Disclaimer: We all know by now they aren't mine.
Saturday night in New York City is always ripe with possibilities. They call it the city that never sleeps, but on the weekend sometimes it can feel like there are more than 24 hours in a day. Working in law enforcement, specifically Special Victims, Olivia Benson knows that better than anyone.
She stands in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom and adjusts her gold cocktail dress. It's one she's worn before when she was someone else. When she was with someone else. The last time she went undercover.
Olivia swipes a swath of bright red lipstick across her mouth. It was brighter than she would wear normally, but tonight it would do. She pulled out a simple gold chain and drop earrings, and slid her feet into the high-heeled shoes she can't remember the last time she wore, then checked the contents of her purse before heading down to the car. She gripped the steering wheel of the red sports car. No precinct-issued piece-of-trash coupe tonight.
She stood in line outside of the most exclusive new club in town, Te Amo, slowly inching her way towards the door and the bouncer.
"That'll be $20 for a cover," the bouncer says as Olivia steps up to the rope.
She'd been lost in her thoughts, moving with the line but not focusing on where she was going. She yanked open her clutch and rooted around inside.
"I don't seem to have any cash," she says meekly. "I just have my card."
The bouncer looked her up and down, studying everything about her.
"Pretty girl like you doesn't need to pay. Go on in," the bouncer said, pulling back the rope to give her entrance. He stamped her hand just a little too forcefully as she passed by.
She stopped a moment to take in the entire scene in front of her. She'd never been much for clubbing, what with an alcoholic mother at home. While Olivia enjoyed a beer with the squad or a nice glass of wine at the end of a long day, the idea of going out and partying until dawn, and putting yourself in a precarious situation never appealed to her, even back in college.
She slowly made her way to the back of the bar, sitting against a wall where she could watch the scenes play out in front of her. She ordered a vodka and cranberry juice, knowing full well she'd only be able to have two sips before the smell reminded her too much of her mother and she'd have to push it away.
She spent the better part of an hour watching people laugh, smile, and flirt with one another. Women in tight skirts practically threw themselves at any man who looked like he could be even moderately wealthy. One couple, in particular, caught her eye. They were standing against the opposite wall, leaning up against a bar table. He was about six feet with muscular arms and his button-up shirtsleeves rolled up. She was a beautiful, curvy brunette, dressed much more simply than the other women in the club, and yet the man couldn't look at anyone but her. He hadn't even turned to the dance floor, just talked, laughed, and stared at the woman sharing his table.
Olivia felt a pang in her chest and had to look away. She wondered if things had been different, would she be sitting here alone tonight? Or would someone else be with her? Someone who would hold all of her attention. She pulled out her cell phone, scrolling through her old messages. The last one on the list was from about six months ago.
"Are you really never going to answer me? Is that really how you want to go?"
She read it three times, and the bile rose in the back of her throat. She tried to tell herself it was just the smell of the vodka, but she knew better. It was reading that message and the name above it. "Stabler." She'd changed his name in her phone about three months ago, back to what it was when they first met. About three years into their partnership she changed it to "El," but that didn't seem fitting anymore. She slid the phone back into her clutch. She couldn't take it anymore.
She slid from the barstool and made her way closer to the dance floor, standing near its edge as a bass-thumping, rap-laden pop tune played.
"Now, I know I would remember seeing someone this gorgeous in my club before," a man said on her left.
She turned to see a handsome man in his late 40s in a three-piece suit. He had a perfectly manicured beard, a watch that cost more than everything she'd ever owned, and just the right amount of salt and pepper hair to make him look distinguished but dashing.
"It's my first time here," she admitted, dropping her eyes to see shoes that cost nearly as much as the watch.
"So you're a Te Amo virgin, some might say," the man stated with a laugh.
Olivia giggled, though she didn't find the joke hilarious. The song changed and the man extended his hand.
"Care for a dance…" he said, trailing off for her to fill in the blanks.
"Olivia," she said. "My name is Olivia."
"Olivia, I'm Paul. Lovely to meet you," he said. "Would you care for a dance?"
Olivia nodded and let him lead her out to the center of the floor. He didn't waste any time sliding his hands onto her hips, and she obliged by wrapping hers around his neck.
"I have to say, you look lovely," he told her.
"Thank you," she said. "It's been a while since I've done something like this."
"What?" he asked "Dance with a stranger?"
"Yes," she said. "And just take time for me. To do something wild, crazy, out of my comfort zone."
"Well, I'm happy to be of service," Paul said, giving her a spin and then a dip. And that's when she heard the song.
It was the Adele version of Make You Feel My Love, and Olivia felt her throat seize.
It was like a flashback. She remembered one of the stupid fancy NYPD events she had to attend over the years. Maybe it had been for the installation of a new chief or some fundraiser and she drew the short straw. Either way, her date flaked last minute and Lizzie Stabler wound up with food poisoning, so Kathy had to back out as well. Elliot had called her about an hour and a half before the ceremony and asked if she wanted to ride with him.
