Disclaimer: Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Dick Wolfe – you rock!
Rating is for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. Oh, and there's a bit of smut in this one. And if I had added names to the chapters, this one would have been, "Lover, You Should Have Come Over", in honor of Jeff Buckley, and my E/O fanaticism.
Reviews: Please. All of you that have left feedback are giving me the incentive to continue this piece (slow as it may be).
A/N: I know, insane! Here I go months, and 2 chapters in as many days! Chapter 14 is half way done, so maybe I'm getting better. Maybe.
Chapter Thirteen
It had been nearly nine that night before Olivia had made it back to her apartment. After leaving Clarkson's, she and Logan headed straight to the lab, Logan driving while Olivia talked to Cragen on her cell phone. At the NYC crime lab, both waited patiently as a photography tech enhanced the one photo with the partial image of the perp in the mirror. Though the tech hadn't been able to recover all of the man's face, she did provide them with the majority of his jaw and mouth and neck. Saving it into the computer, the tech then sent the electronic file through the system to composite, where they could combine the sketch from the eyewitness and the partial photo to create a new representation of the perp.
They drove back to the precinct to meet up with Fin and Barek, all of them gathering with Cragen in the main interrogation room to discuss the case so far. It had been a productive day, and Olivia was pleased to find out that Fin and Barek had uncovered some of their own leads, including a neighbor who had seen the blond woman leaving Clarkson's apartment.
Elliot was missing from the meeting, and Olivia waited until they were through before inquiring about his absence with Cragen. Her captain informed her that her partner had been in Vice most of the day, working with the detectives in that unit to get more information and possible locate Devine. She was glad that Elliot still had an integral part of this case even though he was restrained by the "desk duty" order. Olivia was also happy that she managed to avoid a confrontation with him. A third night in the crib wasn't her plan, but she sure as hell didn't want to spend the night with Elliot. With the way things were recently, they were tiptoeing around each other, not speaking about the obvious, or feeling each other up. It would have made her laugh out loud if it wasn't so terrifying.
So when seven o'clock came, and Logan asked her if she wanted to pick up a bite before she headed home, she took him up on the offer. Once she was able to accept his wicked humor and his penchant for colorful language, he was actually entertaining. They ended up exchanging cop stories over burgers and fries at a diner in the West Village.
Olivia was exhausted by the time she finally made it through her front door. She tossed her keys onto the kitchen counter and pulled off her trench coat, draping it over the back of her couch. Heading towards the hallway of her one-bedroom apartment, she paused. She turned back, going to the line of windows in her living room, parting the blinds to look down at the street.
As expected, her detail sat in an unmarked patrol car to watch her for the night. She knew they had been following her around all day, keeping their distance, but never to far away. It was easy to forget they were there, and Olivia was a bit put off by the notion.
Fresh and more alert now from her shower, she sat on her comfortable beige sofa, dressed in a plain white tank-top and a pair of blue cotton boxer shorts, her feet bare. In front of her, spread out on the newspaper covered coffee table, sat all of her guns, her gun cleaning kit to the right. Humming along softly to Nina Simone who was singing from the stereo system to Olivia's left, she took a sip of the Boulevard beer she had purchased on the way home, surveying the five guns that made up her collection. Really, it would be better if she were the kind of woman to buy expensive shoes when upset.
But that wasn't her. This was.
Her trusty Glock, her favorite back up the Beretta M9, her new Heckler & Koch P2000, the Kimber Warrior .45 she had purchased after Alex had left, and her old Smith & Wesson .38 she had bought after graduating from the academy, all of them she treasured in one way or another. Sure, to others they were instruments of death, but to her they symbolized moments in her life, and more importantly, reminded her of the job and her dedication towards it.
She took another sip of beer, deciding that Elliot had great taste after all. It was another detail about her partner that she would relish, but keep pushed back in her thoughts like so many others throughout their nearly decade long acquaintance. He was her partner; she couldn't expect or want more, or it would put them both in jeopardy. That, and what kind of relationship could they have? Both were hardened sex crimes detectives, one the tumultuous product of an alcoholic and a rapist, forever to be haunted by her demons, the other a divorced father of four, driven by his faith in God and justice.
