Hello! I'm back again with a new chapter. This one is kinda meant to transition into the next phase of the story, if you will. I'm excited about trying something new in the chapters to come, mainly because y'all are so nice about putting up with my ~creativity, but we'll see how it turns out. For now, you've got this.
Quick drive-by shameless self promotion...if you like EO domestic family-type feels, I wrote a new one shot that fits this description called Love You More. Check it out if that kind of thing cranks your tractor.
A/N: nothing much to warn about sex or violence-wise. I *am*, however, slightly deviating from the canon timeline once again in order to suit my own purposes. Title and all quotes from bouncing off clouds by tori amos.
thank you all so much for reading. I love you. :)
{is there a love lost and found?}
Brian came home, and this time things were different.
For one, there was no need for a frantic cleanup. No bottles to dispose of save for the ones that had been filled with that weird red Mountain Dew that Nick likes. All you had to do was get rid of Nick himself, and fortunately Brian had called early enough in the day that your partner was able to get his stuff out by noontime. (You weren't necessarily keeping it a secret that he'd been staying over as much as you were just neglecting to mention it to Brian. You don't think he'd be mad, the way he would be if it was Elliot, but it's just better for everyone involved if he isn't thinking about Nick's ass touching his furniture).
It's one of those days where you can't get much done at work because you're waiting for a dozen other people to do their jobs, so when five o'clock comes around you send everyone on their merry way home. Well, everyone but Nick. You suspect he's going to Amanda's place, but whether she's aware of this- or even wants him there- that's the part you're not sure about. Oh well. Off the clock, not my problem, you remind yourself. You're in a good mood and you're not going to let them ruin that.
When you get to your apartment, you contemplate ordering from Brian's favorite sushi place and then decide that you'll do the cooking instead. He loves your lasagna, even though he hates when you sneak a little broccoli in it, and who knows how many more chances you'll have to make it for him?
Ah yes. There's that little black cloud looming over all of this. You told yourself you were going to use this time apart to get stronger, to prove to yourself that you'll be able to make it on your own- and for the most part, you did. You hadn't resorted to any of your old dysfunctional coping strategies like drinking or picking at your skin until it bled or fucking Elliot. True, you had some help from Nick, and you still haven't really been able to sleep at night if you're all alone. But you're getting there. Like your therapist has reminded you several dozen times, 'it's about progress, not perfection', and you are definitely progressing.
Sounds like a good thing, right? And in some ways it is. You feel better about yourself- more confident, more optimistic- than you have in a very long time. You're not at the stage where you can break up with Brian just yet, but you're starting to be able to envision yourself in that place where you can be independent and survive without him. You can.
Thing is, you're not sure anymore that you want to.
You get changed while dinner's in the oven, picking out something slightly nicer than your usual leggings and sweatshirt, and after you redo your makeup you spend a few minutes curling your hair into loose spirals. Pleased with the final result, you make a pensive face at the screen on your iPhone and snap a quick selfie.
The reply comes before you even make it out into the living room. [cute. am I supposed to send you a picture of me now? is that how this works? you show me yours and I show you mine?]
[If you want to…]
[I don't. nice try though. you and nick doing makeovers tonight or something?]
[no Nick left. Brian should be home in an hour-ish]
You bite your lip, hoping you didn't ruin the vibe of this chat by mentioning Brian to Elliot. Despite your worries that there might be some second guessing after things got unexpectedly deep between you over the weekend, you'd stayed in touch through text almost constantly and had a long lunch together without any problems. The night before you had even fallen asleep on the phone with him in the midst of a three hour conversation. He knows you still get anxious when you're by yourself, so he had insisted on calling you after you told him that Nick was out doing whatever Nick does late at night.
[ah of course. tell dumbass we all missed him. how long's he home for now?]
[don't know. just like always. I never do]
The knock on the door surprises you. At first you're worried that Elliot has actually been outside your door this whole time, and now you're going to have to politely but firmly send him on his way before Brian shows up. But then you realize that no, that's definitely Brian's usual knock.
