her toward the wooden double-doors. "Making sure she didn't break anything." Her eyes close as she drops her head back into his chest. "Who the hell gets that wasted at ten in the fucking morning?"
"Hey, she had the good sense to call you for help," he whispers, brushing his knuckles under her eyes to wipe away the tears stuck to her lashes. "She couldn't have been that…" the look on her face makes him stop, and he exhales again as he pulls her closer to him once more. Dropping his chin to her shoulder, he says, "Tell me, next time, huh?" Say it. Tell her. "You shouldn't have to go through this alone...now that you don't have to." He smiles at the thought of the sincerity with which Maureen had said the same thing to her, and he whispers, "You have me now. The kids."
"Yeah," she says shakily, but something catches her eye and she pushes him away fast. She knows he's hurt, confused, but she clears her throat and says, "So, thank you for coming down here, you're one hell of a partner."
The pain in his eyes is clear. He can't feel anything. He's gone numb. "What? I'm a…fucking what..."
"Benson," Captain Cragen cuts into his protest as he steps up to her and gives her a small hug. "I got here as soon as Garrison called me." He turns and nods once at Elliot. "Glad you're here, with her."
Understanding now, Elliot nods back, and the feeling returns to his hands and feet as he lets himself breathe again. "Nowhere else I'd rather be." He means it. "Garrison, like...Charlie?" He squints, then looks at Olivia. "What aren't you telling me?"
Cragen speaks for her, knowing that it's not easy to say, especially in her shoes. "He called me, out of professional courtesy, uh...so they wouldn't have to book Serena on a drunk and disorderly." He looks around and rests a hand on Olivia's shoulder. "Speaking of...I'm gonna go find him and take care of this, excuse me." He smiles at the young woman, his heart thudding once, and he steps aside to look for the officer who came in with Serena Benson.
"Liv," Elliot warns gently, prodding her. He grabs her arm and leads her to a nearby chair, sits and then forces her head to his shoulder, drops his head to meet hers. "Just tell me what happened."
As she opens her mouth, the tears come back. Slowly, the small droplets roll out of the corners of her open eyes and she sniffles once. "She was at the Warwick, she can't remember how she got there or who she was with, only that she woke up at a table in the bar. Instead of asking someone for help, she asked the server for a Long Island Iced Tea," she sniffles again.
He feels her tears fall to the exposed skin near his unbuttoned collar. "I got you," he whispers, running a hand up and down her back.
"The guy told her that they didn't start serving drinks until after four, but she…" cringing, she shakes her head again, clutches his shirt, and sinks deeper into him. "God, she told him she'd sleep with him if he made her a fucking drink, and one turned into six, and she slept with the asshole, and then…" a small sob escapes and she tries to pull herself together, clearing her throat and taking a breath. "She started to walk home," she pushes herself up and wipes her eyes. "Decided she'd rather climb the hotel fire escape and sing her version of Tonight, from West Side Story, at the top of her fucking lungs. She...she fell, and that's when a florist across the street called Nine-One-One and she called me."
"Olivia," Cragen steps up to her again, then sits on the chair next to Elliot. He tries to smile at her, but it's more of a sad grin. "They're not gonna charge her with anything, sweetheart." He eyes Elliot and then says, "But, uh, since you're both here, once things are settled with...um, this," he gestures to the hospital hallway, shaking his head. "I spoke with Karen Smythe this morning, she…"
"Is now really the best time to bring this up?" Elliot's voice is cold, professional, irritated, and he isn't trying to hide the fact that he's upset. He's holding Olivia's hand tightly, brandishing their clasped fingers. "I mean, seriously?"
"El," Olivia sighs, closing her eyes defeatedly. "It's fine, we'd be getting a phone call right now, if he wasn't here, anyway, right?" She rolls her shoulders and tugs her hand out of Elliot's, as if just realizing he'd been holding it, and she presses her lips together as she looks curiously at Cragen. "What did she say? Is she okay?"
"She's doing better, she'll be discharged sometime tomorrow," Cragen says, and then he smiles again, this time it's more genuine. "She told me to tell you she's sorry for yelling at you, she would like to see you." He holds out both hands. "Not that you need this, like Elliot said, this isn't the best time, but she's scared, Olivia. She knows who attacked her, but no one can prove it," he tilts his head. "Except you."
"Me?" her eyes widen slightly. "How the hell can I prove anything?"
