8 - UPSTAIRS

Every drop of rain that fell that night. Even in her sleep, it was as if she'd heard every single one of them, stubbornly falling until they dried up, hitting all sorts of surfaces outside like the out-of-tune song of a dismantled xylophone. Olivia had the impression that if she could count the raindrops, it would slow time. That if she listened to the night really closely, it would deter the morning.

But morning always comes.

And morning came, announced by songbirds and framed by the timid sunlight that filtered through the grey clouds and managed to enlighten the foreign space of her fake apartment. She wanted to crawl into Elliot, hide under his skin. She wasn't ready for the aftermath.

Olivia moved heedfully. She wiggled out of Elliot's embrace, and her bare skin was quickly wrapped in the cold, misty air when she emerged from the protective heat of the covers that she'd felt him pulling over them at one point. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, fighting the urge to put on clothes, which would be too much of an admission that, just seconds earlier, she'd been lying naked in Elliot's arms. She made her way into the bathroom careful step after careful step, closing the door behind her and bracing herself for her encounter with the mirror.

An audible sigh was the shape in which the air fled from her lungs when she laid eyes upon her tousled hair, her swollen lips. Turning slightly, she identified the change of color on the side of her neck at the same time that she registered the faint burn between her legs, the physical complaints about where Elliot had been and the hollowness that had followed.

Bowing down, Olivia washed her face, her mouth, stopping for a moment to stare at the golden ring around her finger. She moved to the toilet to relieve her bladder and sat there longer than necessary, wondering if Elliot had already noticed she'd gotten up, fearing the moment she'd have to look into his eyes in the light of day.

Help me forget.

She had forgotten alright. She had forgotten everything she'd always known to be true about why they should never get involved. She'd forgotten to be careful, but there, in the honesty demanded by the cold tiles under the soles of her feet, she admitted to herself she had been lost ever since that first kiss back at the precinct.

They'll expect us to kiss, and they'll expect for it not to look like it's the first time.

Two nights into this operation, and they'd already run out of first times.

In a sudden surge of courage, Olivia stood up and walked out of the bathroom, and even though she wasn't as cautious this time, what she saw when she left her temporary hiding place was that the clouds were slowly growing apart from each other to make way for more light, and that Elliot still slept in the same position he'd been when consciousness had invaded her blissful rest.

If he was still asleep, then she still had a chance. If she closed her eyes, she could erase the sunlight and make it nighttime again. She could rename the ticking of the wall clock as raindrops, and she could even pretend she'd never gotten up at all.

Olivia inched her way back under the covers and into Elliot's chest, draping his arm around her once again to relieve herself of the burden of wakefulness.

He had felt the loss of heat immediately when she had carefully rolled out of his arms, gotten out of bed, and gone to the bathroom. He'd noticed she was careful not to make any sound, and in return, he'd kept his eyes closed and hadn't moved, pretending he had never even slightly woken up. It'd been hard — but worth it — to keep it up when she'd come back to bed and lay down on top of him like she'd never left, her soft skin pressed to his again and sending his blood boiling towards his lower half. She had snuggled up into him, releasing a sigh into his neck as she'd settled.

They'd both drifted back to sleep, and when Elliot had woken up again, sun already permeated the room demandingly through the uncurtained windows while Olivia still slept soundly in his arms. He'd watched her for several minutes, all too aware of the expanse of her skin flush against his as she breathed. He hadn't wanted to get up; for as long as they slept, they didn't have to face the consequences of their night together. In that moment, he'd wanted nothing but to close his eyes again.

But the morning was undeniable, and they had a job to do.

Don't forget deliveries around noon tomorrow, Hobbes had said before leaving. Elliot had turned his head around, moving as little as possible, so he could check the time on the wall clock: 10:20AM. He'd rested his head on the foot of the bed again, squeezing Olivia's body for a few more minutes, all too aware that his access might be revoked sooner rather than later.

He'd wanted to keep touching her then. He'd wanted her to be his, truly his, not pretend his, despite confusing thoughts about how that night could affect their partnership and just how wrong everything could go. That could wait. They had a job to do, and until that job was done, they had a very good excuse not to come up with any answers outside of that imagined world. He'd kissed the knuckles on her left hand, twisting her wedding ring — Susie's wedding ring — between two fingers before finally making the decision to get up.