"Coming," you call to him from the other side of the door, putting your phone away and fumbling with the bolt lock. Upon opening the door you notice two things in rapid succession. First, that he has brought you flowers. Second, that he looks like he hasn't shaved in a few days. "Are these to apologize for the facial hair?"
He bursts out laughing, handing you the flowers as he steps inside so that he can throw both arms around you. "What, you don't like it?"
"Nope, just trying to figure out what it is you've done," you tease, resting your chin on his shoulder and holding onto him tightly. "Missed you."
"Missed you too, babe...it's good to be home. Like, really good."
"Something happen?" you ask, looking up with a frown. You know he probably wouldn't tell you if it did, but-
"No, no. It's nothing like that. Swear to God," he adds. "Just, well...this time I wasn't worried about what I was coming back to."
"Oh." Your gaze drops down to the floor, not quite sure if this was a good or a bad thing, whether it was genuine or a thinly veiled chastisement for all the times you made him worry in the past.
"It's a good thing," he promises, like he knew exactly what you were thinking. "I knew you'd be okay. Never doubted it. And it looks like I was right."
"Everything was fine," you reassure him- and unlike so many times before, you're actually telling the truth. Even the long scratch on your inner forearm was the result of an honest accident with the filing cabinet in your office, something you're quick to point out before he can say anything about it.
"Hey, no, you don't have to...I believe you. I trust you, okay? You don't have to explain." He squeezes your hand in both of his, mouth pressed against your temple in a lingering kiss. "By the way, I have news. Something you'll be happy about. At least, I think?"
"If I'm not, I'll just pretend," you say, smirking to hide the way you're fighting back unexpected tears.
"Got a new assignment for the next month or so. It's my turn to be on the phones...meaning I'll only be working weekdays, normal business hours. We'll actually get to see each other."
"Are you serious? Because that is good news, and I'm not even pretending."
"Completely serious. Course, it's not permanent...and I'm not really sure what'll happen after that. Probably heading out again."
"It's okay. We'll deal with it later." You're not even thinking that far ahead right now; not thinking of anything past this reprieve you've suddenly been given. He's home again, he's not going anywhere, and you have the chance to enjoy as much of this life as you can while time is on your side. Because you don't want it to end- and maybe you never really did. You just need to be the one who decides it's over, who walks away before he does...but for now he's standing still.
He lifts his head up and sniffs at the air. "Mmm. Do I smell lasagna in the oven?"
"You do, and it's ready whenever you are."
"I'm ready. Just gimme a few minutes to jump in the shower." When he starts down the hall and sees you're not following him, he stops and turns back around. "Are you staying out here or what?"
You twirl one of your ringlets around your finger, showing it off. "I spent a long time on my hair, in case you didn't notice."
"Fuck your hair," he says, grinning as he reaches out for your hand and pulls you toward him.
{you can stare all day at the sky
but that won't bring her back}
And then things weren't so different anymore.
"Hey Liv?"
"Mmm?" you reply from where you're lying next to him, lazily tracing the outline of that stupid tattoo on his arm with your index finger.
He points toward the object that's been tossed to the foot of the bed. "You think anyone actually uses that thing as a back massager?"
"Uh. I'd say it's doubtful." Both of you laugh as you reach for his hand and close your eyes, feeling tired but content. Life is good.
But not for long. "Hey Liv?"
"Mmm?"
"Hey. Uh. Can I ask you something?"
"Nope."
"C'mon, seriously."
You actually were serious, because any question he thinks he needs advance permission for is one you're not going to want to hear. Nevertheless, you open your eyes again and lift your head, propping it up with the arm resting on your pillow. "What is it?"
"Well. Uh. This is. I don't want you to get mad."
"Then don't ask me something that'll make me mad," you say in the most pleasant voice you can muster.
"It's just that...okay. I know that it took a long time after, um, after everything, for you to be alright with us. Y'know. Having sex. And then after the trial you kinda...but I get it. I mean, I get why you wouldn't want to. You needed time and that's understandable with everything that was going on, and I...we got past that. Well, maybe. I thought we did."