Elliot sees the way Cragen is looking at her, knows from experience what the expression means, and holds up both hands as he sits straighter and leans forward. "Hell fucking no," he hisses. "You can't even think I'm gonna let her…"
"It's not your call, Elliot," Cragen snaps at the younger man, and then he exhales as he turns to Olivia. "Tomorrow morning, you take the red-eye shift at the Twentieth, the only one there who knows you pulled rank, other than Karen, is your old captain. You go in to see some old friends, keep an ear out, and...with you being the only woman around…"
"Bait," Elliot huffs. "Is that all you fucking think she is? How many times are you gonna…"
"He's right," Olivia steps in; her voice is cool, firm, and she looks at him sharply when he turns to her, shock in his eyes. "The guys who went after Karen because she moved up are the same ones who would give me shit for it, so I play into their hands, right?" She looks at Cragen again. "That's what you want me to do?" After he nods at her, she figures it out. "So I go in, tell them it's my last ride, tell them why…" she scrapes her teeth over her lips and scoots forward on her chair. "Someone'll try to put me back in my place," she says with a sneer, and then she eyes Elliot again. "And you know damn well no one is gonna touch me, I had those guys at Saint Benedict's…"
"Five punk-ass kids!" Elliot fumes, his voice and temperature rising. "These guys are bigger than you, older than you, with handcuffs, and guns!" He shakes his head. "No fucking way," he snaps his head toward Cragen. "Shit, if she's doing this, she's not going in there alone! I wanna be right there, with her, so the second anyone goes near her, I can fucking pop the asshole."
Cragen watches Elliot's nostrils flare, sees the way his eyes have darkened, notices the vein in his neck is protruding and turning deep purple. Realizing what it all means, he drags a hand down his face and closes his eyes. Shaking his head, he mumbles, "Fine. But you…" he licks his lips. "Elliot, you go in five minutes after her, pretend you don't even know her, be fucking discreet, you understand me? And you…" he looks at Olivia. "I know you can handle yourself, Benson, but according to Karen, it was...more than one…" he feels sick having to say it, knowing he's throwing Olivia back into the pit. "Three AM, both of you, out at the Two-Oh," he nods once as he stands. "Wear your blues, Benson, make them think they can lord some kind of authority over you." He leans over and gives her another light hug. "I'm glad your mother's okay."
"Thank you, Sir," she pats his back with one hand, unsure of how to handle this moment of affection from her boss. "For everything." As soon as Cragen pulls away and turns his back, she swivels to look at Elliot. "What the hell is the matter with you? You have got to…"
"Benson?" A doctor's voice calls from down the hall.
Rolling her eyes, she bites her lip, then kisses him once, hard, before punching him lightly in the shoulder and then rushes to talk to the doctor.
Watching her, Elliot leans forward and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. His eyes are still on Olivia as he shoots off a few texts to Maureen, then dials a number he shouldn't have memorized. One he shouldn't know at all. "Hello, uh, this is Detective Stabler with the…" he smiles slightly, scratches his head, "No, no, I don't need anything else from you, we, uh, got the man who attacked your neighbor. I'm calling because…" he pauses, tilting his head as Olivia shakes the doctor's hand, something in the way the man in the scrubs is beaming at her makes him sick. Clearing his throat, he speaks again. "Your father's name is Joseph Hollister, am I right?" Blinking rapidly, he cracks the knuckles of his left hand. "No, you're just listed as his next of kin and...look, uh, I need his help...solving a cold case, his name came up and he might have information we need. The last address we have on file is somewhere in Brooklyn, so…" he breathes again. "I wanted to know if you had a current address or a phone number, or…" his eyes widen, his fists unravel, and he looks up at Olivia as she appears in front of him. He can't hide the smile on his face. "That'd be great, thanks. You, too." He hangs up and stands, and without saying a word, he folds his arms around her and kisses her.
There's something different in this; the emotion is blinding, the passion seeps into every pore and fills every inlet, covering it all with a hot wash of absolute love. Her hands are shaking, her knees tremble, and she grips onto him before she loses balance. "Wow," she whips when he pulls away.
All he can do is nod as he forces himself to inhale. "What'd he want?" he jerks his head toward the doctor.
"Gimme a minute," she laughs, "That kiss...what the hell was that?" she asks, looking into his blue eyes. It was everything. They're clear, crystalline, and there's a smile on his face that stuns her. "El?"
"I love you," he says, the words sound different, they feel different. He presses his lips to her forehead and sends a glance down the hall, toward the wooden doors, and he knows. You promised, now deliver. Soon enough, Serena will no longer have a reason to drink. He knows that soon, Olivia will be able to put the past behind her, get the answers to the million questions she has, and be able to move on.
With him.
A/N: Olivia puts her uniform back on, Elliot meets Olivia's brother...and father. Next.