Prompt #91: Elliott finally decides to get the back tattoo removed/redesigned.
A Sketchy Neighborhood
~oOo~
"Remind me again what we're doing in this neighborhood?" Olivia eyes a pair of twenty-something guys with overly groomed mustaches and paisley scarves sipping chai lattes at a pavement table. "This really doesn't seem like your kind of place."
"What are you talking about? I'm a chameleon. I fit in anywhere." He flashes that familiar grin at her as he leads the way down the sun-warmed street. Leaves crunch under the heels of her boots and her long, looping scarf flutters a little in the breeze. "It's why I'm so good at undercover."
Olivia rolls her eyes. "You get made like 90% of the time, Detective."
"Untrue."
"Really?" Olivia dodges a woman walking some variation of Oodle on a retractable leash and raises her fingers to count. "Donnelly made you. The Albanians made you. The animal traffickers made you. The sex addicts made you." She laughs as he reaches for her counting hand, wrapping it around his arm to cut her off.
"Okay, okay. Guess my face is just too honest."
"And you look like a total cop." She grins, but leaves her hand in the crook of his elbow. His leather jacket is soft and warm against her skin. They stroll together, passing an artisan bakery specializing in dog cupcakes, an antique shop with a display of typewriters in the window and a sculpture gallery that only seemed to feature works done in Lego. Olivia tries not to roll her eyes. "So, again. Why are we in this part of Brooklyn? You shopping for ethical hemp jeans?"
He snorts. "No. And if I ever do, please stop me."
"Out of SCOBY for your kombucha brewing?"
He shoots her a look. "I don't even know what that is."
She giggles. "Interested in learning the ukulele?"
"Shut up, Liv." He slows to a stop outside a small shopfront. The windows are covered with blackout blinds, and the place is entirely unidentifiable save for a small black sign painted on the front door. Olivia bends forward to read it.
"A tattoo parlor?" she asks in surprise. "You've dragged me to Bushwick so you can get a tattoo?"
He chuckles. "No."
Her eyebrow cocks. "You've dragged me to Bushwick so I can get a tattoo?"
"Again, no. Come on." He drags her inside, a bell above the door jangling to announce their arrival. A woman steps forward, and Olivia's lips part as she tries not to stare. The woman is clad in a black tank and worn, ripped jean shorts, and every exposed inch of her skin is a work of art. Flowers, vines, incredibly intricate symbols, faces as realistic as photographs, words and phrases in a litany of different fonts. Every part of her south of the neck that can be adorned, is.
"Wow," Olivia manages.
The woman smiles. "Elliot. Hello. You're right on time."
"Hi, Jean. This is my…" He glances over at her quickly, a grin playing on his face, "friend, Olivia."
"Nice to meet you, Olivia."
"Hi." Still at a loss, Olivia turns to him, gives him a what the fuck? expression.
"Jean's the best in the tri-state area," Elliot supplies in lieu of an explanation, and Olivia nods.
"I can see. Beautiful work."
Jean chuckles. "Thank you, but I didn't do these. I designed them all, of course, but I wouldn't trust myself not to flinch away from my own needle."
"Oh, right." Duh, her mind retorts.
"My specialty is tattoo correction," Jean supplies. "Olivia, are you staying, or…?"
"She is," Elliot answers for her, and Jean nods before Olivia can speak.
"Excellent. Come on through, then. Can I get either of you a coffee? I have soy, almond, oat, macadamia, rice milk…"
"Just black," Elliot and Olivia answer together, and she shoots him a private smile as Jean heads into the back.
"Okay, Stabler, fess up. What'd you do, get drunk and get a butterfly on your ankle?"
"I wish." Elliot slips off his jacket and his hands move to the buttons of his shirt, slipping them through the holes one by one. Olivia tries not to watch as his muscular chest is slowly revealed. "I never told you this, but…uh…" He slides the shirt off one shoulder, turning so his back is to her, and lets it fall.
Olivia lets out a soft noise of surprise at the ugly black tattoo inked between his shoulder blades. She takes a step forward, trying to get a better look at it. "Is that…a skull? And a scythe?"
He nods. "And playing cards."
"A 10 and a 3?" Then she gets it. "Oh. Stop transmitting. Donnelly made you get this?"
Elliot shrugs, muscles rippling beneath his exposed skin. "I mean, he didn't hold me down or anything, but it was clear that if I wanted in, I had to."
Olivia reaches out, one finger just ghosting over the lines of the image. Elliot takes a sharp breath when she touches him, and she withdraws. "Sorry."