"Brian, get to the point," you say as you let your head fall back onto the pillow, annoyed that you're still not sure where this trip down memory lane is headed.
"I'm. All I'm saying is. It's been a while since we've. Since you've."
"Brian!"
"Inoticedyoudon'twantmetofuckyou," he blurts out, the words melding together into a single syllable. "And that's...I'm fine with that, I'm fine with...I mean, what we are doing, that's great. But if there's something you need from me that you're not getting, whatever it is I can do, I would. You know that, right?"
"Jesus Christ." You're halfway out of bed before he even finishes talking, pulling a blanket over your shoulders like an iron shield as you look for something to put on. "Why the...what the hell is your problem?"
"Liv, don't do this. Please? Look- what I'm trying to get at is...if there's something that happened, something I did wrong, then I really wish you'd tell me. I don't care what it is, if you think it's stupid or- I'm not gonna be pissed at you, I swear."
"Damnit, Brian, do you remember what I told you before? Not everything is about you."
"Actually, I do remember that. You wanna know why?" he asks, watching you in your hurry to get dressed. "Because we'd been getting along, things were great- until we got back from Stabler's place that day and then you freaked the hell out. And when I asked you what was going on, you said not everything was about me. But you were wrong, because when I'm the one who has to take care of you when you're completely fucked up, then it is about me."
"So what'm I supposed to do about it? I apologized. I've stopped drinking. Or do you not believe me anymore?"
"What? Of course I do. But you brought up that day and all I'm saying is, that's when everything really started to go downhill."
"And that's Elliot's fault?" You don't wait around for a reply, storming out of the bedroom. "Because you-"
"I didn't say it was his- I don't give a fuck about him. I'm talking about you." He's followed you into the kitchen, careful to stay safely out of arm's reach.
"Then what do you want from me?"
His voice softens, the way they teach you to in the academy when you're trying to diffuse a hostage situation or mediate a domestic dispute. "I just want us to talk."
"About what? Seriously, what do you want me to say?" The water in this glass you're holding has yet to turn into wine and you're beginning to get flustered, wondering if you've lost your ability to browbeat him into silence while sober. "That I'm sorry you're not getting- y'know, I hardly think you're deprived, not when I just-"
"For christ's sake, Olivia, don't. That's not what I mean and you know it, you know that's not what's important to me, so don't try to twist what I said."
"Do I? Really? Because you say it doesn't matter to you, that I'm the one in charge, but yet here you are harassing me because I-"
"No. Stop," he says, taking a step closer to you, and you're pleased to note that he's no longer talking to you like a hostile suspect. "When have I ever tried to get you to do something you didn't want? Huh? When have I ever 'harassed' you for saying no? I wouldn't do that to you, Liv, I'm not as shitty of a human being as you want to make me into."
"You're so fucking selfish, that's what you are. Why can't I just say no to you and leave it at that? Why does it have to turn into twenty fucking questions?"
"It wasn't even a goddamn question! All I said was that if there's something bothering you or something you ever wanted to talk about-"
"And guess what? There's not. I'm fine."
His voice is quiet again but it doesn't sound deliberate- just sad. "Yeah, I. Okay."
"I'm going to bed now. I'm tired." You're reminded of one of the benefits of alcohol- the way it effectively silences any trace of guilt you might feel- and you wish to God you had that right now. Maybe then you wouldn't be overwhelmed with the urge to cry, to tell him that you know you're horrible and disgusting and you can't even say you're sorry because you don't deserve to be forgiven. That he deserves more than someone who's scared to feel anything because she's essentially numb to everything unless it hurts.
"Should I...you want me to take the couch?"
You think about what will happen if he does, how you won't be able to sleep, how you'll end up locked in the bathroom 'showering' for hours if he's not there to fight you about it. "No."
"You want me to come with?" he asks, a little too disbelieving considering you've never made him sleep on the couch before, and for a moment you're paralyzed with fear over what you'll do if he says no.
"Yeah."