He was cooking now. He'd realized they'd never stocked their fridge, so he'd gone down to the bar and grabbed some things to put together a quick breakfast. The smell of coffee filled the place, matching perfectly the sound of the butter bubbling as he cracked the eggs into a bowl before pouring them into the pan.

His muscles tensed when he heard the squeaking of the bed's springs under Olivia's slowly waking body. He heard her sighing and yawning, but he didn't risk a glance over his shoulder in case she needed privacy.

Last time he'd seen her, she'd been still completely naked.

A few beats passed before he heard her hesitant steps, and that's when he finally turned slightly towards her. His heart thudded in his chest at the sight of her wearing his flannel shirt — only his flannel shirt. She wasn't exactly a small woman, but she dwarfed in the long sleeves, the hem resting mid-thigh like a dress. It took everything in him to stay put and keep his hands to himself.

"Good morning," she said with a shy smile, crossing her arms around herself in what looked like a suddenly self-conscious move.

"Morning," he smiled back, eyes wandering down her figure despite his attempts to keep them on her face. He swallowed, failing in his attempt to keep the memories of her taste and her smoothness safely hidden. She seemed nervous when his gaze found hers again. "Did you sleep okay?"

She bit her lip, letting her eyes wander about the room before coming back to him, as though gathering courage to assess that night in any way. "Yeah," she replied. "You?"

"Great," he said without a second thought, mesmerized as he stared at her puffy eyes and messy hair and contained a compliment that was ready to roll off his tongue — beautiful. He had contained that word countless times while he'd had her naked in his arms.

She held his stare for another second before she nodded toward the stove. "That smells good," she said, clearing her throat.

Elliot turned quickly, realizing he had completely forgotten about the eggs; they weren't burning, but he would have preferred them a little bit softer. He turned off the burner and poured the pan's contents into two plates that sat on the counter next to the stove, turning to extend one to her along with a fork and a paper towel to use as a napkin.

"Here," he said, proceeding to pour her some coffee.

"It's really good," she said with her mouth full, taking another big bite before setting the plate on the small table behind her to accept the steaming mug.

Elliot smiled, taking a bite of his own. "Hungry?'

Her reply was a quick, smiling glance before drinking her coffee, and in that moment Elliot wanted to push the plates and mugs aside and just touch her. On a whim, he retrieved the mug from her hand, setting it down on the counter next to the coffee maker. She didn't seem surprised, she just looked up at him expectantly and inhaled deeply when he took a step closer. The sun hit her eyes, turning them a lighter shade of brown as they widened with questions, a lot of questions.

"Maybe we should talk," she whispered without any conviction.

Elliot stood still, fighting to preserve the last few inches between them, even as his eyes kept lowering to her lips. "Okay," he agreed. "Right now?"

Olivia's eyes drifted down to his mouth for a long moment. "Maybe later," she said, her head moving almost imperceptibly toward him.

"Later," he confirmed, closing the remaining distance with a kiss that she promptly reciprocated, wrapping her arms around his neck as he pulled her to him with both arms around her waist.

The kiss was slow at first, thorough. Elliot could taste the coffee as he swiped his tongue over hers and wondered what the hell was happening. He'd always been able to remain completely in control around her, but right now, he couldn't even remember what those restraints felt like. The sense of entitlement to her skin was so powerful; it was all-encompassing enough to silence all reason. His hand snaked up her back and her nape until his fingers were buried in her hair.

Still lost in the moment, Elliot took a second to register the abrupt loss of her hands, which had been on the skin of his back under his t-shirt, and their change of stance as they landed on his chest, pushing him a few inches away.

"Wait," Olivia breathed, pulling away from the kiss. "We really should talk about this."

"Liv," Elliot grunted, hesitant to let her go, but she didn't insist on more distance.

Her hands remained on his chest as a barrier, though. "This is a bad idea," she whispered, looking up at him through her lashes, that hypnotizing, luminous brown. "Last night… I shouldn't've…"

"I wanted it too," he confessed.

"I needed…comfort… But it's a bad idea," she insisted. "All this is confusing as it is."

