God, she sure can shut down, Alex thought as she listened to Benson explain their need for a search warrant. Alex knew Petrovsky would sign the warrant, but she let the detective go on a while. Her eyes were intent, and her voice insistent. She pointed at the maps and phone logs like they'd committed the crime. If Olivia raised her voice while Alex's eyes roved across her shoulders and down the V of her lilac blouse, if she sharpened her tone while Alex's eyes continued from button to button to belt buckle, her co-workers would rally to her side, demanding to know why the ADA wasn't already on the phone talking to a judge, why she was making them sweat this one so much.
For weeks, Alex tried not to disturb the detective. She usually tried staring at her forehead or her partner instead. Anything but the deep brown eyes, the soft, warm lips that had caused her to melt that night. She knew Olivia had some baggage, and none of it matched her own. It was probably best that they weren't sharing closets. But some days were easier than others. She cut Olivia off, saying they'd have the warrant by 3:00 p.m., and walked away.
Olivia just stood there. Like a firefly in a jar, she didn't know if she could move past the glass barrier, if the little girl who put her there had really just taken the lid off and walked away. Stabler was already on the phone with CSU making arrangements for the search. She grabbed their coats and returned to the safety of her desk. While she waited for Elliot to hang up, she pretended to go over the phone logs again.
Alex came to her apartment that night and insisted on talking to her. Olivia let her in even though it was late, even though she'd been drinking. Or she thinks she'd been drinking. Must have been because she couldn't quite see Alex clearly, just blue eyes, full lips, that jaw line. All the bits of Alex swimming in front of her. Alex moved closer and closer. This is you, she kept saying. There was a kiss, and hands, and no more blue suit. This is you. Alex shifted her into the corner of her living room, behind the front door. Olivia was overwhelmed with the sensation of Alex's insistent body, her own body's demands. This is you. Between the blonde hair falling over her face and the kiss and the corner, Olivia couldn't find enough air to breathe. She began to squirm, to push back. Just let me breathe. She writhed against the heat and the pressure, trying to get more air to her lungs. She began to panic and kick. She awoke in her date's bed, his heavy limbs surrounding her. She struggled to roll from under them and got up. She picked her clothes up off the floor and glanced at the clock then through the bars on the apartment window to the inky morning light.
For weeks afterward, Olivia tried hard to disturb the ADA. She worked at getting the ADA to notice her and took note of her reactions. Consequently, she wore the lilac button-down, the burgundy sweater or the periwinkle pull-over more often. But not the oatmeal sweater. Either the black or the brown leather jacket, but not the parka. It was her turn to stand closer than she needed, to hold Alex's gaze longer than was professional, to watch the blonde's high cheekbones flush pink at a carefully orchestrated casual touch when passing off documents to each other. Usually she'd get an argumentative comment or some curt dismissal as a punishment for her new transgressions. But sometimes Alex would weaken, and they'd both let their eyes wander wherever they wanted, quickly or slowly depending on their surroundings. Like a just-this-once truce, conspiratorial and silent. As time passed, the truces came more frequently.
Olivia showed up at Alex's uninvited. Alex had buzzed her into the building but stood looking through the peephole at the woman in the hallway. Her head was down, and her hands were stuffed in her pockets. Olivia, so sure of herself in the elevator, felt her conviction dissipate at Alex's doorstep. She shifted her weight to turn away when the door opened.
"Olivia," she said her name to make her stay. "Do you want to come in?" It wasn't an invitation. She asked it as if she were in a courtroom, "Detective Benson, on the night in question, when you knocked at my door, did you intend to come in my apartment?"
Bullets and knives she was trained for, but this? Crossing this threshold? This was dangerous. She pulled her hands from her pockets and looked up.
For weeks, Alex tried not to disturb the detective. She usually tried staring at her forehead or her partner instead. Anything but the deep brown eyes, the soft, warm lips that had caused her to melt that night. She knew Olivia had some baggage, and none of it matched her own. It was probably best that they weren't sharing closets. But some days were easier than others. She cut Olivia off, saying they'd have the warrant by 3:00 p.m., and walked away.
Olivia just stood there. Like a firefly in a jar, she didn't know if she could move past the glass barrier, if the little girl who put her there had really just taken the lid off and walked away. Stabler was already on the phone with CSU making arrangements for the search. She grabbed their coats and returned to the safety of her desk. While she waited for Elliot to hang up, she pretended to go over the phone logs again.
Alex came to her apartment that night and insisted on talking to her. Olivia let her in even though it was late, even though she'd been drinking. Or she thinks she'd been drinking. Must have been because she couldn't quite see Alex clearly, just blue eyes, full lips, that jaw line. All the bits of Alex swimming in front of her. Alex moved closer and closer. This is you, she kept saying. There was a kiss, and hands, and no more blue suit. This is you. Alex shifted her into the corner of her living room, behind the front door. Olivia was overwhelmed with the sensation of Alex's insistent body, her own body's demands. This is you. Between the blonde hair falling over her face and the kiss and the corner, Olivia couldn't find enough air to breathe. She began to squirm, to push back. Just let me breathe. She writhed against the heat and the pressure, trying to get more air to her lungs. She began to panic and kick. She awoke in her date's bed, his heavy limbs surrounding her. She struggled to roll from under them and got up. She picked her clothes up off the floor and glanced at the clock then through the bars on the apartment window to the inky morning light.
For weeks afterward, Olivia tried hard to disturb the ADA. She worked at getting the ADA to notice her and took note of her reactions. Consequently, she wore the lilac button-down, the burgundy sweater or the periwinkle pull-over more often. But not the oatmeal sweater. Either the black or the brown leather jacket, but not the parka. It was her turn to stand closer than she needed, to hold Alex's gaze longer than was professional, to watch the blonde's high cheekbones flush pink at a carefully orchestrated casual touch when passing off documents to each other. Usually she'd get an argumentative comment or some curt dismissal as a punishment for her new transgressions. But sometimes Alex would weaken, and they'd both let their eyes wander wherever they wanted, quickly or slowly depending on their surroundings. Like a just-this-once truce, conspiratorial and silent. As time passed, the truces came more frequently.
Olivia showed up at Alex's uninvited. Alex had buzzed her into the building but stood looking through the peephole at the woman in the hallway. Her head was down, and her hands were stuffed in her pockets. Olivia, so sure of herself in the elevator, felt her conviction dissipate at Alex's doorstep. She shifted her weight to turn away when the door opened.
"Olivia," she said her name to make her stay. "Do you want to come in?" It wasn't an invitation. She asked it as if she were in a courtroom, "Detective Benson, on the night in question, when you knocked at my door, did you intend to come in my apartment?"
Bullets and knives she was trained for, but this? Crossing this threshold? This was dangerous. She pulled her hands from her pockets and looked up.