He doesn't say no. He doesn't say anything. He just follows you back down the hall.
{we could make this easy
it's not as heavy as it seems}
Dr. Christiansen is giving you that Look as you finish telling her the story, that look that says she's counting on you to be a steady source of income for the next dozen years. "So why do you think you reacted so strongly?"
"Because I didn't want to talk about it. Because it's nothing he needs to know."
"And when you say 'it', you mean...what? Your assault? Elliot?"
You sigh in irritation, turning so that you're facing the window on the far wall of the office. "It doesn't have anything to do with how I feel or don't feel about Elliot. I think we've already established that I'm perfectly capable of fucking them both."
"But Elliot's still the last person you were intimate with. At least, in that particular way."
And look how well that turned out. "Brian's never asked why I don't want to do...certain things before. He's always just accepted it, so why do I have to start justifying myself to him now?"
"Do you think that's really what he wanted? Or was he honestly trying to be supportive?"
"Does it matter? He should know by now that if I want to talk, then I'll talk, but not if he keeps pushing me...look, the only reason I'm telling you this is because I thought you'd be happy that I didn't use it as an excuse to start drinking." You leave out the part where you went to the store the next morning and bought half a dozen of those little airplane liquor bottles to hide away in your purse. You haven't opened any of them yet, so it's an irrelevant detail.
"I am happy to hear that," she assures you. "So were you able to smooth things over with Brian last night?"
"What? Oh. No, by the time I got home he was already asleep so we didn't talk."
"Working late again?"
"I thought about it. But then Elliot called and he'd had a meeting in the city, so I met him for dinner and we ended up staying until they closed." And there's that Look from her again. "Everything was completely above board," you say with a defensive scowl because it was (mostly) true, up until the part where you kissed him goodnight when he brought you back to your apartment. "I knew if I went home...Brian was there, and if we started fighting again I knew I'd end up drinking. But if I was with Elliot, he'd keep me from being tempted."
"And that's good, don't get me wrong. I'm just wondering what happens when you can't keep avoiding Brian any longer."
"He should be over it by tonight. It'll be fine."
She nods but says nothing.
{about what you said
has it come to this?}
"Where's Amanda?" you ask, hands on your hips as you stand in the doorway of your office like a queen surveying her kingdom.
Fin doesn't even look up from the file he's reading as he mutters 'lunch'. Meanwhile, Nick is all but bouncing in his chair and waving his outstretched arm to get your attention. "She was supposed to be back three minutes ago. Want me to call her?"
"No, I don't." You consider asking if he is seriously timing her break and then realize that's a stupid question. Of course he is. "Fin, tell her to come talk to me when she gets back, okay?"
"Sure thing, boss." Before you retreat into the sanctuary of your office, you notice that Nick has already whipped his phone out. That better be Maria that he's calling. Maria, who he claims he's working things out with while he points to his wedding band like that legitimizes everything.
You still don't know what happened that night that he went over to Amanda's place with leftover cake slices in hand. When you asked how it went, the only answer you got was 'bad', and from what you've seen between them at work, that was probably an accurate assessment.
"Hey Sarge, you wanted to see me?"
You look at Amanda and then up at the clock. "You're four minutes late."
"Yeah, Nick already told me that. I'm sorry- I was in line at CVS forever because they messed up my prescription. I mean, for Frannie." You must have appeared skeptical, because she barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes before she explained. "They fill veterinary prescriptions too. Frannie takes human allergy meds at a low dose."
"Fine, that's- whatever," you say, sitting down at your desk. "Look, I need you to make some corrections on this paperwork you gave me about the subway haircutter."
She flips through the stack of papers you handed her. "All of this? It's 17 pages."
"And it wasn't even the right guy." It was a subway haircutter, yes, but not the subway haircutter- just a guy out for revenge against his ex-wife.
"Hey, it's one more creep off the streets."
"Tell that to my bosses." You wave your hand to dismiss her. "Get it fixed by five."
"I will, don't worry about that. But goddamn, they're really trying to drown us in paper, huh?"
