title: sold - chapter two
author: duck
rating: pg-13
author's note: hey look, the case.
disclaimer: not mine. never will be. oh-so-sad.
- Memorial Hospital -
- 6753 East 125th Street -
- Saturday October 30th 7:46pm -
Olivia was in an extraordinarily good mood, especially considering that it was a Saturday night and they were here to interview a rape victim. She glance a few paces behind her to where her surly partner stood, his eyes moodily scanning the small crowd in the emergency room waiting area. She knew the cause of his increasingly foul disposition, and as bad as it made her feel, it was the same reason she was in a good mood. They'd just dropped off Elliot's kids at the house, and while he was upset that their visit had been cut short, she was still caught up in the pleasant feelings that suffused her every time they were around. Maybe it was just her lack of family growing up, but she genuinely enjoyed having Elliot's kids around. Perhaps more than Elliot himself.
She glanced at his grumpy face again and smiled. Maybe not. For all their issues, she enjoyed his company more than she had any of her friends or boyfriends. Even the serious ones.
But these few seconds were enough time wasted gushing over him like a hormone-stricken girl. Especially if he was going to be pulling his grouchy act tonight. She left him behind to find the reception desk. She quickly spied it in the middle of a cluster of people.
"Excuse me," she said, simultaneously pushing through the small crowd and pulling out her badge. "Excuse me," she repeated. Despite the gold shield flashing in her hand, she was still subjected to glares of intense and bitter hostility as she gently shoved her way through.
The gray-haired nurse behind the counter gave her a wry grin. "Sorry about this. The coffee machine's broken, otherwise the Saturday night crowd is relatively tame."
"That's no problem," Olivia said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She glanced back again at her partner before continuing. He was standing with his hands on his hips, pushing his trench coat off to the sides. She rolled her eyes at the attitude oozing from his stance and returned her gaze to the nurse. "Olivia Benson, Manhattan Special Victims Unit. That's my grumpy partner back there. We're here about the rape case."
"Room 22, second floor," the nurse replied without hesitation. "The kit's already been sent out for analysis and one of the morning shift nurses is still with her." A frown creased her features. "That girl's in pretty rough shape. You catch the man that did this to her, you hear?"
Olivia nodded and moved out of the way of the crowd, not surprised by the nurse's vitriol. She moved in Elliot's direction, but he met her halfway, grumpy mask still pulled down tightly over his eyes.
"Can we hurry up and get this done?" he asked. She had to resist the sudden need to hit him.
"Look, Elliot, I realize you're pissed we had to leave your kids, but try not to take it out on me." She drew in a deep breath, proud that she'd managed to keep her cool and not snap at him. Keeping her temper under control had always been easier with Elliot, but most of her self-control was hard-won on her therapist's couch. She still had a long way to go of course, but she still rejoiced in how far she'd come in only a couple weeks worth of sessions.
"Sorry, Liv," he said, though he didn't really sound it. She decided to let it slide, lest she get the "you-don't-have-kids-you-wouldn't-understand" speech. She usually got that when she took him to task for taking a child's case too seriously, but she had a feeling he'd toss it at her in this situation too.
"Don't worry about it, El. Our vic's on the second floor, room 22." She headed for the stairs without another word, and it must've come off as upset, because she felt his hand on her arm after a few steps.
"I really am sorry, Olivia," he said, turning her to face him. His eyes held a wearied worry in them. It was unfortunately an all-too-familiar expression these days. "I was just looking forward to spending more than a couple hours with them"
"I understand, Elliot," she said, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze. "I like spending time with your kids too."
"I like having you around then." He offered her a tentative smile. "It's like my family's not quite as broken."
My family. Subtle reminder that she wasn't part of it. It stung, even though she knew he hadn't meant it like that. Sometimes she thought her counseling sessions were making her too sensitive to people's diction. Though if she really thought it through, she knew she'd been worse before.
"Thanks," she said, managing a smile. "I like feeling like I'm part of your family." She turned to go again, but he stopped her.
"Olivia, you know you are part of that family, right? It's not just something you should 'feel' every now and then." Her heart skipped a beat at the warmth in his eyes and his words. Damn him, for being able to do this to her.
"That means a lot to me, Elliot. Thank you." She shook off the pleasant rush of feelings quickly. "But we have our jobs to do right now."
"Yeah," he said, the irritation returning to his voice. "But I...aw, hell, I don't know anymore. I just want to go home and pretend there's nothing in the world except my kids for once." He scrubbed his face with his hands, sighing through them in an exasperated exhaustion.
"Elliot, as hard as it is to say this, can we talk about it later? I understand, I really do, but there's a woman upstairs who needs our help."
"Duty always calls. I know." His gaze at her was almost wistful. "Ever wonder if we'd have met if we weren't doing this?"
"I try not to think about the delightful possibility of never having met you," she shot at him, smiling and heading for the stairs. He quickly fell into step next to her.
