June 4, 2014

It was getting to be too easy, walking into Oak House. Too easy to take a taxi to a bar a block away, order a drink and throw it back before trudging through the darkness to the fence at the back of the property, too easy to walk between the fence and the hedges and disappear into shadow, too easy to knock upon the door and step through it into the marble-floored corridor at the back of the house, to easy to flash a smile at the big, mean security guard. Too easy, too comfortable; Oak House was starting to feel like a place he knew, and not a place he should fear. Tonight he should have been wary, on alert, because Sinatra had arranged a drop and he was the lucky - or unlucky, depending on which way you looked at it - son of a bitch who'd get to go to the brothel and pick it up. Sinatra's package could have been anything, but Kosta had given nothing away, and whatever it was chances were good Elliot wouldn't be able to peek at it without Kosta finding out. The curiosity was getting too easy, too; the questions consumed him, and he found himself slipping, just a little, growing just a little careless in pursuit of the answers. He need to rein himself in, but then he'd been needing to do that for the last seven years.

Inside the house the big man led him to the locker room, and left him there, locked the door behind him and left Elliot all alone, pacing the perimeter, more at ease now than he had been the first time he'd come to this place. The first time he hadn't known what waited for him, but he'd learned, since then. Learned about Olivia, and her expectations, and the decorum of her house. She wasn't gonna kill him, not tonight.

And part of him didn't care if she was gonna, anyway, because it should've been him who died in that car crash, not Kathy and the baby. He'd been living on borrowed time, with their blood on his hands, for all these years, and his life didn't mean so much, really. The kids didn't need him anymore and he hadn't talked to mama since Christmas and the world had moved on, no longer had a place for Elliot Stabler in it. The questions were keeping him alive, and right now a lot of those questions had to do with her. Olivia Benson. Questions of where she'd come from, how she'd gotten into this work, just how tough she'd had it when she was an up and coming working girl, before the ballgowns and the personal bodyguard. Questions about what motivated her, what made her tick, what secrets she was keeping. The madam was one big question, and Elliot meant to find the answer, before this job was through.

Maybe five minutes after he arrived the door opened again, and Olivia and her security guard stepped through it, closing it smartly behind them, trapping the three of them together in that tiny soundproofed room. The bodyguard was wearing a black suit, sans tie, and Olivia was wearing a black dress that skimmed her knees and covered her chest and back, her hair down to obscure the lines of that tattoo Elliot still didn't understand at the back of her neck. The cut of the dress might have been dowdy if the fabric hadn't been so expensive, if her tits, even covered, hadn't been so appealing, if the curve of her hip hadn't been so fucking pretty, but the way it hung on her frame made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth.

"Mr. Wagner," she said in her rich warm voice.

"Miss Benson," he answered. Too late he remembered she hadn't told him her last name; he'd learned it from Sister Peg, and he damn sure didn't want Olivia to start asking questions about what he knew and how he knew it, so he spoke again, quickly, hoping to distract her while her bodyguard watched, silent and frowning.

"You look nice tonight," he said, leering just a little to sell it.

"And you look like you could use a shower," she answered coolly. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

"Weapons on the desk," the bodyguard drawled, and Elliot did as he was told, dug the gun out of the waistband of his pants and set it on the desk and then held his arms out, spinning slowly so the bodyguard could see he held no other weapons. That seemed to satisfy the pair of them; the bodyguard sidled between Elliot and the desk - between Elliot and the gun - and Olivia crossed the room, produced a key from somewhere and opened one of the lockers.

"From Mr. Sinatra, to Mr. Kosta," she said, gliding across the room to Elliot with a manila envelope in her hands. "As you can see we sealed it when it was dropped off-" she showed him the back of the envelope and a strip of gold tape running lengthwise down it, holding it closed - "so Mr. Kosta can see it hasn't been tampered with."

And, Elliot thought, so Elliot himself couldn't tamper with it. They really did think of everything in this place.

"Thanks," Elliot said. "So, is that it? Do I owe you anything?"

Olivia's dark eyes roamed slowly over him, something almost teasing in her expression, as if she were considering playing with him just for the fun of it, but ultimately decided against it.

"No," she said. "Mr. Sinatra has paid for the service. You can leave now."

"Just a sec," the bodyguard said, leaning back against the desk and crossing his arms over his chest, leveling a baleful stare at Elliot.

"Brian," Olivia murmured, confused.

Shit, Elliot thought. Shit. Shit. What is this?

What could the bodyguard have to say to him that Olivia wouldn't know about? All he was meant to be doing was picking up a package; he had no further instructions, didn't even really know what this was about. Was it Kosta who made the bodyguard's visage sour, or was it Eddie? Was Elliot about to be held to answer for some nebulous crime his supposed boss had committed, or was it something he had done himself, some offense he had given without even knowing it? The bodyguard was armed, Elliot knew that from past experience, and he was leaning in front of the desk, blocking Elliot's access to his own weapon. Whatever this was, it couldn't possibly be good.

"What's the color of the day?" Brian asked.

Holy Mary mother of God.