"All this…?" he asked, playing for time, his hand firm on the small of her back.

"This Rob and Susie thing," she humored him. "Living together like this. The way we need to behave downstairs… It's only been two days… What the hell are we doing? What about Elliot and Olivia?"

Elliot sucked in a deep breath. Elliot and Olivia did their best to stay the hell away from each other: they'd always known better than to play with fire. His grip around her loosened slowly. He let go of the strands of her hair. He took a deep breath and a step back from Olivia.

She nodded once, swallowing, then moved past him to reach for her coffee. He turned and watched it as she drank, anchoring herself to the countertop with her free hand as she seemed to be trying to quietly catch her breath. Her fingers trembled on the edge of the laminate, and Elliot knew she was staring at the wall because she couldn't look him in the eye.

Not without losing control.

What that knowledge unleashed was stronger than him.

He latched his mouth onto her neck, his hands gripping the counter around her sides, caging her in. "Maybe we don't talk about this at all," he suggested into her ear, trailing kisses all over her neck, reaching her shoulder, her collarbone.

"El…" she pleaded, but she put down her coffee again, and the hand that had been holding the mug ended up on the back of his head, keeping him in place.

"Bad idea that feels good," he whispered, suckling at her pulse point. "Doesn't it?"

"It does," she moaned, and it was all the encouragement he needed.

Elliot grabbed at her hips, pulling her back along with him and turning her around toward the table. Olivia bent onto the wooden surface next to her abandoned scrambled eggs, guided down by his firm hand on her back. He slid the flannel up over her ass, revealing the black lace of her underwear that he slowly pulled down before unbuttoning his jeans and freeing himself. He felt her entrance with his fingers, and she responded by bucking her hips toward him. She was ready.

He bent down to kiss her neck again as he entered her slowly.

Olivia hummed as he buried himself, then clenched around him once, triggering a groan. He started to move slowly, holding onto her hip with one hand while the other came to brush the hair away from her face.

"Harder," she requested, and he stopped holding back, starting to pump more forcefully.

The plate quivered against the wood as Elliot picked up the pace, letting his hands slip under the flannel and frame her body, gliding up until he cupped her breasts. With his cheek pressed to hers, Elliot watched her fingers curl around the edge of the table, her knuckles white as her breathy moans increased in volume. He felt his climax approaching fast when Olivia began to shudder beneath him, his name escaping her mouth between moans as she came, the involuntary clenching around him triggering his own release. He buried his grunts into the crook of her neck as he drove hard into her a few more times.

They rested for a moment, their torsos lying on top of one other, heavily breathing in the rustic scent of the wood before Elliot slid his hands down her body, one still planted on her waist while the other reached for the paper towel he'd offered her along with her eggs. Both of them slowly raised to stand up straight, and Elliot pulled out, wiping himself. Olivia's hand met his in a silent request for the towel to dry herself before his seed started to drip from her.

When they were done recomposing themselves, he coaxed her to turn around and held her, letting her bury her own face into his neck this time while he cradled her head, tracing patterns along her scalp. He felt it as their heartbeats struggled to slow down, pressed together.

"What the hell was that?" she whispered.

Before he could think of an answer, he heard a loud knock coming from downstairs. Olivia searched his eyes, momentarily alarmed.

"The deliveries," he reminded her, pulling away to go to the window.

When he stuck his head out, leaning on the sill, a man looked up at him with a clipboard in his hand and a truck parked behind him. "Mister…" he looked down at his paper before looking up again. "Robert Whelan?"

Elliot nodded. "I'll be right down."

When his eyes met Olivia's again, she was tugging at the flannel shirt. "I'll get dressed," she said, visibly uncomfortable. "I'll meet you downstairs."

"You don't have to," he replied instinctively, eager to spare her.

"Actually, I do," she smiled. "How do we know the delivery man is not a suspect?"

Right. The job.

"Okay," Elliot nodded, still lightheaded from what had just happened over the kitchen's makeshift table. "Okay," he repeated as he made his way out the door.

Olivia's legs didn't feel quite firm enough as she climbed down the stairs to the bar in a pair of torn blue jeans and a tight top, her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. On her face, just some eyeliner and mascara — her cheeks were flushed enough, her lips reddened enough.