They'd been sitting at the table, listening to Munch tell another conspiracy theory story when this song started playing. She smiled without realizing it.
"I know you don't find Munch's theories on JFK that fascinating," Elliot had whispered in her ear, making her choke back a chuckle.
"No, I just like the song that came on," she said.
Elliot had looked out to the dance floor where other people were swaying back and forth.
"You wanna dance?" he asked.
She looked at him like he was crazy.
"It'll get us off the grassy knoll for a bit," he said with a smirk.
"Fine, fine," she said.
It was nothing inappropriate. They "left room for Jesus," a phrase she had heard Kathleen mutter once or twice in her presence when talking about her Catholic school dances. But from then on, Olivia always felt that this was "their song".
"Looks like your brown eyes are going blue," Paul said, bringing Olivia back to the present.
"Old memories," she said.
"We could make some new ones then," Paul said.
And before Olivia knew it, his lips were on hers. His tongue was trying to poke its way into her mouth. And while it felt good to be wanted, desired, heck just SEEN, it just didn't feel right. She pulled back.
"I, uh…" she stuttered. "I need the restroom. Be right back," she said.
Olivia elbowed her way through the crowd to the bathroom and pushed herself inside. There was a girl standing at the sink, singing some song only she knew the words to at the top of her lungs. She was dancing in the mirror and sloshing her beer onto the countertop, oblivious to the fact that she was no longer alone.
Olivia grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser and dabbed at her eyes. Why, tonight of all nights, did the memories have to be too much? It had been six very long months. Why wasn't she over it yet?
The girl eventually stumbled her way back out into the crowd, and Olivia knew she couldn't wallow much longer. She carefully worked her way into a stall and shut the door, standing and leaning against one of the support walls.
The bathroom door opened again and someone else walked in.
"Baby, you okay in there?" It was Paul. Olivia didn't answer.
"Sweetheart, you didn't pass out, did you? We still have a fun night ahead of us," he said in an almost growl. She heard his footsteps coming closer and the sound of a zipper.
Paul eventually reached the last stall and pushed open the door. Olivia had her back to him as he entered, and pressed his entire body up against her back, snaking his hand around her stomach.
"Lots of fun, honey," he whispered.
Olivia grabbed his wrist and twisted it, making Paul writhe out in pain. She flipped him around, twisted his arm behind his back as he dropped to his knees on the floor.
"Doesn't look like much fun to me," Fin said as he and Amaro busted through the bathroom door.
"Yeah, not much to brag about," Nick quipped at Paul's state of undress.
"You have the right to remain silent," Olivia said, pulling her cuffs from her clutch and slapping them on Paul's slimy hands.
The team held a debrief in the tech van outside after a uni back escorted Paul to the 1-6.
"How'd you think to lure him into the bathroom?" Fin asked. All the previous women had to go home with Paul before the real action began.
"Just lucky, I guess," Olivia said.
"Well, that's another one off the street," Cragan said, wrapping up the meeting. "Great work detectives. You've all earned a day off tomorrow. Be safe getting home."
"Liv, you need a ride?" Amaro asked her as they stepped out of the vehicle. They were taking her little decoy of a sports car back to impound.
"No, I'm good. Thanks, Nick," she said, turning and walking away from the squad. She walked about three blocks before leaning against a building under a streetlight and sliding off the stupid high heels that were killing her feet.
Olivia hated going undercover alone, especially after Sealview and her stint in Oregon. Though they never talked about it, Elliot knew. He just knew, like he knew everything else about her. And from then on, it was non-negotiable. Olivia never went undercover alone again. Until tonight.
Something inside of her stomach bubbled. It was physical pain, and she choked back another sob. Pulling her phone out again, she scrolled down to her last message to Elliot.
"Are you really never going to answer me? Is that really how you want to go?"
Her finger hovered for a moment over the "Call" button. She wanted to call him. Scream at him for not being there tonight. For not being there for six months. For not saying goodbye. She wanted him to know just how much it was killing her. But she didn't.
Instead, she clicked the number for the cab company, told them her address, and slumped to the sidewalk to wait. As she slid down the wall, a slow but steady rain began to fall, and she was grateful because when the cab driver pulled up, he couldn't tell the difference between the rain and her tears.
The walk back up to her apartment felt like a walk of shame. Sure, she'd gotten the perp. But she wasn't wearing her shoes, her hair and makeup had been all but ruined by a variety of falling liquids this evening, her dress was dirty. Nothing about the evening felt right, and she was afraid nothing ever would again.
A/N: So this has been bouncing around up there for days. This is based on the song "It Ain't Pretty" by Lady A. I heard it the other day and kept picturing Olivia, but I was picturing her undercover, not drowning the sorrow as herself. I wanted to put this at the end so as not to give it away right away, but if you couldn't tell this is supposed to be set in Season 13. I looked back and it seems like the last time she went undercover before Elliot left was in "Bombshells" so that kind of aided in this as well.
So, seriously go check out the song and please leave some comments and let me know what you think. I've actually got a whole list on my phone now of song titles for fics so... even if you hate it there's probably more to come.