It's too bad you couldn't fall for someone like Logan, she thought, picking up the Beretta M9. Olivia grimaced, then smiled hearing Maureen's voice in her head, oh, ewwie.
Olivia released the magazine from the gun, setting it aside. Pulling back the slide, she checked to make sure the barrel was empty. It wouldn't help matters to shoot herself in the process.
Clicking the slide release, she pulled the slide assembly completely off the frame and placed it next to the magazine, then slipped out the spring in the same manner. Grabbing the wire brush from her kit, she used the instrument to clean the heavy muck from inside the barrel, which thankfully was light since she took such good care of her weapons.
Setting the brush aside, she reached for the cleaning rod and the box of patches. She attached one patch to the end of the rod, placing it aside for a moment as she opened the bottle of solvent.
The smell of the solvent permeated the air like some sort of exotic cop perfume. Olivia picked back up the rod and dabbed the patch with the liquid before going to the task of cleaning out the barrel, careful to move the rod in the same direction the bullet would travel.
After cleaning the gun thoroughly, she moved onto the slide. Satisfied with the job, she started on the process of reassembling the Beretta M9, pausing only to drop a smidge of gun oil on the spring and exposed frame of the slide.
Olivia slid the loaded magazine back on the gun, flicking the safety on before setting it back down on the newspaper. She was reaching for the Glock to repeat the process when there was a knock on the door.
Olivia's hand curled around the loaded Glock and she pushed off of the couch, making her way cautiously to the door.
She looked out the peephole, frowning at the same time her heart started beating faster. Elliot. Olivia was surprised he had made it past the front door of the building and the on again, off again doorman, but then she remembered years back she had given him her extra key. That, and his badge did grant him favors.
Olivia opened the door, hardening her expression instinctively, one hand on her hip and the other loose on the Glock. She took in his appearance as he stood there silently. He had obviously been home, as he was now wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt, a black leather jacket in place of his usual trench coat. A duffle bag was slung over his shoulder and her stomach unwillingly clenched at the implication.
"What are you doing here, El? It's nearly eleven."
"Staying the night."
Her eyebrows rose at the boldness of the statement. "El…"
"I told you back at the squad, Liv, that I don't want you to be alone, especially at night."
"The detail…"
"Do you really want to argue about this where all your neighbors can hear?" Elliot cut her off, jerking his head to indicate the hallway behind him.
Olivia sighed, pulling the door open all the way and letting him pass. As she locked the door, he dropped his duffle bag and stretched, trying to ease the pain in his lung after climbing the stairs up to her apartment. Elliot had never realized until this injury exactly how many stairs he had to climb each day on the job.
He turned back to her where she was leaning against her front door, staring at him. Elliot's gaze traveled up the length of his partner's body, from surprisingly soft looking feet, her lean legs, a pair of blue boxer shorts that hugged her hips, and another one of those thin white tanks tops of hers that he was really starting to adore. Her hair still looked damp from a shower, her face clean of make-up, which made her look younger somehow, and interestingly vulnerable.
Olivia felt her body react to his assessment and wondered if he was even aware of the predatory look he was giving her. She would have crossed her arms over her chest, hide the blatant response of her body, but that would have been awkward while holding the Glock, and not to mention childish.
"Why don't you have a seat, El?" Olivia's voice came out rough and she cleared her throat. "You want something to drink?"
"Water's fine," Elliot replied. She gave him a quick nod and turned to walk into her kitchen with heightened awareness that he was probably looking at her backside as she retreated.
Elliot turned to walk into the living room, first noticing the soft strains of music coming from the stereo, a tune he couldn't identify, sung by a rather alto woman in French. He paused at the side of the sofa, her coffee table in full view now.
A slow burn threaded through his chest, similar to the pain in his lung, but caused by something else altogether. Elliot's blue gaze shifted from the guns, the professional cleaning kit, and then rested on the Boulevard beer. He tried to think of another woman who would spend the evening cleaning her guns, not just one but five, while drinking beer, his favorite beer out of all of them, and do it while listening to some chick sing in French.
