Story Warning: Mild violence and sexual themes.
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Olivia's heels echo through the large open expanse of the warehouse. Elliot is walking beside her; his weapon clasped in his right hand, her bicep in his left. He is moving her faster than her heels allow and she finds herself taking quick half-steps in an attempt to keep up with his pace.
The irony doesn't escape her that their legs no longer move in unison.
Her captors have long since dispersed and she no longer senses there is a soul in sight. She should be relieved that she now seems far away from their assailants but as cool night air whips through her chest, her body can't help but fill with unsettling trepidation. She feels the pressure around her bicep start to tighten as Elliot begins to lead her towards a row of trailers that span the side of the warehouse. She swallows, willing her heart rate to settle just long enough for her to come to terms with what is happening. As they reach the first trailer Elliot let's go of her bicep and moves her forward, her hands coming out and grasping the side of the doorframe for stability. She feels him crowd her from behind, opening the door handle and moving it open.
"Go," he rasps to the back of her head, still prodding her from behind and her stomach turns at how unnerving it seems to be in his presence.
The trailer is dim and dusty and the first thing she spots is an undressed mattress on the floor. She stops abruptly at the sight and feels Elliot's chest ram into her back from in the motion.
Images of Harris, Sealview, Lewis, the beach house slam into her unexpectedly and her palms are instantly clammy. She tries to backtrack, to step backwards, away from the mattress but he is there, his body a stonewall barrier, his free hand moving to her upper arm, blocking her from retreating. She loses her breath, starts to choke on the stagnant air from the trailer, congestion now lining the walls of her lungs as a large lump begins to form in back of her throat. She makes a sound of protest, her heart and mind racing as her past slams forcibly into her present. When she feels his hands, cold, firm and unrelenting dig into her upper arm urging her to move forward, something suddenly flicks inside.
"We alone?" she whispers through the darkness.
"Yes."
"Good." She swings around then, her fingers curling into a full fist before her knuckles connect forcibly with his jaw. Pain rips through her hand at the contact, a numbness taking over as she watches him hit the wall behind them. His gun drops to the floor as a sound wrenches from his throat, his hand comes up trying desperately to stifle the blow.
She shakes the numbness out of her palm and she is sprinting to the door now, but he is too quick, his arms encircling her waist, swinging her back from the exit. She twists in his hold, her legs completely leaving the ground, her mind screaming at her to fight him like a perp and slam her stilettos into him, but her body is struggling to follow suit. When her heels find the floor once more she jabs her elbow firmly behind her, nicking his side but it's not enough to release the hold he has on her. She changes course, wedging a foot between his legs, her heel connecting firmly with the back of his knee.
His whole leg gives out then and he is falling suddenly forward. She becomes collateral damage, the mistaken angle causing his hard body to fall into hers as they thud firmly down onto the mattress. Her breath leaves her body as his weight slams into her. She doesn't wait to see if he will correct their position, she just knees upward to the first body part she can hit, a groan leaves his throat as she makes contact with his stomach. She crawls out from underneath him then, her heels slipping off in the process as she drags herself backwards on her elbows, trying to get enough space to roll over and run.
Just as she gets high enough on the mattress he regains his strength, launching up just in time seize her ankle. He yanks her back down the bed, her dress scaling high up her thighs from the motion, her breath catching as he seizes her wrists and moves quickly on top of her. He wedges a leg between hers and he pins her wrists shoulder height before he drops his entire weight into her body.
"Get off me-" she calls out but her breath catches and all the air in her lungs expel completely from the motion. She tries to knee him once again but there is too much weight on her now. He lets out a ragged breath, anger radiating out of his fingertips before he moves his lower half, knocking her legs roughly apart and wedging his wide hips between them so she can no longer kick him. Her throat closes up when she feels the denim of his jeans pressing intimately against her bare inner thighs.
"You son of a bitch," she chokes out when she realises she's completely trapped. She arches her chest against him, tugging feverishly at her wrists but he isn't having it seems, his hands forming an iron clamp around her wrists as his face moves up to line up with hers.
"What - the fuck?" he rasps down at her in a strained breath. Her eyes clamp closed as she feels him shifting upward, onto his elbows, still holding her wrists with force but now raised above her, his jagged breath falling down onto her face. "Goddamn it Olivia, you think you're safer out there?" he breathes out in a heavy yell. "Go ahead, try it for a second see how you do!" he finishes off in a yell, his chest still filling with air trying to catch his breath.
Olivia. It's same voice, same octave, same tone, but it's not the same. At all.
"Get off me," she seethes beneath.
"I don't know what you're doing here," he tells her firmly, drawing in a deep breath. "But you need to get one thing straight. You do as I say, you got that? No questions." He breathes out through his nose, the volume of his voice rising by the second. "You don't resist me, you don't throw punches, you don't make a goddamn scene or my cover is blown and they will kill us, do you understand me? I've seen it far too many times to count and there is nothing they like more than torturing cops."
Her throat is practically crushed beneath the pressure of his body. She heard most of what he said. The words, the threats the demands, the sensibility, the fact that he is most likely trying to shock her right now by forcing her so intimately down like this. She understands the risks. She understands the situation, but right now all she is focusing on is the memories that are currently surfacing and the power he is continuing to strip away from her by the second.
"Get.." she rasps slowly. "..off me."
He blinks down at her. It seems as if something registers then. He should know, too much distance exists between them now to make this ok, too much unknown, too much grey area. She isn't the man she remembers and she isn't the woman he left behind. He left his rights with her at the door the moment he walked away. She watches him swallow at that realisation then, his Adams apple bobbing under his assessment of the situation, but she can tell he isn't quite done with her yet.
"No," he tells her and the quiet refusals slams into her, anger swirling in her chest at his audacity.
Her lips part and her eyes narrow at him, still straining against the grip on her wrists to no avail. "There is no one here Elliot," she says, her voice hoarse beneath his pressure," so get.. off me."
Her blinks down at her, that blank, vacant stare that makes her heart want to cry out for another time, another life.
"You don't make the demands Olivia," he whispers slowly, his tone morphing suddenly into something march darker."You got that?" His voice now a thick line of caution that suddenly begins to replicate the haunting words from her recent past. 'You don't get to say no.' She chokes on the memory, slamming her eyes shut as she feels the tears start to prick and well beneath his angry words. "Understand something Olivia," he whispers firmly, "the past means nothing here okay. Nothing. You have no idea what you've just walked into."
Her eyes slip open then and the moisture is now budding at the corners, threatening to overspill.
"And you've got no idea what you left behind."
The emotion in her words rush out of her before she can stop them. She feels it then, an unspoken, empty sadness that is suddenly filling her chest, his throat, her mind - the room with uncertainty. Moments pass between them as they both mirror the blankness in each others eyes, questions circulating, concern emanating, confusion heightening. Then she feels a shift between them and suddenly the pressure around her wrists is easing up.
He starts to move off her body and the moment his chest leaves hers she draws in a long overdue breath of oxygen that he had deprived her of. As he moves onto his knees first and then his feet she just watches him silently as she lays motionless on the mattress. When he takes a small step backwards she moves her hands downward then, to the hem of her dress sliding it rightfully back down her exposed thighs. He pretends not to notice, he pretends what just happened was ok and most frustratingly of all, he extends his hand down to her as if to help her up.
Her mind reels as she begins to pick herself up off the mattress without his aid and as she stands, the remainder of her dress slips back down her body. She feels smaller in front of him now without her shoes so instead she allows her words, her tone and the few steps she removes between them to take up the space her height suddenly lacks.
"Touch me like that again Elliot," she warns, her voice a deep, low thrum. "And so help you God."
TBC