Brian had made him. Somehow, some way, Brian knew he was a cop. Olivia's gaze was darting back and forth between them, her brow furrowed like she didn't really understand what was going on, didn't recognize the significance of the question, but Brian's eyes were trained on Elliot unblinking. Elliot only had a split second to decide how to answer, to try to save his own skin. Was Brian a cop himself, undercover for Vice or somebody, with Olivia's knowledge, trying to bring Elliot in on the game? Or did Brian just know; he was the personal bodyguard to the most influential madam in the city, it would behoove him to understand how the police operated, to learn how to spot them. Would Brian kill him, for being a cop, for threatening the house? Would Olivia let him? Were they trying to help him, or end him?

"What?" Elliot asked, trying to play dumb, trying to sound just angry enough, just confused enough, to make them think he really didn't have any idea what the question meant.

Brian rolled his eyes, and drew his gun, and Elliot's heart sank.

"Brian," Olivia hissed. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What's the color of the day, Eddie?" Brian repeated, leveling the gun at him with steady hands. "Answer me, or I'll shoot you."

You'll probably shoot me either way, you prick.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Elliot said, backing away from the gun as best he could. The room was small, though, and there really wasn't anywhere for him to go.

"You got to the count of three," Brian said, with an unnerving sort of calm, a smile tugging up the corner of his lips. "One-"

"Bri-"

"Two-"

"Brian stop-"

"Three-"

"Yellow," Elliot said.

In the few seconds it had taken Brian to count, Elliot had done some fast thinking. The man had made him, knew he was a cop, was just playing with him, trying to make him say it. Maybe he'd kill Elliot tonight, but if he had any brains at all he'd have to know that Elliot's handler knew exactly where he was, and that if Elliot didn't check in at the arranged time the police would descend on this house. Killing Elliot, in that moment, would've been a monumentally stupid thing to do. And there was no point in lying, anyway; if he didn't confess the truth Brian still wouldn't trust him, and he might not ever be allowed back in this house. If he told the truth there was still a chance, however small, that he might be able to convince them that since he wasn't after Oak House they didn't have to worry about him. His whole life hinged on that chance, and he took it.

"I fucking knew it," Brian said, triumphant.

"Will somebody tell me what the fuck is going on?" Olivia demanded, anger flashing in her eyes.

"He's a cop, Liv," Brian told her. "He's a fucking cop."

The strangest thing was when she looked at Elliot in the wake of that revelation her expression was hurt. She looked hurt, disappointed, betrayed; she looked like it had wounded her, him lying to her, like she'd wanted to believe he was showing her his true face, like it made her sad, somehow, to know that he wasn't. Anger, he'd expected. Boiling rage, bloodthirst, even, a swift and vengeful attack to defend her home and her livelihood, that would have been in keeping with what he knew about her, but hurt? No, he hadn't been expecting hurt.

"Meet Elliot Stabler," Brian said.

That was both reassuring and terrifying; it seemed Elliot had made the right choice, in telling Brian the truth, because Brian already knew his name, but how the fuck did he know it? And how much did he know, exactly? Did he know where Elliot Stabler lived, did he know about the kids? Would he hurt them, or use the threat of hurting them to try to blackmail Elliot into doing whatever he wanted.

"Look, I don't give a shit about the girls," Elliot said quickly. "I'm not here to investigate prostitution. I'm going after Kosta. What you're doing here doesn't concern me at all."

He needed to act fast, needed to convince them that they didn't have to kill him, that he wasn't a threat to them.

"And when you bring Kosta down," Olivia said slowly, "everyone is gonna know there was a rat in my house."

"Maybe not," he answered. "Depending on how things shake out, people might not ever find out Eddie was the rat. And even if they do, you just remind them that no one brought charges against the house, and that Kosta's the one who brought me in here. Maybe you have to close ranks for a while, not let in any new customers, but the old ones should keep you afloat."

For a second she was quiet, studying him, the wheels turning in her head almost audible. Believe me, Elliot thought. Please, just believe me. There was no part of him that wanted to keep the promise he'd just made, and he didn't really intend to, was just saying whatever he could think of to keep himself alive. But Brian knew his name, and in order to protect his family he might have to let the prospect of taking down the house go. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it; in the moment, he had to face the threat that was in front of him, had to play on what he knew about Olivia, use his knowledge to his advantage.

In her business, everything was for sale, and nothing came for free. If she spared him his life now, if she gave him the courtesy of protecting his secret, she'd expect something else in return. If she was smart, and he knew that she was, she'd know she could ask for just about anything and he'd give it to her, to save his life, to save his operation. The question wasn't if she would have a price, but what it would be, and whether he would be able to pay it.

"Take his gun, Bri," she said slowly, and the man did as she asked, took Elliot's gun and tucked it in the waistband of his trousers.

"We're gonna have a conversation," she told Elliot. "And then we're gonna decide what to do with you. You stay here."

She jerked her finger at Brian and the man went at once to her side, and together they marched out of the room, slamming the door in Elliot's face, the click of the lock loud as a gunshot behind them.

There was no escape from that room; only one way in, only one way out. He wasn't armed, and there was nothing lying around he could use to defend himself. The only thing he could do was wait, and see what Olivia's judgment might be.