God, he loved this woman.
His breath caught as he realized there was no turning back from this point. He couldn't pretend anymore that she was just a partner to him. But he was terrified of moving forward, scared to lose her altogether. To lose himself.
For years it had been building, for years he had slowly, maddeningly, been falling in love with Olivia. Sitting across that desk from her, day in and day out, sharing nearly every emotion with her. He had somehow slipped, somehow lost his noteworthy iron clad control and let her into his heart.
He took off his coat and sat down on the couch, realizing with a start that his legs were trembling. Elliot scowled, hating the vulnerability. He had to get it together before she came back.
Olivia was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, trying to control her own breathing. It was crazy. Elliot had been in her apartment a thousand times; they had watched movies together here, eaten take-out, hung out like partners and best friends. He had even stayed overnight a couple of times while going through his divorce, insisting that her couch was actually comfortable. So why was this different?
The shooting had changed everything. The moment she had killed Clarkson, the walls had been shattered, and everything that had been held back was now rushing forward, whether it was welcome or not.
Olivia shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and opened her rather sparse refrigerator to get a bottled water. She made her way back into the living room.
Elliot was holding the Heckler & Koch, appraising the new addition to her collection. He looked up when she entered the room, placing the gun back down. "Since when do you drink Boulevard?"
"Want one? I bought a four pack."
"I can't. Pain meds."
Olivia gave him a soft smile as she set the Glock on the coffee table. Of course. He made it so easy, save the small bandage on his temple, to forget that he was still nursing a major injury.
She handed him water and picked up her beer, sitting down on the large sofa next to him, leaning back at an angle so she was still facing him.
"How is your lung doing? This day must have been hell."
"It only really gives me pain if I exert myself. While Cragen has me on a desk, I don't get a chance," Elliot replied, flashing her his characteristic grin.
"And your ribs?"
"Docs gave me a rib belt, which is a pain in the ass, but keeps everything nice and stiff as the fractures heal."
Olivia glanced down at his shirt, first noticing the faint line of thick wrapping around his torso. "I can't believe they released you so soon."
Elliot was glad once again that he hadn't told her he had practically begged the doctors to release him when they did. She wasn't the only one dedicated to the job.
"Seriously, Liv, I'm fine. How's your arm?" He asked, glancing down to her bare bicep. She had since stopped using the white gauze and was now covering the wound with a large band-aid.
"I forget it's there most of the time, except when I have to change the bandage to keep it lubricated. If I bump into something…that's a different story."
Olivia took a sip of beer, conscious that he was watching her.
"So you decided tonight was going to be the perfect night to clean your guns, huh?" Elliot asked, the tone in his voice light.
"It's been awhile. And with a madman, or madwoman, or both after me, there's no other time like the present to make sure my weapons are all in perfect firing condition."
Her words killed the levity of situation, but both of them were used to the darkness of reality. Elliot leaned forward to rest his bottle on the coffee table, and then sat back against the cushions, turning his torso so he faced her completely.
"Olivia."
She stared straight ahead, willing herself not to react, biting her lip, beer forgotten in her right hand.
He stared at her side profile, a mess of thoughts as his gaze moved from her heavily lashed eyes, to where her front teeth were pinched down on her lower lip. His thumb itched with the desire to pull her lip free from the worried assault, but his mind was fighting a bigger battle. He was standing at the edge of reason, waiting to be pushed into something terrifyingly wonderful, or pulled back into the safeness of commonality.
Always he would remember what he had thought to be heaven. Waking up painless after dying on the concrete, cursing himself as he laid in that pool of blood that he had only told her once that he loved her. Of course the angel that greeted him would be her. His Olivia.
"Angel." The word came out hushed, almost like a prayer. Her eyes closed and her lips parted on shuttered breath.
She would always remember his first words after waking up. It had been extremely intimate and had affected her deeply. She had thought for sure that he wouldn't have remembered, but of course this was Elliot.