"No…don't be." He turns to face her, and Olivia suddenly notices just how close they're standing, how the powerful muscles of his chest are right there, mere inches from her touch. All she'd have to do is reach out and…
"Two black coffees." Jean is back, two mugs in her hands, and they break apart, reestablishing their usual safe distance between their bodies and accepting the hot drinks. "Okay, Elliot. Still doing what we talked about at your consultation?"
"Please."
"No problem. Up on the table then, face down, please. Olivia, there's a seat there for you if you want to hold his hand." There's a glint in Jean's eye as she takes her own seat by Elliot's left shoulder and reaches for her tools.
It's a small space, and they're the only ones there, so while Jean gets set up Olivia meanders around the space, sipping her coffee and admiring the before-and-after photographs Jean has stuck to the walls. She really is a wizard. Turning that flaming monster truck into a mountain range? That grinning devil into a bouquet of lilies? Surely she'll be able to work wonders with Elliot's hideous Brotherhood tattoo.
When she hears the buzz of the needle, Olivia moves back to the table. Elliot is holding the edge of the bed, eyes closed, face tight. He doesn't seem to be in agony, but he's certainly not about to take a nap, either. His eyes crack open when she drops into the stool in front of him.
"Hey," she says with a smile.
"Hey."
"Hurt much?"
His lips twist a little, and she suspects he's weighing up his options. Say no and stay a tough macho man? Or say yes, and maybe she'll hold his hand?
In the end, she reaches for it anyway, interlacing her fingers with his. His palm is smooth and warm against hers. He fiddles a little with the ring she wears, the one that she's had forever that used to belong to her mother, his thumb dipping between her second and third fingers in a way that is suddenly incredibly erotic.
Olivia glances up, meets his clear blue eyes. He strokes her fingers again, grins a little when her expression tightens. The fucker. He knows it's affecting her.
"How's the pain?" she murmurs after several moments of this, and he smiles.
"Can barely feel it."
"Liar," Jean calls from behind his head, and Olivia laughs.
"What are you doing to it, anyway?"
Jean gives a snicker. "Funny you should ask—"
"Uh, uh, uh." Elliot cranes his neck. "Don't. It's a surprise."
She shrugs. "Sorry, Olivia. I'm sworn to secrecy, it seems."
Olivia settles on her stool, watching Elliot's face. At times he closes his eyes, wincing a little from the sting of the needle. Other times he focuses on a distant spot, like the sanitizing station or a photo on the wall, letting his mind wander. But mostly, he watches her.
The buzz of Jean's needle is the only sound in the room.
The privacy – the intimacy – of the moment envelops her, and without the distraction of the outside world, she feels free to study him in a way she hasn't been able to do since he's been back. Her eyes dance over his features, drinking him in. She learns each of the new lines on his face, the new scars on his skin. Her eyes trace the dark growth of his stubble – across his chin, up his cheeks, onto his bald head. She watches as his lips twitch into a grin, followed by a grimace as Jean goes back over a sore spot.
Throughout it all, he holds onto her hand, thumb stroking the sensitive skin between each of her fingers.
"Done," Jean says at last, giving his back one more wipe with her cloth before sitting back to admire her handiwork. "Not bad. I wasn't sure how the numbers would come up, but it's all come together really well."
Elliot smiles. "Thanks, Jean." His eyes are still on Olivia.
"Can I see now?" she asks softly, and she sees brief uncertainty flash in his eyes before he nods.
"Yes. Of course."
Olivia gets to her feet, her butt slightly numb from over an hour on the stool, and moves to the side of the table. Her mouth falls open and she gasps.
Gone are the skull, the scythe, the playing cards.
And in their place is her.
The skull has been transformed into a perfect likeness of her face, her flowing hair curtaining it on either side. Jean has captured each individual strand, making it look as if she's standing in a gentle breeze. The overarching scythe has become the branch of an olive tree, intricate leaves and fruit bursting forth from the stem. And the playing cards, Jean has redesigned into a perfect replica of her badge, with her badge number – 4015 – inscribed below.
"Elliot…" she breathes, unable to take her eyes off it. "It's…it's…"
"It's you," he replies, craning his neck to look back at her. "It's always you, Liv."
Slowly, he pushes up off the table, getting to his feet before her. "When Jean asked me what I wanted in its place, what I'd be happy having on my body for the rest of my life…I couldn't think of anything better."
Olivia swallows the lump that's forming in the back of her throat. "Wow," is all she can manage to say.
Elliot's brow creases a little. "Is it…I mean, is this okay? I probably should have asked you-"
Olivia raises a finger and presses it to his lips. "It's perfect, Elliot."
And she finally – finally! – finds the courage to do what she's been wanting to do for decades, and she leans forward and kisses him.
Note: The author of this SVU: Fall in Love story will be revealed in November