You suspect this is meant to be a show of camaraderie. You're not interested. "Do you see this pile right here? That's what I've done this morning while you and Fin were out on a call," you say, a hint of wistfulness creeping into your voice as if they had been on a tropical vacation and not a trip to the psych ward at Bellevue. "This other pile? This is the rest of my day, and I'll probably end up having to take at least half of this home."
"Right, got it." As she leaves your office you see Fin watching through the blinds, shaking his head, but as soon as you make eye contact he turns back to his computer monitor. You assume he's trying to look busy for your benefit- until you see Hank Abraham strolling through the bullpen.
"Sergeant, a moment," he says when he reaches your doorway. It's not a request.
"For you? Always."
He's either oblivious to the sarcasm or just doesn't care. "Any new leads on that subway haircutter?"
"Not at the moment. We're-"
"We need to get this guy. The media's having a field day- I mean c'mon, the jokes write themselves. Story's gone national now that Fallon did a bit about it on his show the other night. Meanwhile, this fucker's escalating. He's chasing down the vics instead of looking for sitting targets. What happens when a piece of hair and a little groping isn't enough for him anymore? When-"
"Sir, I promise you that we are well aware and catching him is one of our top priorities. Believe me, if I could- I'd be out there right now hunting him down myself," and there's that wistfulness again, creeping toward 'bitterness' territory. "I've asked Lieutenant Vasquez," aka the supervisor over all the unis in the 1-6, "multiple times if he could spare a few officers to team up with Transit for an extra patrol. He's told me he doesn't think it's necessary, that we've got enough people out there already."
"He may have a point. The arrest stats for your precinct are up- but so are dropped charges. Convictions are down. And that's on your detectives," and oh, how you love being lectured by a man who's never spent a day in law enforcement. "I mean. I just hear things, you know, I listen to the brass all day. This is just me telling you as a friend. I'm sure if the chief was concerned, he would've brought it up at the last monthly briefing- oh wait, I forgot. You weren't there, were you, I heard you had some sort of medical issue."
"Well, I appreciate the concern, but I'm back and I'm fine. And I know you're a busy man and I wouldn't want to waste your time, so what can I do for you this afternoon?"
"Oh, this isn't for me. This is an opportunity for you," he says, and as soon as you hear the word 'opportunity' you have the urge to grab your imaginary parachute and throw open the window.
"And when you say opportunity, you mean-"
He can't get the words out fast enough, as if the quicker he spoke, the more likely you would be to give up on trying to understand and just start blindly agreeing. A real live journalist! And not just any old journalist- but the Jimmy Mac, the one with the Pulitzers!
"Can you even call what he does journalism? Every piece of his I've ever read, he starts off with his own opinion and digs around until he finds what he wants to hear. Hardly objective reporting."
"Bingo. And lucky for us, he's a friend of the department. Specifically, a friend of the commissioner."
"Since when?"
"Doesn't matter. All that matters is that we're going to take advantage of it while it lasts," he says. "People trust this guy because he gives it to 'em straight-"
"You mean he works all the 'unnamed sources' he can when he's not charming people into giving away their own life secrets."
"That's what I'm saying. People trust him. You know who people don't trust? The NYPD."
"I get it now," you say, watching out of the corner of your eye as a new text from Elliot pops up on your phone. [Got any of those selfies with you sitting at that big desk? wondering if it looks like it does in my imagination]. "He writes a feel-good piece about...why us? Why this squad?"
"Well. Ah. Surely you can understand why SVU could use some positive publicity- right? We've had this in the works for a while, but now with the controversy over Detective Amaro it's become more important than ever."
"Wait. 'For a while'? This is the first I'm hearing about it."
"I know. We thought it would be best to give you some time to adjust to being back to work after the trial, and then once your captain left we knew you'd need to get settled in your new position. But don't get me wrong, it's great. You being in charge makes this an even better story- Olivia?"