She felt him lean towards her, his hand sliding against hers as he took her beer, placing it on the table. His hand brushed back against hers and she was trembling, suddenly struck by the feeling that he was too. As his fingertips traced a path up her forearm, sliding gingerly up her bicep, she felt the tremor in his hand and was awed that he was as affected as she was.
"Open your eyes, Liv."
Her eyes fluttered open, but she kept facing straight ahead, fearing that if she turned, she would wake up. And this perfect dream, this perfect fairytale would be gone.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Elliot still couldn't believe he was touching her, and more over, that she was allowing it. His whole body was vibrating with desire for her, the fact that she was shaking, her breathing hitched, only adding to it.
He leaned closer, his fingertips sliding against the soft flesh of her bare shoulder, taking time to tease the skin of her neck. Her eyes closed again as she made a low sound in the back of her throat.
Elliot's hand slid up against her jaw, turning her face towards him before his fingertips brushed against her parted lips. He looked down at her mouth, the same one from each of his illicit fantasies. He wanted, needed to taste her.
Olivia moaned low when the feel of his hand at her jaw was replaced by the pleasant roughness of her partner's cheek. His hand was at the back of her neck, tilting her throat to give him more skin to explore.
Elliot mouth brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck, trailing a path of warm, moist kisses from the base of her collarbone up to her jaw. Her breathing was ragged, her hands clutching the fabric of the couch, her mind nearly gone. His chest pressed against hers now, she knew he could feel the stab of her nipples through his shirt, and the thought that another shift of movement she would feel his erection caused heat to pool between her thighs.
"Elliot," she moaned, completely lost as his mouth trailed kisses along her jaw, his free hand now touching her gently under her left breast.
"Tell me," he spoke, his voice rough with emotion. He shifted again, sliding his leg against hers, moving them closer. He was forcing himself to go slow even as his body screamed for her. "Tell me what you want, Liv."
"Need…oh," she gasped at the feel of his hand on the underside of her breast. He was teasing her, torturing her with a slow, circular caress. "Oh, God, El."
"Tell me."
"Kiss…me," she pleaded, her voice breaking.
He pulled back enough to see her face, one hand still at the back of her neck, the other on her breast.
Olivia looked up at him, still in shock at the look he was giving her, that the raging desire in those ice blue eyes was for her. His gaze dropped to her mouth and she couldn't take it anymore.
When their lips touched it was like coming home. Nothing else mattered. The case disappeared. The job, gone. It was Elliot and Olivia. In this moment, they weren't partners, weren't detectives. They were lovers.
His mouth teased her in that slow, languid way his hands had. Almost burning up with intensity, Olivia broke his taunt, parting her lips and deepening the kiss.
He groaned, his tongue touching hers as he tasted her. It was heaven, it had to be heaven. Because he had never felt so good, and he had no one to thank other than his angel.
Olivia arch against him, almost blind with bare need. If someone had told her that just a kiss could do this…dear, God. She was on sensory overload, conscious somewhere in the mess of her jumbled thoughts that the perp could come through the window and she would be blissfully unaware.
Elliot's leg slid between hers, and he shifted so he was partially over her, still supporting most of his weight on his side. Vaguely, he noticed her white knuckled hands were still gripping the fabric of the couch.
"Touch me back, sweetheart," he spoke roughly against her mouth, needing to feel her hands on him.
She reached up, caressing his cheek as they continued the kiss. It was deepening, and both of them knew it, knew where they were headed with exhilarating expectation.
The knock at the door caused Olivia to jump. Elliot pulled back on his arms, breathing roughly. He scowled towards the direction of the door, then looked back down at her.
She was beautiful. Mouth red with his kisses, cheeks flushed with passion. It took all of his willpower not to just continue on and ignore whoever the hell it was on the other side of the door. But the job…
"If that's Logan, I swear, I'll fucking kill him," Elliot grunted, his voice still husky.
Laughter burst out of Olivia. Of anything he could have said at the moment that had to be perfect. Body still throbbing with desire, silly smile on her face, she watched as Elliot painfully stood up and slowly made his way to the door.
2ND A/N: Yeah, cliffhanger ending here. Apologies, but this scene was too big for one chapter!