"I wonder what we'd have been like."
"Not bitter and jaded, I imagine."
"I wonder if we'd have been friends."
"Would you stop wondering about things that don't matter?" she asked, maddened with his questions. "We're friends now, aren't we? What might have happened doesn't matter."
He got the door to the stairs before she did, pushing it open for her. "You never think about things like that?"
"I used to when I was younger," she replied, brushing by him. "But I gave up on maybes a long time ago." She heard him following her up the stairs, finally quiet again. He was probably thinking about the possible implications of what she'd said. He might've not asked her about it before, but they were both pursuing such an open honesty with each other that she doubted he'd remain quiet for very long.
They reached the second floor before he finally asked the question that was probably burning him. "Your mother or your father?"
"Both."
"You want to talk about it?"
"Not really. Maybe we can discuss families and psychological problems stemming from various family arrangements and dysfunctions later."
"It's a date," he said, and she glanced at him quickly enough to catch his grin.
"Glad to see your bad mood's gone."
"What can I say? Talking with you about maybes and could've beens seems to be a real cheer." He stopped in the middle of the hallway and pointed at a closed door. "Room 22 you said?"
She followed the line of his finger with her eyes and drew in a deep breath. "Room 22. Why don't you wait in the doorway until we can get a bearing on her emotional state."
She stepped up to the door and knocked softly, simultaneously twisting the knob and pushing gently. She only opened the door a crack, but she felt it pull away from her and she found herself face-to-face with a tight-lipped nurse.
"Are you the detectives?" she asked, her voice low.
"I'm Detective Benson," Olivia said, flashing her badge, "and this is my partner, Detective Stabler. We're from Manhattan Special Victims Unit."
"Erin Fletcher. She's been very unresponsive all day," the nurse said. She stepped back and Olivia followed her into the room. She was aware of Elliot behind her as he moved into her former place in the doorway, but focused all her attention on the bed. A teenaged girl lay deathly still under the sheets, staring at the ceiling.
"How old is she?" Olivia breathed.
"We're not sure, since she doesn't have any form of identification. We think she's about fourteen or fifteen. She was raped repeatedly and shows signs of prolonged abuse. Whoever did this did it over a long period of time." The nurse sighed. "She stumbled into the ER this morning by herself, crying."
Olivia turned to look at Elliot behind her, seeing her own horror mirrored in his eyes. What could've been didn't seem to matter as much anymore.
-tbc-
yeah, i'm still alive and writing.
author: duck
rating: pg-13
author's note: hey look, the case.
disclaimer: not mine. never will be. oh-so-sad.
- Memorial Hospital -
- 6753 East 125th Street -
- Saturday October 30th 7:46pm -
Olivia was in an extraordinarily good mood, especially considering that it was a Saturday night and they were here to interview a rape victim. She glance a few paces behind her to where her surly partner stood, his eyes moodily scanning the small crowd in the emergency room waiting area. She knew the cause of his increasingly foul disposition, and as bad as it made her feel, it was the same reason she was in a good mood. They'd just dropped off Elliot's kids at the house, and while he was upset that their visit had been cut short, she was still caught up in the pleasant feelings that suffused her every time they were around. Maybe it was just her lack of family growing up, but she genuinely enjoyed having Elliot's kids around. Perhaps more than Elliot himself.
She glanced at his grumpy face again and smiled. Maybe not. For all their issues, she enjoyed his company more than she had any of her friends or boyfriends. Even the serious ones.
But these few seconds were enough time wasted gushing over him like a hormone-stricken girl. Especially if he was going to be pulling his grouchy act tonight. She left him behind to find the reception desk. She quickly spied it in the middle of a cluster of people.
"Excuse me," she said, simultaneously pushing through the small crowd and pulling out her badge. "Excuse me," she repeated. Despite the gold shield flashing in her hand, she was still subjected to glares of intense and bitter hostility as she gently shoved her way through.
The gray-haired nurse behind the counter gave her a wry grin. "Sorry about this. The coffee machine's broken, otherwise the Saturday night crowd is relatively tame."
"That's no problem," Olivia said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She glanced back again at her partner before continuing. He was standing with his hands on his hips, pushing his trench coat off to the sides. She rolled her eyes at the attitude oozing from his stance and returned her gaze to the nurse. "Olivia Benson, Manhattan Special Victims Unit. That's my grumpy partner back there. We're here about the rape case."
"Room 22, second floor," the nurse replied without hesitation. "The kit's already been sent out for analysis and one of the morning shift nurses is still with her." A frown creased her features. "That girl's in pretty rough shape. You catch the man that did this to her, you hear?"
Olivia nodded and moved out of the way of the crowd, not surprised by the nurse's vitriol. She moved in Elliot's direction, but he met her halfway, grumpy mask still pulled down tightly over his eyes.
"Can we hurry up and get this done?" he asked. She had to resist the sudden need to hit him.