You shake your head, quickly blinking your eyes a couple of times before speaking. "I'm sorry, Hank, I...This is all unexpected to me and to be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about it. We have a certain level of confidentiality at SVU that-"
"Obviously no one's asking you to divulge sensitive information, whether it's case-related or...personal," he says tersely, like he's annoyed you even felt the need to express any hesitation when this has already been planned out for you. "But I know I don't have to remind you that you're still in the probationary period of this new assignment, and the folks at 1PP are keeping a close eye on you because of- well, I shouldn't be saying these things. Like I told you, I just hear stuff. I'm sure once they read this article, they'll realize all their concerns about you were for nothing. Right?"
Okay then. Message received. "So when should I be expecting to hear from him?"
{failure to respond
but I did
but did you listen?}
Everyone is still working diligently as Hank leaves your office. But as soon as he's safely behind the elevator doors, you can feel the room collectively sigh in relief as they resume business as normal. Amanda drops her pen on the desk and reaches for her phone, Nick almost tips over backwards in his chair as he attempts to see who she's furtively texting, and Fin opens up today's paper in search of the crossword puzzle.
For as long as he's been at SVU, Fin has had an afternoon routine of drinking a cup of coffee and doing the newspaper crossword. He likes for this to take place around three o'clock, and woe is the perp that gets hauled in and has to face him at 2:55.
Or, in this case, woe is the officer who gets to the puzzle before him. "Goddamnit! He did it again!"
Lately there have been a handful of days in which he's sat down to find most of the answers already filled in. No one's admitted to the crime, but you all suspect it must be one of the half-dozen or so new unis that have been brought in this winter, because no one else would dare disrupt this sacred ritual.
"I keep tellin' ya, maybe it's time to break down and get your own subscription instead of always relying on the front desk to have a copy," Amanda suggests.
"Or maybe if the NYPD weren't such cheap bastards...back in the day, every unit got their own."
"It's environmentally friendly, and you can still access it online."
Fin's not having it. "I'm old fashioned, Rollins. B'sides, City Hall doesn't care about the environment, they just wanna stick it to us. When we were at Bellevue today, did you see all the papers they had floating around? Those fuckers probably each have their own subscription! Who pays for that? It ain't the inmates, and if-"
He continues ranting- you think. You're not listening. All you can hear is
people trust him
they'll realize all their concerns about you were for nothing
those fuckers probably each have their own subscription!
{you say you're waiting on fate}
"...and I thought about how everyone was on their best behavior when someone else was watching, and it all fell into place," you explain to Dr. Christiansen.
"So now you're feeling pretty optimistic about having this guy around to write his article."
"Well...I don't really have a choice whether I want him there or not. But I trust my squad. If he thinks he's gonna get any juicy material out of them- or me- he'll be disappointed. And then when his column gets published...everyone will see once and for all that I'm fine, I'm over it and I'm doing my job and I've moved on with my life. And it'll be coming from an outside source."
She nods and jots something down. "You're expecting a lot from him. That the article will say what you want it to, that he'll be able to keep your squad under control-"
"No, no, I can do that," you say, ignoring how you're contradicting what you've told her since your very first appointment.
"But having a stranger around keeping an eye on them will help," she surmises. "And then what happens after he leaves? Or if you're not happy with what he writes?"
"I don't...what's your point?"
"We've talked a lot about the pressure you're under now that you're in charge- and I really believe that you can do it, that you'll figure things out. But I think the question you need to ask yourself is...are you working toward a long term solution or is this just a quick fix?" You look at her blankly and she gives you an ever so patient smile. "We'll talk more next week. Just remember...it's important to be able to accept help from others, but you can't let them be your escape. Ultimately, you're the only one who can solve anything for yourself."
"Yeah, okay," you agree, slinging your purse over your shoulder as you head out of the office. As you pass through the reception area, you notice a copy of the Ledger sitting on a table and you can't help but feel a bit smug thinking about all the people you're going to prove wrong, from those behind the big desks at 1 PP to those behind bars.
You smile when you see Elliot waiting for you in the hallway. "Hey you."
"Hey yourself," you say, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before the two of you walk outside arm in arm.
{but I think fate is now waiting on us}