Fully in character, Elliot was pouring some coffee to the delivery man, both absorbed in conversation next to several boxes of beer. They glanced at her when she approached, the delivery man's eyes measuring her every inch without an ounce of shame.

"Hey, honey," Elliot said, his eyes not lingering on her for very long before turning back to his new friend. "This is my wife, Susie."

With a smile, she offered the man her hand, but Elliot took it instead and used it to pull her to stand next to him. Was he just using Rob's possessiveness to get a reaction out of this guy?

"This is Joey," Elliot said. "He delivers booze every Sunday."

"Nice to meet you," Olivia said, adjusting to Elliot's side as he enveloped her shoulders with an assertive arm.

"Joey was just telling me about the nice couple that used to work here before us, babe," he said.

"Oh really?" she smiled at Elliot, then at the man named Joey. "We were so curious, nobody told us why they left. We just keep hearing about how great they were."

"They were really nice people," Joey responded, looking a bit intimidated by Elliot's alpha-male stance as he kept his eyes away from Olivia and drank his coffee. After a moment's pause, he whispered to Elliot. "I heard they're dead."

Elliot's brow furrowed. "Dead? Who would kill them?"

Joey shrugged, returning his empty cup and nodding towards the boxes. "I don't know who, but it might have to do with the…product."

Letting his arm slide away from Olivia's body, Elliot moved closer to the boxes. "The beer?"

Joey looked at him with incredulity. "Your boss didn't tell you what else is in those boxes? I know you sell a lot more of that than booze."

Elliot smiled. "Of course. I guess I just never realized that both things were delivered together. So you think they were killed because of the dope?"

Joey raised his hands. "I just drive the truck. I don't really know anything."

Olivia and Elliot exchanged a concerned look.

"I just need to know if we're in danger here," Elliot insisted.

Joey looked between Olivia and Elliot before exhaling loudly. "I just heard that some of it disappeared, and that your boss suspected Geoff. That's all I know."

"And did he do it? Did he take the dope?" Elliot asked.

"I have no idea, man," Joey insisted. "I just deliver the sealed boxes and go home."

"I guess I better put these away in the back and lock the door, then," Elliot thought out loud before thanking the delivery man and walking him out.

Several silent minutes went by as Olivia and Elliot carried the boxes to the storage room, and the tension hung heavy in the air as they listened to each other's heavy breaths, the suggestion too obvious to mention, too recent to ignore. Olivia was taken back to that tabletop, where she'd let Elliot have her again, fully aware that she'd been craving him from the moment they'd finished fucking the night before.

Maybe there was a way to keep things simple. Maybe we don't talk about this at all, he'd proposed. Talking named names, defined boundaries. Silence would cover up their slips, alibi them out of their sins. Their current job was to act like a couple downstairs, but there were no rules on how to behave upstairs. She figured that all of their actions in this place were kept inside the same concrete walls — maybe that was something else they'd better keep safe behind locked doors.

"I got it," Elliot said, hauling up the last of the boxes.

Olivia stayed behind, wiping the sweat from her forehead and striding toward the fridges behind the bar for some water. She'd downed about half a bottle when she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. Leaning on the bar, she flipped it open, and while she wasn't surprised, her heart still skipped a beat when she eyed the name of the sender.

Can I see you? I need to talk.

"Paul?" Elliot's voice shot through the salon as he made his way back from the storage room, and Olivia was only slightly surprised that he could sense her tension from that distance.

"Yeah," she confirmed, waiting for him to walk around the counter and stop behind her, reading the text over her shoulder. "Do you think he wants to tell me about the transplant?"

"Only one way to find out," he replied, surprisingly collected. The offer he made next clarified the reason for his peacefulness. "I'll come with you."

"Do you think we should go out at all?" she debated. "We're not supposed to do anything that's not related to our cover."

She felt a hand on her shoulder as he leaned into her. "It's just Rob and Susie going out for a walk on their day off."

Olivia grinned through tight lips. "I guess."

Elliot kissed her temple, then with a hand to her chin, he tilted her face so she'd look into his eyes.

"Not everything Rob and Susie do needs an explanation."

Olivia nodded, privy to the fact that she was agreeing to more than just a walk.