"Look, Elliot, I realize you're pissed we had to leave your kids, but try not to take it out on me." She drew in a deep breath, proud that she'd managed to keep her cool and not snap at him. Keeping her temper under control had always been easier with Elliot, but most of her self-control was hard-won on her therapist's couch. She still had a long way to go of course, but she still rejoiced in how far she'd come in only a couple weeks worth of sessions.
"Sorry, Liv," he said, though he didn't really sound it. She decided to let it slide, lest she get the "you-don't-have-kids-you-wouldn't-understand" speech. She usually got that when she took him to task for taking a child's case too seriously, but she had a feeling he'd toss it at her in this situation too.
"Don't worry about it, El. Our vic's on the second floor, room 22." She headed for the stairs without another word, and it must've come off as upset, because she felt his hand on her arm after a few steps.
"I really am sorry, Olivia," he said, turning her to face him. His eyes held a wearied worry in them. It was unfortunately an all-too-familiar expression these days. "I was just looking forward to spending more than a couple hours with them"
"I understand, Elliot," she said, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze. "I like spending time with your kids too."
"I like having you around then." He offered her a tentative smile. "It's like my family's not quite as broken."
My family. Subtle reminder that she wasn't part of it. It stung, even though she knew he hadn't meant it like that. Sometimes she thought her counseling sessions were making her too sensitive to people's diction. Though if she really thought it through, she knew she'd been worse before.
"Thanks," she said, managing a smile. "I like feeling like I'm part of your family." She turned to go again, but he stopped her.
"Olivia, you know you are part of that family, right? It's not just something you should 'feel' every now and then." Her heart skipped a beat at the warmth in his eyes and his words. Damn him, for being able to do this to her.
"That means a lot to me, Elliot. Thank you." She shook off the pleasant rush of feelings quickly. "But we have our jobs to do right now."
"Yeah," he said, the irritation returning to his voice. "But I...aw, hell, I don't know anymore. I just want to go home and pretend there's nothing in the world except my kids for once." He scrubbed his face with his hands, sighing through them in an exasperated exhaustion.
"Elliot, as hard as it is to say this, can we talk about it later? I understand, I really do, but there's a woman upstairs who needs our help."
"Duty always calls. I know." His gaze at her was almost wistful. "Ever wonder if we'd have met if we weren't doing this?"
"I try not to think about the delightful possibility of never having met you," she shot at him, smiling and heading for the stairs. He quickly fell into step next to her.
"I wonder what we'd have been like."
"Not bitter and jaded, I imagine."
"I wonder if we'd have been friends."
"Would you stop wondering about things that don't matter?" she asked, maddened with his questions. "We're friends now, aren't we? What might have happened doesn't matter."
He got the door to the stairs before she did, pushing it open for her. "You never think about things like that?"
"I used to when I was younger," she replied, brushing by him. "But I gave up on maybes a long time ago." She heard him following her up the stairs, finally quiet again. He was probably thinking about the possible implications of what she'd said. He might've not asked her about it before, but they were both pursuing such an open honesty with each other that she doubted he'd remain quiet for very long.
They reached the second floor before he finally asked the question that was probably burning him. "Your mother or your father?"
"Both."
"You want to talk about it?"
"Not really. Maybe we can discuss families and psychological problems stemming from various family arrangements and dysfunctions later."
"It's a date," he said, and she glanced at him quickly enough to catch his grin.
"Glad to see your bad mood's gone."
"What can I say? Talking with you about maybes and could've beens seems to be a real cheer." He stopped in the middle of the hallway and pointed at a closed door. "Room 22 you said?"
She followed the line of his finger with her eyes and drew in a deep breath. "Room 22. Why don't you wait in the doorway until we can get a bearing on her emotional state."
She stepped up to the door and knocked softly, simultaneously twisting the knob and pushing gently. She only opened the door a crack, but she felt it pull away from her and she found herself face-to-face with a tight-lipped nurse.
"Are you the detectives?" she asked, her voice low.
"I'm Detective Benson," Olivia said, flashing her badge, "and this is my partner, Detective Stabler. We're from Manhattan Special Victims Unit."
"Erin Fletcher. She's been very unresponsive all day," the nurse said. She stepped back and Olivia followed her into the room. She was aware of Elliot behind her as he moved into her former place in the doorway, but focused all her attention on the bed. A teenaged girl lay deathly still under the sheets, staring at the ceiling.
"How old is she?" Olivia breathed.
"We're not sure, since she doesn't have any form of identification. We think she's about fourteen or fifteen. She was raped repeatedly and shows signs of prolonged abuse. Whoever did this did it over a long period of time." The nurse sighed. "She stumbled into the ER this morning by herself, crying."
Olivia turned to look at Elliot behind her, seeing her own horror mirrored in his eyes. What could've been didn't seem to matter as much anymore.
-tbc-
yeah, i'm still alive and writing.
